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she's been like since you fucking shot her? Do you? She cries almost every night, and who's here to console her? You?"
    I put my hands down. Did I break her? She'd been in bad shape when I'd been to her apartment before leaving for Texas, but Elle was strong, she wasn't easily broken. Was she?
    "I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking about it. You know I'm the better man for her , that I'd keep her safe, but are you man enough to let her go?"
    Was I?
    Fuck this.
    "Never. You wanna take it to the death, let's do it. I'm prepared to die for her. Are you?"
    We both stood there, breathing heavy, anger radiating off us in waves.
    "Fuck you. I don't need to trade punches with a killer. You wanna kill me , homes? Mátame . Do it. Do it!" He smacked his chest, the rage palpable between us. The darkness inside of me wanted to sink a bullet in this mother fucker's chest, right where his hand lay. “Do it, kill me, but you'll never get Elle back. She'll never love a monster. So go on, take your shot." He put his arms down and waited for me to make a move.
    It was like I’d been shot. I gripped my chest, Elle's light flickering inside. He was right, and I was on fire, the need to punch something overwhelming. I was a killer, a monster. Shit, but he was telling the truth, and Elle would never want me if I couldn't extinguish the monster that apparently still lingered inside me.
    I growled and turned back down the hallway, shovin g the door to the outside open so hard it came off the hinges. Getting on my bike, it roared to life and I took off, racing towards Elle's house.
    I drove like a maniac, a ma niac begging to get pulled over the whole way. I was so overwhelmed with anger, sadness, helplessness, that I just didn't give a fuck. I parked my bike behind her apartment. As I walked up the sidewalk to the front where her apartment door was, I spotted the Monte Carlo parked out front and sprinted to the door.
    "Elle. It's me." I beat on her door with my clenched fist. "Elle. Open up." No answer. I used my key and was met with an empty apartment. I went though each room, even though I knew she wasn't there. It was still, quiet, only the light above the stove providing illumination.
    I went into her room and laid in her bed—full on creeper style. Damn, it smelled like her. I inhaled over and over again, unable to get enough of her unique scent. I knew she didn't use smelly lotions or heavy perfume. It was this stuff she put in her hair. It smelled like flowers. Fuck if I knew which flower, but it was her smell. I would know it anywhere.
    I could lie, but fuck it, I cried. I cried like I hadn't cried since I was a boy and Gram had patched my shoulder up. The pain this time was internal, not like a bleeding shoulder. The pain was in a place no amount of stitches could help, it was deep inside me, in the empty, hollow depths of my soul. I needed her. When I said I was prepared to die for her, I had no idea how serious I was, but in that moment, I knew. There was no life for me without her. She'd managed to control me, to devour me with her light and I don't think she had a clue how lost I was without her. How empty my life would be without her light guiding me back from merely existing.
    I passed out in her bed, the sun waking me as soon as it made its morning ascent. As if the new day brought a clear head, I suddenly knew the only other place she could be. I ran out of her apartment, almost forgetting to lock the door. I pulled up at Chris' place, a location I'd discovered during one of my many creeper missions when she got out of the hospital. She had to be there. She wasn't with José, thank God, and I couldn't think of any other place she would go.
    I pounded on the door, the sun beating down on my back. I could hear someone moving inside so I pounded again.
    She opened the door, shielding her eyes from the bright sun and yelled, "Who the fuck is it and what the fuck do you want?”
    Damn, she had on a tank top and panties. I was