Fuck. Wrong key.
My vision blurs with panic. Behind me, the pounding footsteps grow louder.
I jam the key into the lock again. This time it slides in.
Come on, come on, come on!
I throw myself inside and slam the door shut behind me. I twist the deadbolt with frantic force before pressing my back against the door, chest heaving. My legs almost give out beneath me.
I count to five to slow my breathing down. My legs tremble, adrenaline still screaming through my veins. The familiar smell of dampness and musk settles into my lungs, letting me know I’m home. I’m safe. Except that only one of those statements feels true right now.
Slowly, I turn and look through my peephole. My hands shake as I hover over it. Part of me doesn’t want to look, but I force myself to peek through the tiny circle of glass anyway.
The figure is standing across the street. Perfectly still. Half-hidden in shadow, positioned just beyond the reach of the streetlight. They’re not moving, not walking, not… anything. Just standing there, facing my building.
Watching. Waiting
My stomach twists violently and cold creeps up my spine, settling between my shoulders. Because whoever they are… they weren’t trying to catch me. They were herding me. Making sure I ran exactly where they wanted me to. Right back to my apartment.
My chest tightens as the realization settles in—whoever is out there already knew where I live.
Thirty-Six
Kat
Anesthesia – Type O Negative
My wet boots slap against the worn hardwood floor of my apartment as I pace, the sound shattering the uneasy stillness. I check the lock for the third time in three minutes. Of course, it hasn’t changed, but I keep expecting it to somehow make me feel better.
I run my hands through my hair, tangled and limp from sweat. My pulse hammers and a lump begins to form in my throat, tears stinging behind my eyes. My apartment has always been my safe zone, but that zone is becoming smaller and smaller every day, like the walls and ceiling are closing in, inch by painful inch.
The smell of damp and musk would usually settle inside me, it’s not a pleasant smell, but it’s home. But tonight it just makes my stomach roll. Everything feels wrong. The same furniture sits where it always has, the mustard yellow blanket that enveloped Harper and me last night still resting on the arm of the couch where Freddie likes to sleep. I remember laughing, feeling normal. But now everything feels… tainted. The door behind me feels like a flimsy piece of wood instead of a barricade to the outside world.
I can’t bring myself to look through the peephole again, because to look will make it real. But I know I have to—I need to see if they’re still out there.
Whoever it is didn’t want to catch me, that much is obvious. I’m not a fast runner, I know that. They could have easily caught me… but they didn’t. They just wanted me to know that they could, and they were here. The thought curdles in my stomach like spoiled milk. If it’s really him, then this place isn’t safe anymore. And if my own home isn’t safe… where the fuck am I supposed to go?
I continue to pace, thinking of all the customers at The Ground that I served today. It could be anyone. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and someone followed me home. It happens all the time to people.
Stop being fucking delusional. You know who it is.
The possibility that he could find me one day has always been there, a permanent threat in the back of my head. But the reality still hits me, knocking the wind from my lungs and making my breath stutter. Iambeing delusional. There’s no one else it could be.
For months, I’ve let myself believe that distance meant safety. That the miles and a new city and a new life meant that the past couldn’t reach me. I built this fragile illusion and wrapped it around myself like armor. But tonight it shattered, leaving me flayed open and exposed in the worst possible way.
I slowly walk over to the front door, flinching at every creak of the floorboards. I take a deep, steadying breath, my lungs burning from emotion and the weight of everything. My fingers hesitate before moving to lift the peephole cover.
There’s no one there.
The street looks empty, just a stretch of wet pavement and the dull glow of the streetlight bleeding across it. The spot where the figure stood is nothing but a shadow now. I run to the bay window, peeping behind the curtains. But I see nothing. Just a normal street. I should feel relieved, but I don’t. My heart pounds in my chest, and my shoulders burn from the tension. My breath refuses to settle, instead filling my lungs to the point of burning, yet I feel as though I can’t catch a breath. I try to draw a long breath, but my chest locks up like something inside me has sealed shut. I try again—deeper this time—but it burns.
Focus, Kat. Breathe. Just—
My thoughts disperse, breaking apart before they can form properly. My chest spasms at the hollow breath. My hands shake, yet they feel completely detached from my body. I look at them as they move yet I can’t will them to stop. I try to organize my thoughts, but they don’t cooperate. They scatter like frightened birds in a storm.
A car passes by the front of the apartment. Too loud. Too close. I need—
No. Not that. Just breathe…
