Chapter 1

"Gabrielle? Are you awake?"

The whisper sliced through the dark, a familiar, cloying sweetness that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"Gabrielle? I think I heard a noise. Are you sure you're asleep?"

My eyes snapped open. I wasn't in the cramped, lonely apartment where I had taken my own life. I was in my sophomore dorm room at Boston University. The thin, cheap curtains of my loft bed swayed slightly. Outside, the city hummed, a sound I thought I'd never hear again.

This was it. The beginning. The exact moment the psychological torture started in my last life.

Molly Fuller, my roommate. The small-town girl who was supposedly so naive and helpless she couldn't figure out how to work a microwave, yet she could expertly dismantle a person's sanity, piece by piece.

In my past life, this nightly harassment was just the first step. It escalated to "accidentally" spilling coffee on my laptop before a final was due, "innocently" telling my boyfriend I was seen with another guy, and "forgetting" to pass on urgent messages from my family. It all culminated in a mental breakdown that cost me my scholarship, my future, and finally, my life.

But not this time. This time, I knew every move she would make.

"Gabrielle? I'm scared."

Her voice was closer now. I could see her silhouette through the curtain. She was peeking in, just like before.

My heart pounded, but not with fear. It was a cold, hard drumbeat of vengeance.

I waited for the perfect moment, when her face was right at the gap in the curtains.

Then, I let out a blood-curdling scream.

I thrashed wildly, my fist connecting solidly with something soft.

There was a yelp and a thud.

I threw back the curtain, my eyes wide with feigned panic. Molly was on the floor, clutching her nose, which was already starting to bleed. Our other roommate, Stella, sat bolt upright in her bed across the room, headphones thrown to the side.

"What the hell was that?" Stella demanded, her voice raspy.

I looked down at Molly, then at my own hand, my expression a perfect mask of confusion and horror.

"Oh my god, Molly! Did I hit you?" I scrambled down from the loft. "I'm so, so sorry. I have night terrors. They're... they can get violent. You should never, ever wake me up when I'm like that."

I looked her straight in the eye, letting the warning sink in. "It's really dangerous."

Molly stared back, tears welling in her eyes, a mixture of pain and bewilderment on her face. She had expected me to be annoyed, to be tired, to be the victim.

She never expected me to fight back.

The nightly whispers stopped.