I let out a shaky laugh. My chest is still tight, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to crush me anymore.
Me:I’ll try the breathing.
Abbie:Good. Text us if you need to.
Ciarán:And if you don’t, I’ll assume you’re picturing Noah naked and leave you to it.
I shake my head, smiling. I set my phone aside and drag in a slow breath. Down the hall, I hear Noah shift—maybe turning over, maybe just settling. The sound causes my nerves to flare again.
I turn off the lights and head into the hall to lock the door. There’s the soft click of the deadbolt—once, twice, three times. I head for my own room. My legs feel weighed down, like every step takes effort, but I make it. I crawl under the covers still dressed, tug them up to my chin, and lie there staring at the ceiling.
I need to wash my face and brush my teeth, but I can’t move. A heavy feeling settles over me, it presses down, and dread fills me. No matter how hard I try to shake it off, it clings to me. My eyes sting. I feel disgusting. I want to get up, but I can’t go back out there.
Someone else is here.
I pick up my phone and leave the chat open, staring at it, letting their affection fill the silence. Eventually, I turn my phone screen-down on the side table and pull the blanket tighter.
Someone else is here.
The scar on my cheek itches. But I fight the urge to touch it. I fight the tears that want to come.
I fight the inky shadows of my mind. The dread lingers, whispers words in my mind, dark and cruel.
You’re not safe. You’ll never be safe.
I don’t cry. But it’s a near thing.
Someone else is here.
I wish I had a lock on my bedroom door.
The morning air is cool and a little damp. It clings to my skin and makes me feel more awake than I am. I tossed and turned all night, but thankfully, no nightmares came for me. My breath comes in steady bursts as I round the corner at the end of the block, sneakers hitting the pavement in a familiar rhythm.
Most mornings I keep to town. It’s easier to stay close, to let the familiar sights tether me. But today, with someone in my space—someone outside the small circle I can stand to let in—every sound of him settling last night felt too loud. I need space.
So instead of turning toward Main, I veer off for the trees.
The road thins, gravel giving way to dirt, and the forest rises around me. The air is cooler, carrying a sharp bite. Each stride is swallowed by the ground, and I lean into the ache in my calves, the ache in my lungs. Pain is easier to carry than my thoughts.
I wish I could be whole.
I wish I could be different.
I wish I could stop being like this.
The trail dips and opens to the water. I slow, chest heaving, sweat running down my temples. My shirt clings to my back.
The lake spreads out, pale and wide, the surface smooth as glass. After the storm earlier in the week, it settled into something clearer, deeper—a dark blue, still after the rain. I stand at the edge, catching my breath, and the sight of it eases something in me. My chest loosens, the constant buzz of nerves quieting for a moment. The calm reaches me in a way nothing else has.
I’m okay. That’s what I keep telling myself. I’m here. Sweat cooling on my skin. Not trapped. Still moving. I’m safe.
My eyes catch on the ripple of light across the surface, making it a brighter blue. The air feels different now—charged somehow. I blink, and suddenly my sneakers are at the edge, toes nudging against the water’s skin.
I don’t remember stepping forward. I jump back. There’s a strange rush in my chest—confusion laced with a flicker of unease. I step back further and shake it off, grounding myself in the dirt beneath my feet. Everything’s okay. Just me. Just the water.
The breeze shifts across the water, breaking the reflection into fragments. I force myself back again, turning toward the trees, but my pulse hasn’t really steadied. The calm I thought I’d found has evaporated, leaving something raw in its place.
As I come down the street toward the shop, I slow to a jog, then a walk, arms hanging loose at my sides. I unlock thefront door, the scent rising to meet me like a balm—paper and lavender disinfectant. My space. I make my way to the stairs.
