chapter i


The sun blazed down on the back of Valentine’s neck as she lowered the final box to the ground, sweat trickling down her spine. Bent over, her dyed blue hair stuck to her forehead in sweat, she squints at the scribbled pencil scrawl on the side of the box, struggling to stand in the unwavering heat that seemed to press into her. It had been a long, grueling day of moving—an incredibly tedious one, at that.

"Hey, Val," Molly called, her voice a little too enthusiastic for my sleep deprived eyes. Molly hovered awkwardly behind her, shifting from foot to foot. "That box is important."

"Yeah, I figured," She muttered, sliding the box towards her. Too drained to stand any longer, Valentine collapsed onto the floor into a heap of laundry.

They were finally moved in. An afternoon’s worth of labor felt like days of sweat and strain, especially considering she had done most of it on my own. Molly, ever the free spirit, hadn't lifted a painted finger. Valentine glanced over at the couch; Newly placed, newly upholstered, and already the scene of her mid-afternoon crypto trading and redbull consuming. It was barely 4:30.

She sighed, deep and resigned, and continued rearranging furniture and the never-ending stacks of boxes, the relentless hum of frustration tormenting her. Valentine had never imagined that her quiet 9-5 life could be so easily shattered by something as mundane as a side gig. The extra money she’d been making working under Judas, a guy she’d met a few months back through an online job market, seemed harmless at first. The work was simple. more pharmaceutical work, which she was already doing as her career, and handling the occasional odd errands. But the deeper she got involved, the more she started to realize there was something off.

It had all started when Judas had dropped by her apartment one late evening, his usual nonchalant attitude hiding the tightness in his eyes. He smiled his crooked smile, and slid a small envelope across her kitchen counter. “Just a little something for you, Valentine,” he said, his raspy voice low and casual.

She had raised an eyebrow. “Is this hush money? If I was going to call the police I would have by now," She laughed. “It’s not like I don’t know what you’re asking me to do when you give me a recipe for a MDMA-LSD-Ketamine amalgamy.

"Just a bonus. For being... reliable."

She accepted it without thinking, tearing it open to find a wad of cash inside. It was more than she’d made in the past few weeks combined. She didn’t question it, not at all. Valentine was not the type to turn down this kind of money. But something in his smile—a glint of something predatory—made her worry.

Then, things started to go wrong.

Over the next few weeks, Valentine noticed small, strange things happening. Items missing from her kitchen. A faint, unfamiliar scent in the air when she came home late. But it wasn’t until one morning, when she had her usual breakfast of a cigarette and glass of orange juice, that she had started to feel the effects. The food didn’t taste off or anything, but she absolutely knew better. The seal was broken on her brand new orange juice. Maybe she was just tired, and forgot. Maybe it was Molly. Valentine’s hands gripped the steering wheel tight on her way to work, the hum of the engine loud. Still tasting the tangy sweetness of her orange juice an hour later, something starts to feel off. As she drives down the sun-soaked highway, her vision starts to shake.

At first, it was subtle. A slight ache in the back of her neck, a lightheadedness that crept up on her. She shrugged it off. But then, the edges of the road seemed to bend. The trees passing by seemed to sway and elongate in the non-existent breeze. Her vision blurred as the distance between her and the horizon stretched unnaturally long. The sound of her heavy-breathing was amplified and soon, it was all she could hear.

Valentine’s pulse heightened, her stomach churning. Something was wrong.

No, no, no.

She grips the wheel harder, trying to steady herself. Her heart rate spiked as she tried to figure out what could have happened. Pulling over clumsily into the grass, she attempts to figure out what had happened. Her vision fragmented, she blinked hard, trying to clear her mind.

The familiar dizziness, the gnawing sense of unease, the horrible damp feeling. He’d mixed something in. She felt it now, that feeling of being completely untethered to reality. The car lurched again, but this time, it wasn’t moving. She didn’t know if it was her body moving or if the world itself was moving her.

Her fingers fumbled across the screen, the letters on her phone stretching. She couldn’t focus. With a shaky breath, she found Molly’s contact and hit the message button. Valentine’s breath hitched as her heart thundered in her chest. The world outside the car seemed to pulse, matching her erratic breathing.

“Hey Come get me. Now. I’m off Freemont and idk. Here” She sighs deeply, sending Molly her location.

“Val? What’s up? You okay?”

“Something’s wrong. I’m so fucked”

“What do you mean, ‘something’s wrong’? Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“Shut up come here”

That’s when she found the note. After Molly came and got her, after her perilous panic filled acid trip. It was hidden under a dish towel on the kitchen counter scribbled in Judas’s scrawled and messy handwriting:

I know where you live. I’m in love with you, Valentine. When you find this, come to me.

What the fuck? She thought, reading the note in disbelief. Is he trying to fucking kill me? I could have crashed. He knew her schedule, her routines, and now where she lives. So, she found an apartment. Small, but big enough to fit her and Molly, affordable, in a neighborhood far from her old one. But she couldn’t let her guard down. Judas would come for her, she was sure of it. A crazed drug-addicted hopelessly in love with her? Why wouldn’t he try to find her?