Rowan
22
The world looked normal from my window. Kids were out in little clusters, bundled against the chill in cheap plastic masks and oversized coats. Some of them had parents trailing behind with coffee cups, half-supervising and half-scrolling their phones. A few groups of older teens moved down the street with a more rowdy confidence.
Farther down, a trio of uni-aged kids stumbled around dressed as skeletons. All three were clearly sloshed and singing some nonsense I couldn't make out. Probably headed from one party to the next.
It was Halloween. The world had permission to wear masks and pretend things were fine. But for the first time in a while, I wasn’t pretending.
The past several weeks had been unexpectedly quiet. If Marcus knew I was still alive, he hadn't bothered to come looking. Maybe he decided it wasn't worth it. For once, it didn't hurt my feelings that someone didn't care enough to find me. Without that shadow hanging over me, my life almost started to feel normal again.
I was supposed to go back to school next week, and the idea didn't send me into a full spiral anymore. My stomach still twisted at the idea of being out by myself, but it was manageable now. I'd been going over lesson plans the past fewdays, even emailed the headteacher to let her know I was easing back into things and on track to return on time.
It almost felt strange to think that I'd be back in the classroom soon. But for the first time since the hospital, I wasn’t dragging myself through every hour of the day. I was starting to believe that I might actually be okay.
I stepped away from the window and wandered to the kitchen table where my laptop sat open. A few folders and papers sat nearby. Lesson plans, half-finished notes, the bones of something that resembled the structure I was accustomed to.
I sat down and stared at the blinking cursor on the screen. For a few minutes, I managed to type out some lines of material for my Year 11s. Something about the early Cold War, spheres of influence, maybe. Or the Berlin blockade. I couldn't focus long enough to tell the difference. The words blurred together and got lost as my thoughts circled elsewhere.
I hadn't expected Eli to stick around this long. I should've because he'd never abandoned me before when things got messy. But after everything Marcus had drilled into me and convinced me to put distance between us, I didn't think he'd stay this time. He had every reason to walk away.
But he did stay. He kept showing up every day, quiet and steady and unshakably patient. He made space when I needed space, stayed close when I couldn't hold it together. And he somehow knew when to switch between the two without me having to say a word.
And he hadn't exactly been subtle about certain things lately. I'd seen the lingering glances. Heard the way his voice softened when he talked me through my anxiety attacks. Felt the way his hand brushed against my back when we passed too close to each other in the kitchen.
He never said anything outright, but he didn't have to. I wasn't blind.
I just didn't know what to do with it.
Part of me still flinched at what these changes in his behaviour had to mean. Somehow, even after seeing me at my absolute worst, Eli still wanted to be near me. We'd spent more time together in the last six weeks than we had since we were teenagers. And not just coexisting and barely staying in touch but actuallybeingin each other's lives again.
I wasn't bracing for him to leave anymore. I'd stopped questioning whether his help came with strings. I didn't know what this was turning into, but it didn't quite scare me the way it used to.
Maybe I should just ask him.
Things were easier back when I knew exactly where I stood with him. Eli didn't see me that way before Marcus came into the picture, and I'd made peace with it. I could tiptoe around the edges of it and tuck the feelings away where they couldn't hurt anyone.
But now the lines were blurred. Now he was meeting me in the middle – and I didn't know if I should stay silent or finally say something.
Maybe he was waiting for me to be ready... And maybe I finally was.
My phone buzzed in the sitting room.
I didn't think anything of it at first. Probably just a work email or Eli checking in. I let it sit for a few minutes as I tried to keep my focus on a half-formed sentence on my laptop. The words didn't want to come together, though, and it didn't take long for me to give up.
With a sigh, I stood and made my way to the sofa. My phone sat where I'd left it balanced on the armrest, the notification light in the corner blinking on and off. I picked it up and tapped the screen.
One new text. The number wasn't saved in my contacts, and I didn't recognise it. Stupidly, I opened the app to read the message:Still alive, eh? You're a tough little cockroach.
It didn't compute at first. I just stared at the words, assuming it must be a spam text from someone with too much time on their hands looking to scare people on Halloween. Probably a kid who'd seen too many horror films.
Then my mind went somewhere darker.
I'd blocked Marcus weeks ago. I didn't want to risk seeing his name pop up while I was still sorting through the wreckage in my own head. But he could find a way around that. All he had to do was get a new number.
My hand went slack, and the phone slipped from my grip. It hit the floor with a dull thud as my legs gave out and I dropped onto the sofa.
My chest tightened, but I forced myself to breathe through it. I reminded myself it was just a prank, some arsehole bored on Halloween sending random texts to random numbers. The kind of thing people did for laughs. It could've come from literally anyone.
