Warning: Content may be disturbing. Reader's discretion is advised.

Day 6

I wake up to a pounding migraine.

My teeth grits as it throbs heavily against my right temple until it finally stops. The place is quiet today, and it's the first time I've woken up on my own without a person at my door or any sort of noise.

Instead of wearing my beat-up sneakers, I pad down the corridor barefoot. The hallway lights are still out the deeper I walk in, but today I don't feel threatened by it. I slowly walk down the brightly lit stairs until I reach the second floor.

The common area is empty, which strikes me odd.

Usually, people would be sleeping there since they're too scared to sleep in the rooms that have no light on.

I head back to the third floor in search for them when I hear a muffled but sharp sound followed by a thump that makes me pause. I look back down the stairs to locate the noise, but there's nothing.

I swallow, my feet hesitating to take another step. I hear the sound again and realize that it's coming from above me. My hand is poised on the third floor door, but I move past it and walk slowly up the two flights to the fourth floor.

The door opens silently, but I don't see anything. I slowly close it behind me, grateful that I'm barefoot. If I need to hide, it would be helpful.

The corridor is bright, but so quiet that I find myself looking back to make sure I'm not being followed.

"Stop moving," I hear a growl on the other side of the rounded corridor and freeze, hearing signs of struggle.

I walk slightly faster until I make the bend of the hallway and slowly inch my head to the side to get a look. My eyes widen at the sight.

Elijah is attempting to pin Brandon on the floor with a knife in his hand, but Brandon isn't letting up.

They turn to look at me and Brandon yells my name.

"Kiana, help me!"

"Don't listen to him," Elijah spits out. Brandon manages to disarm him, sending the knife clattering to the ground. "He has the virus!"

My pulse picks up, but my feet doesn't move.

"Kiana, get the knife!" Elijah yells. They continue to struggle, Brandon trying to get him off of him. "Hurry!"

"I don't have it, he's lying! He's trying to kill me!" Brandon yells through gritted teeth.

He finally pushes him off and climbs on top of him, raining punches to Elijah's face.

"Stop," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

My feet refuses to move, and I have no choice but to watch.

My body thrums with anxiety as I watch them fighting to get on top of one another.

I hesitate, unsure of what to do, who to believe. My friend or Elijah?

"Kiana!" Elijah yells. He reaches his hands up to grab Brandon's collar and tries to push his body sideways, finally succeeding and climbing on top of him. He fists his hand into Brandon's hair and slam it against the ground.

Brandon lets out a cry and his movements falter. "Help me," he growls desperately.

My feet finally moves, but Elijah has already taken the knife into his hand.

Brandon uses his strength to keep the knife at arm's length.

"Brandon's got the damn virus!" Elijah says breathlessly. "Pin his hands down for me."

Without thinking, I obey.

I pin Brandon's struggling hands over his head and ignore his cries. "Kiana, what the fuck? He's lying, he's trying to kill me! I don't have-"

Elijah brings the knife down into Brandon's chest, cutting his speech and making him gasp.

Elijah struggles to remove the knife.

When he finally does, I shut my eyes as the sharp sound of the knife cutting through skin fills the air again.

He stabs him again and again until the noise of the knife fades and the sounds of my rapid heartbeat takes place.

"I said you can let go of him now."

I open my eyes and look down to see Brandon's deep dark ones staring back at me, the pained and frightened expression still there.

Or maybe that's just me.

"You killed my friend," I say shakily. I look down at the multiple cuts through his chest, blood spurting from them.

"You helped me, so what's your point?" He stands up, wipes the knife on his jeans, and pushes back his brown curls with a blood-stained hand.

It's then that I realize the specks of blood all over me. I can feel them on my eyelids, my cheeks, my hands.

I stand up to my feet, my bare feet seeping into the pool of the sticky, red substance.

"You're shaking. Are you scared?" His eyes are quizzical as he regards me.

I nod my head frantically and he walks closer to me.

"Don't be," he says and juts the knife into my stomach.