Mrs Cavanagh's voice cut through my thoughts. "He's a good lad, that one. He wasn't going to let anything happen to you. Made sure I knew to keep an eye out for you coming home, too."
I didn't know what to say to that.
My face must have given me away because her expression softened as she lowered her hand and stepped back, tugging her cardigan tighter around her. "You've been quiet around here, Rowan. But just because you keep to yourself doesn't mean we're blind. That man wasn't any good for you, and you don't have to deal with him on your own."
I blinked, still trying to process what she was saying. I'd never been close to any of my neighbours. They were mostly older folks, and I always kept my distance so they wouldn't find out I was gay. In my experience, that generation didn't look kindly on someone like me. But now here she was telling me that they all knew and that they'd been watching out for me.
I didn't expect that. I didn't expectanyof this.
Mrs Cavanagh reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. "Mr Hodges came around while you were out, by the way. Changed the locks himself. No way in hell that bastard's getting back in here. He's got a spare for you whenever you're ready to pick it up."
A small, shaky laugh escaped me as she handed me the key. I couldn't help it. Relief mingled with something else. Gratitude, maybe. I didn't know how to put it into words.
"You're stronger than you think, love," she said gently. "And you've got people who'll fight for you. You just need to let them."
My throat tightened. I couldn't find my voice, so I managed a small nod.
She held her arms out. "You alright for a hug?"
I hesitated, but then, before I could stop myself, I nodded again.
She pulled me into a warm embrace, and the dam I'd been holding back almost burst. I didn't cry, but I came close. Too close.
"Thanks," I whispered, my voice hoarse. I didn't trust myself to say any more.
She pulled back and flashed a kind smile. "You take care of yourself, Rowan. My door's always open."
With that, she shuffled back into her flat, leaving me momentarily shell-shocked in front of my door. Eventually, I unlocked it with the new key and pushed it open – then quickly stepped inside and shoved it closed again.
I leaned back against the door for a moment to let the quiet settle around me. Every part of me ached from the effort of climbing the stairs, but at least the pain was duller now. My gaze wandered around the space. It looked the same, but the air felt different. Heavier. Or maybe it was just me.
I spotted a folded piece of paper with my name scrawled in neat handwriting on the small table nearby. I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightly as I opened the note. It was from Mr Hodges.
Rowan, Mrs Cavanagh told me what happened. I've changed the locks and added a deadbolt. If that coward shows up again, don't hesitate to let me know. We'll get the police involved if we need to. Ring me if you need anything else.
I stared at the note for a long while. Mr Hodges knew. Mrs Cavanagh knew. And instead of prying or pushing, they simply stepped in to make sure I had what I needed.
The new deadbolt gleamed in the faint light, a small but powerful reminder that they had my back. They were willing to help in ways I hadn't even known to ask for.
It was overwhelming. I didn't expect any of them to care. I'd spent so much time thinking I had to handle everything on my own. Marcus made me believe that, too, in his own way. That I didn't deserve help, that I'd gotten myself into this mess, and no one would be there to pull me out of it.
But they were. And that thought was both comforting and terrifying.
I let out a shaky breath as I reached up to slip the deadbolt into place. It was a little surreal to know that other people had seen through the cracks and didn't recoil or turn away. I didn't know how to feel about that.
I shook off the thought and stepped further into the flat. Whatever mess Marcus left behind must’ve been cleaned up. Probably Mr Hodges's doing. Despite everything looking the same, the place felt cold. Empty. I made my way to the windowand peeked through the curtains to let some light filter in through the late afternoon haze.
As I stared at the street below, the weight of everything started to press down on me. The bruises on my skin, the ache in my ribs, the stitches in my face – they were all proof of what I let happen. Of what I let Marcus do to me. I could still hear his voice in my head as he twisted everything to sound so reasonable, all while he nudged me away from the few lifelines I had.
I knew I had to figure out what to do about him. As soon as he found out I was still alive, he'd be back. A clean break would be best, but I'd be damned if I had any clue how to manage that without setting him off again. Fear knotted in my stomach at the idea of confronting him.
I felt trapped. He'd already nearly beaten me to death. What else would he do?
When I turned away from the window, something caught my attention on the floor by the counter. A faint glint of ... something. I couldn't tell what. It would've been impossible for me to see if the light hadn't reflected off of it. I knelt down carefully, wincing at the pull in my ribs, and picked it up.
My broken glasses.
I barely recognised the snapped frame and shattered lens. The memory of that moment came rushing back. Marcus barging in, his fist connecting, the flash of pain, the disorienting blur as I went down. Everything had felt scattered.
