With nothing better to do for the day, I’ve spent all morning sitting in this fucking library again. It’s the fifth day this week that I have been sitting at this same table with the same flickering overhead light. It always has the same stink of old paper and mildew that clings to my clothes when I leave. But,I’ve scoured everything I can find, every piece of useless chatter and half-baked ghost story, but I haven't found anything solid.
Somehow, I’ve convinced myself the answers are buried here, somewhere in these rotting stacks that no one’s touched in years. I’ve even started collecting them, every tale and myth about the banshee. I've slipped pages into my bag, scribbled half-legible notes in the margins as though I’m some sort of a lunatic. I like to think that if I can piece them together, stitch the bones of these old stories into something real then maybe I’ll find something. Anything to set me free.
One of these lines must hold the truth. One of these mad poets or drunken storytellers must’ve brushed up against my world, even if they didn’t know it. I want to crack it open, find the thread. So, I keep reading. I keep turning pages until my eyes sting and my vision doubles. I keep telling myself the answer must be here, somewhere, waiting for me to dig it out.
I’m nearly thirty-three years old, and I honestly can’t tell if I’m aging anymore. Some mornings I catch my reflection in the mirror or a shop window, and I swear I look exactly the same as I did ten years ago. The same eyes, the same tired lines that never get any deeper. Other mornings, I think I see something else staring back. Something that doesn’t belong to me at all.
Am I stuck here forever? Just drifting between the living and the dead until the world forgets my name? Or will I just vanish one day, the way I appear for everyone else? I really haven’t got a clue. I’ve been shackled to this curse for over a decade now, and I still don’t know how long the debt runs, or if it ever ends. It’s funny, people think death is the scariest part but for me it's not knowing if this ever ends… that’s worse. Hopefully someday I’ll find answers.
Until then, I will keep doing what I do. Guide them across and try not to linger too long myself. Try not to forget what it means to be alive.
Exhausted and overwhelmed, I shove the books and old clippings back where I found them and pack up all my belongings into my backpack. As I head for the door, I hear light footsteps behind me. My breath catches in my throat, and I spin around so fast that my bag nearly slips off my shoulder. But there’s no one there. Just empty shelves and a flickering overhead light. Nothing but dust and silence staring back at me. What the fuck, am I hearing things now too? The paranoia is creeping in like damp under the door.
Every shadow feels as though it’s leaning closer. Every echo feels like it’s following. I swallow hard, my ears straining for the smallest sound of a shoe on the tile. My heartbeat thuds so loud it drowns out everything else. I force myself to keep moving. Quickly taking one step, then another. Is this what I’ve been reduced to?Me?A banshee who can stand beside the dying without blinking. Who’s now cowering at creaking floors and stray footsteps and jumping at her own shadow.
With a slight newfound determination, I tighten my grip on the strap of my bag and force my shoulders back. I’m nobody’s fool. And I won’t be anyone’s prey, not tonight. I give myself an inner scolding,Cop on for God’s sakeand shove the faint-hearted nonsense down deep where it belongs. There are no shadows or footsteps. Just my tired brain winding me up again.
Putting more pressure than necessary on the door, it creaks loudly as I push out of the library and into the cold air. I don’t dare look back as I head straight for the closest coffee shop. My pace quickens before I even realise it. The breeze wraps around my neck, slipping under my collar, and I swear for a heartbeat it almost feels as if there’s someone keeping pace just behind me. I tell myself it’s nothing. Just the wind… it’s all in my head. It’s… nothing.
Once Inside, I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve, forcing a steady breath through my lungs, like it might settle me. The familiar hum of chatter and hiss of machines do a half-decent job of drowning out the pounding in my chest.
Hesitant, I step up to the counter, pretending my voice isn’t trembling when I order a large caramel latte to go. I’m hoping a sweet comfort might plug the hole in my nerves. But, even as I wait, I can’t stop fidgeting. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, my fingers drumming on the strap of my bag. The walls feel too thin. The windows feel too wide. I hate how exposed I feel. How easy it’d be for anyone to watch me from the street. Nervously I drift back, and lean against the furthest wall, away from the glass and the door.
Two minutes later, the barista calls out my order. I move to grab the cup, eager to get the hell out of here but before my fingers even brush the cardboard, someone else’s hand closes around it.What the fuck?My anger snaps up, burning through the fear that’s been gnawing at me all night.
With my words loaded and ready to spit out, I whip my head around. The words die in my throat the second I see him.God help me. I freeze and stand as though I’m an eejit rooted to this spot, my mouth half open, the words forgotten.
His eyes hit me first. Memorising dark green, sharp as shattered emeralds. They're not just a colour, they’re a lure, a spell woven to pull me closer, with lashes so thick and long that any woman alive would sell her soul for. They lock on mine, unblinking, and I can’t look away even if I wanted to. I scan over his brown wavy hair, which falls just over his left eye like it’s teasing me, waiting for me to uncover what hides beneath it. My heart stutters in my chest, and I feel it physically skipping a beat. Everything in me shouts to move, speak,just do something.But, I just stand still, frozen, as if I’m some sort of dummy.
Then he smiles. It’s slow, deliberate, and I swear the air around us shifts, it’s as though the shadows I’ve been running from just stepped into the light and found a face. Still, neither of us says a word. We just stand there, locked into whatever this is, until the barista’s voice cuts through the moment calling out another order. Identical to mine. The stranger lets out a low chuckle, and the sound ripples through me like a live wire, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I hate how my stomach flips hearing it, seemingly delighted to betray me.
Slowly, he reaches out, his fingers brush my arm, so gentle it almost feels like a mistake.It’s not.The second his skin touches mine, a bolt of electricity shoots straight through me, catching my breath as my heart slams against my ribs and for one terrifying heartbeat I feel alive in a way I’ve never felt before.
Panic soon comes crashing in. The room tilts and spins around me, trapping me in a whirlwind. Sweat trickles down my spine and the air feels too thick,too full of him.I can’t breathe. I need to get out of this place.
Ashamed, I grab the latte from the serving table, my fingers trembling so hard I nearly dropped it. I can’t look at him again. I can’t bear to see what’s in those eyes if I do. So, I don’t say a word. I just turn on my heel and bolt, practically stumbling over myself as I shove through the door. The chilly air hits me like a slap to the face, urging me to look back… I don’t dare. Even though I can still feel his touch burning my skin.
Once I’ve put enough distance between me and that damned coffee shop, I finally stop. Gasping as if I’ve just outrun death itself. What the hell was that?Who was that?What in God’s name did he do to me?
In need of stability, I press my back to the nearest wall, feeling the rough brick bite through my coat. I need the solid weight of it to remind myself I’m still here, not just drifting in that charged space where his eyes pinned me in place. I drag in deep shaky breaths, trying to calm my traitorous heart but it hammers on anyway, laughing at me.
After a few minutes, when my lungs finally stop burning and the tremble in my hands fades. I push myself upright again and start the slow walk home. Embarrassment crawls up my throat with every step.Foighneach.(Pathetic.) I can’t believe how I acted. Who stands still like a statue while a stranger practically reaches inside their bones? Who runs away without so much as a word?
One foot, then the other. I keep my head down, watching my feet hit the pavement. Anything to keep from replaying those green eyes, and that chuckle that’s still lodged in my mind.
By the time my front door comes into view, shame is all I can taste. I slam the door hard behind me the second I step inside, the sound echoing through the quiet. For a moment I just stand, staring at the floor, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. I can’t, not really. So, I shove my boots off and head straight for my bedroom. I’m not in the mood for anything else. No half-hearted attempt to busy my hands. I just want to crawl into bed, curl myself up tight, and scrub that whole scene out of my head.
Awkwardly I sink down onto the edge of the mattress. The bed springs creak beneath me, loud in the stillness. My eyes wander, taking in the room that’s supposed to be mine. The soft, dusky grey walls I once loved for their calm now feel cold and distant. The décor I’d carefully chosen seems foreign, like it belongs to someone I used to be.
The light catches on the framed prints by the door, childhood pictures that once made me proud. Now they only remind me of how much time I’ve spent trying to make everything look fine.
As I turn my gaze away, I finally notice the cup still clutched in my hand. It’s probably lukewarm by now. The caramel latte I’d thought would fix everything remains untouched, the foam collapsing against the rim. All that fuss and panic and I haven't even taken a sip.
I stare at it for a long moment before setting it down on the nightstand, my fingers trembling just enough to make the cup rattle against the wood. What a joke.
With a pitiful feeling rising from my core, I rise from the bed and strip down until I'm standing in only my underwear. Sorrow seeps its way into my bones, so I let my body collapse back down onto the mattress. My mind is unable to cope any longer, I need to shut it off. My stomach twists when I close my eyes, not just from the embarrassment, but from the way my skin still tingles where he touched me. It’s as though some part of me is hungry for it all over again. I lightly trace the area with my fingers before remembering my awkwardness, so I avert my eyes back to the cup and curl onto my side, dragging the blanket over my shoulders. I squeeze my eyes together tightly and tell myself I’ll forget it by morning.Tá a fhios agam nach ndéanfaidh mé.(I know I won’t.)
Holy fuck that whole interaction was intense. Watching her freeze, seeing how every part of her wanted to bolt. God, it did something to me. The way she couldn’t get away fast enough, only to leave that spark behind. She felt it. I know she did.
