"Don't get into any trouble." Jasper Penaflor's eyes danced with humor as he kissed his wife and headed out the door. Harper watched him go, smile sliding away as she turned the lock. He'd made the same joke before leaving for work every night for months, the punchline being there was no trouble for her to get into.
Harper stretched out on her couch, book in her lap, and looked around her apartment. To the untrained eye, there was no coordination between the elements that comprised her living room: mismatched colors, no prominent patterns, and more clutter than her mother would ever allow in her own house. Harper didn't organize her house by those standards, caring more for immediate function than flow or appearance.
Through the open window, the sounds of her neighbors chatting and laughed drifted up. Music eventually joined the cacophony and the loudness distracted her. When she realized she'd been reading the same sentence over and over, Harper marched into the bedroom and closed the door. Sprawled out on the bed, she let the pages thoroughly absorb her and forgot anything existed beyond the written word.
Hours later, lids drooping, she turned out the light and fell asleep. Her nightmares were chaotic, trying to scare her back into consciousness, but she couldn't lift the fog. She stayed trapped in her mind, living a montage of the worst moments of her life all at once.
Every night for as long as she could remember, she'd had nightmares. Not a single pleasant dream to subtly lift her spirits or assure her that there was happiness buried in her subconscious. Just the terror and overwhelming sadness that lingered long after she'd awoken.
Harper stopped fighting the images and let the dream take her under. Like drowning, the pain increased as she struggled against it and once she gave in, the undercurrent of calm soothed the hard edges. She stood in the ballroom where her senior prom had taken place, all eyes on her. She slapped her college boyfriend with all her strength, reveling in the shock written on his face. She—
She awoke with a startled breath, pulled from her torment by a loud noise. Harper's eyes flew open and she sat up on her bed, panic washing away all remnants of her nightmares. Another sound, louder than before, made her blood run cold.
Someone was in her apartment.
Harper checked the clock. Jasper wasn't due home for another five hours. Even if it had been him, he wouldn't make so much noise when she was asleep. She crawled out of bed, careful not to make the floorboards creak, and went to the door. The lock was thrown, but that didn't offer any comfort. Especially not when she looked at the nightstand for her phone and remembered where it was: on the living room couch.
A muffled voice caught her attention. Heart hammering, she pressed her ear to the door.
"—over there, in the corner," a man said, not bothering to be quiet. If he was talking, that meant there were at least two people in her apartment.
Harper bit her lip, pushing sweaty auburn locks of hair out of her face. If they wanted to rob her, fine. Take the electronics, take whatever the could carry, and disappear into the night. She didn't care about any of it, so long as they were satisfied with whatever was in the living room.
Fear writhing in her belly, she scrolled through the list of possible weapons at her disposal: a glass lamp, a spare curtain rod tucked away in the closet somewhere, and an aluminum tripod. Not exactly an arsenal, but she'd made due if she had to.
Footsteps approached, soft and unhurried. Harper backed away from the door, wedging herself between the dresser and closet door. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.
The doorknob rattled. Once. Twice. A third, hard turn, sent a spike of horror straight through her. She didn't dare breathe as whoever was on the other side hesitated. Then, finally, they moved away and she drew in a quick breath.
Grabbing the tripod and wielding it like a baseball bat, she crept back to the door and listened. The same man who'd spoken before grumbled something else, too low to hear. More of her belongings were carried off or piled up and Harper hoped they were sated enough to get the hell out of her apartment.
"Locked," a second man said, his voice not quite as deep as the firsts. The silence stretched for a minute before the first man spoke.
"From the inside?"
Harper froze. She swore the sweat on her skin even stilled, not daring to roll lest it splash on the floor and give her away. When the doorknob turned with violent force, she couldn't help but flinch. A hush descended on both sides.
