Frustrated, I rake a hand through my hair and sigh through my teeth. There’s no sign she’s coming back soon and I have no fucking clue where she’s vanished to in that black fog of hers.I take a deep breath, fighting the ache and the pull inside my chest. It’s like claws hooked into my ribs, tearing at me with a hunger that won’t be quiet until she’s back where she belongs,with me.
In need of some sort of reprieve, I reach for the nearest book on her cluttered table. A battered spine and pages marked with her thumbprints. Anything to drown out the image of her mouth, the sound of that soft moan. I’ll be a nervous wreck otherwise.
So, I read the words, losing myself in her scent clinging to the worn pages and wait.
A silent darkness presses in on me, thick enough to choke on. I must have fallen asleep reading. I force myself upright on the sofa, my joints cracking from the odd angle I’d curled into, as if my body refused to fully rest without her here. Has Croía returned? The thought jolts my pulse awake, hot and frantic. I rise up and stalk through her empty house as though I’m a ghost haunting someone else’s life. There’s nothing, no trace of her.
A glance at my phone tells me I was out for five hours. Five hours dead to the world while she stayed gone, vanished for more than eight. Is that normal for her? The question needles at my brain as I pace the floorboards. I have a shift at the hospital soon, but my feet won’t carry me to the door, they’re rooted here, waiting for her.
Leaving without knowing if she’s all right, feels as if I’m tearing out my own ribcage. I know I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting like a dog at the door. Then a desperate thought strikes me, shameful in its practicality. A camera. One of those tiny spy cams they hide in clocks or plants. I could set it up in the living room,not the bedroom, I’m not a monster. I just need to see that she’s come home safe.
The idea settles as if it’s poison in my gut. The worst part is… it feels like relief.
Not having a key, I leave her door on the latch and wedge a scrap of paper in it to keep it from swinging open while I’m gone. I move fast, my steps echoing down the empty street as I make my way to the small store on the edge of town. It’s only a five-minute walk, I saw one of those tiny cameras there last week, tuckedbehind the counter as though it was some cheap secret.Guím go bhfuil sé fós ann.(I pray it’s still there.)
Regret coils in my gut like barbed wire as I stand at the till, the camera cold and weighty in my hand. The old man behind the counter hasn’t shut up since I walked in, his nosy questions drilling into my skull, scraping at my nerves. I just want to get out, but he won’t stop. He keeps pushing, asking what I’m planning to do with it, and why I need it. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve forced a polite smile and told him it’s none of his business. I’ll lose my mind in a moment if he doesn’t shut his face.
In the end I spit out some lies about a thieving flat mate and wanting to catch him raiding my fridge. He nods as if he bought it, but the suspicion never leaves his eyes. I know what I must look like. A man standing in a corner store at dawn, buying a spy camera with shaking hands.
By the time I step back into the grey morning air, I feel raw, as though my skin has been peeled back. Clutching the bag tight, I head straight back to Croía’s. I tell myself it’s just to make sure she’s safe. That’s all. Just to make sure.
However, the truth itches at the base of my skull. I need to see her. Even if she doesn’t see me.
My shift starts soon, so I have to be quick. I shove the door open and rush inside, not bothering to close it fully behind me. With hands trembling, I tear open the box and skim through the instructions, the words swimming in front of my eyes.
The camera clicks softly in my grip as I switch it on and test the feed. It works. Good. I place it carefully on the coffee table, wedging it between the half-melted candles in the centre. Hidden in plain sight. It’s motion sensored and synced to my phone, with the app open and ready. It will ping me the second Croía walks through that door.
High in doubt, I stand frozen for a second, staring at the tiny black lens staring back at me. A cold sensation settles in my gut. I push it down. This is for her own good, I remind myself. This is to make sure she’s safe.
The unease lingers as I force myself to the door. I hesitate with my hand on the handle, my ears straining for any sign that she’s back. Still, the house remains silent.
Click, I shut the door. One last check of the app before I finally pull myself away. I take a deep breath and shove my phone back into my pocket. As I walk away, I can’t shake the crawling feeling under my skin, that tiny, desperate part of me that wishes I’d just stayed.
What does he want from me? If this big bull-looking fucker thinks he can scare me, he’s sorely mistaken. I’m not some trembling lamb he can herd into obedience. The sooner he learns that the better. Whatever this kidnapping is for, I won’t make it easy on him.
Under false pretense I’ll let him think he’s broken me, that I’ve stopped fighting. I step back from the cold metal bars and sink slowly to the floor, folding my arms tight across my chest. Lifting my chin just enough to show I’m not bowing my head for him.
As the silence stretches, I let my eyes roam. The room is small, carved from rough dark stone that breathes cold into the air. Dampness clings to the walls, and a faint echo hums with every drip of water somewhere unseen. There’s almost nothing here, an old red chair abandoned in the corner, a dark wooden sideboard sits beside it, sagging beneath its own weight, its legs bowed like it’s ready to give up.
My mind drifts, not to this horned brute, but back to hours ago. To him;my stalker. His eyes, watching me in the dark. The feel of his mouth on mine, the taste of him still clinging to my lips.Ba é Bach rud nach raibh a fhios agam bhí ag teastáil uaim.(It was everything I didn’t know I needed.)
A sigh slips out, unbidden. I close my eyes and let myself slip under the memory, safe in its danger. Wishing I could pull it over me like a blanket. I wish he were here instead of this monster.
A sharp throat-clear jolts me back to this miserable hole. I open my eyes to see the big bull standing, glaring down at me with a face so confused he might as well be trying to read his own name for the first time. I stare right back, my eyebrows up, all challenge.
“What do you want, you red-faced ugly fucker?” I spit, every word dripping with contempt.
His nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing into black slits around those flaming pupils. “Who are you to talk to me like that?” he snarls, his voice trembling with a barely checked rage.
“Who are you to kidnap me?” I shoot back, heat rising in my chest.
He puffs his chest so wide it looks like it might crack open. “Your worst nightmare!” he bellows, like it’s some grand title I should tremble at.
“Oh, please,” I scoff, rolling my eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You?” I can’t help it and laughter bursts out of me, raw, loud enough to bounce off the stone walls. Tears sting the corners of my eyes at how ridiculous he looks, standing like a bull who just realized the gate’s locked from the inside.
Red face doesn’t share the joke. He glares at me as if he just sucked a lemon dry.
“You should be!” he shouts, his voice cracking with fury, the flame in his eyes burning hotter.
