My chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths that didn’t seem to bring any oxygen to my lungs.Why can’t I breathe?Black spots moved across my vision as I gasped, fingers clawing at my throat like I could physically pull air into my body.
Sour garbage filled my nostrils, and fear coated my tongue. My hands pressed against the rough asphalt, tiny stones digging into my palms as I tried to ground myself. Everything was too bright, too loud, too close.
“He found me. He actually found me,” I whispered to no one. My voice a ragged thread over my gasping breaths.
Panic rose like a tide, washing over logic, drowning rational thought. Leo was here in Goodwin Grove, in this building. He’d been in my workspace, touched my things, and left his calling cards where only I would recognize their significance. The violation of it, the absolute violation, sent another wave of dizziness crashing over me.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, trying to make myself smaller, invisible. How did he find me? I was so careful. No social media posts, no contact with mutual acquaintances, nothing that could lead him from Argentina to this specific town, this specific office.
Unless he had never lost me in the first place… The thought sent another wave of terror spiraling through me. Had he been tracking me all along? Watching me run from country to country, always one step behind, toying with me like a cat with a cornered mouse?
I was vaguely aware I was having a full-blown panic attack, something I hadn’t experienced since the night in Buenos Aires when I realized he’d been in my room while I slept. Knowing didn’t help me stop it, didn’t slow my racing heart, or ease the vice grip tightening around my lungs.
I closed my eyes; spots of color exploded behind my lids as I attempted to focus on anything but the paper crane I dropped on the ground.Just take one real breath.My fingers dug harder into the asphalt, pain providing a small anchor to reality.In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Fuck why won’t aircome?The world kept spinning, and all I could think was he found me, he was here, and there was nowhere left to run.
“Aven?” The voice cut through the fog of panic, deep and familiar, tinged with an urgency I’d never heard from Langston before.
Through tear-blurred vision, he approached, his frame blocking out the morning sun as he crouched beside me. Gone was the stiff, professional mask he’d worn since I arrived. Replaced with concern, brows drawn together as he took in my huddled form against the dumpster.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
I tried to answer, but my breath was still coming in short, painful gasps. All I could do to respond was shake my head. Hurt? Not physically, but the terror pulsing through me was like a tangible wound.
“Breathe with me. In through your nose… count of four… hold for seven… out through your mouth… count of eight,” Langston coached, his voice dropping lower and steadier. He didn’t touch me. Instinctively, he understood that might make things worse.
He demonstrated his broad chest rising and falling in a deliberate motion. Something about the steady presence of him helped me catch a single breath. Then another. The black spots at the edges of my vision began to recede.
“That’s it. You’re doing good, Trouble,” he encouraged, still maintaining the measured breathing.
The old nickname slipped out, seemingly without him realizing it. I noticed, and something about the single word, a reminder of who we were to each other before all this, helped anchor me more firmly in the present.
When I could finally speak, my voice came out raw and small. “He found me.”
Langston’s eyes narrowed slightly. His head tilted. “Who found you?”
I closed my eyes, shame washing over me as I realized how crazy I must have looked, having a breakdown by a dumpster over an origami figure. My words tumbled out anyway, the secret I’d been carrying since Buenos Aires.
“His name is Leo. I met him in Peru, early in my trip. He was a tour guide at this historical site in Lima. He was charming, multilingual, seemed so worldly and interesting. We had dinner, and then …” I swallowed hard as heat rose in my cheeks. “We spent the night together. It was a casual fling, you know? Or at least, that’s what I thought.”
Langston’s face remained neutral, giving nothing away, but his jaw tightened slightly.
“The next morning, he left an origami crane on my pillow like that one.” I gestured to the crane on the ground.
Langston eyed the crane.
“I thought it was sweet at first, but then they kept appearing. In my new room after I switched. In my backpack when I left it on a beach, and inside my passport when I crossed into Bolivia.”
Langston grabbed the bridge of his nose. “He was following you.”
I nodded, wrapping my arms tighter around my knees. “At first, I thought maybe it was a coincidence. The backpacker circuit follows similar paths, and people run into each other.”
“Did he ever threaten you directly?” Langston’s voice had a controlled quality I recognized from when he was angry, but he managed to contain it.
“Not with violence. However, the messages became more intense, calling me his destiny, saying we were meant to be together. In Buenos Aires, I woke up in the middle of the night and found a crane hanging from the ceiling fan above mybed. He’d been in my room while I was sleeping, Langston.” A shudder ran through me at the memory.
Langston’s breath hissed between his teeth.
“I literally ran to the airport that morning. Maxed out my credit card on the first flight I could get to Miami. I thought I’d lost him. I was so careful not to post on social media or have contact with anyone we both knew. Now he’s here and has been in this building.”
