A garbage truck rumbles by, the smell impressively awful. So bad, it momentarily pulls me from my thoughts.
It doesn’t last. The voice chases me, distorting and twisting into something more bloodthirsty, the darkness wants more than me now. It wants to take Noah.
He’ll hurt you.
You’ve missed the signs before.
You’ll believe anyone if they say the right things.
I squeeze my eyes against it. A dog barks behind a fence, and I jump so hard I almost trip. Bile climbs up my throat. By the time I loop back toward Main, my legs are heavy, my breathing loud in my ears. I blow past the usual turn toward Main, letting my feet find another route, the one that winds away from town.
The pavement ends, and the ground softens under me. The trees crowd closer the farther I go, their shadows long and dark in the early light, and the air changes.
I run harder. My pulse hammers in my ears, but I welcome the burn in my legs. It feels like a punishment and escape all at once.
My breathing evens out, not because I’m calmer, but because my mind is strangely blank—like the thoughts that had been clawing at me have slipped just out of reach.
By the time the trail opens, the lake is stretched before me, still and silver under the pale sky.
I slow to a jog before stopping. It’s quiet here. Almost too quiet. Lifeless.
The willow leans over the water, its curtain of branches brushing the surface.
I stand there, letting the cool air sting my skin. The lake feels bigger than I remember, like it could swallow the whole sky.
A shiver runs down my spine, even though I’m sweating. I pull back a step, then another, until the tree line hides the water from view.
I turn back toward town, my throat even tighter than before, for reasons I can’t quite name.
When Evergreen comes into view, the lights in the apartment overhead are dark. Has he left or is he still asleep? Both options send an uneasy pang through me. I slow to a jog before stopping on the footpath. My body feels jittery with leftover adrenaline. Relief hits when I don’t see Noah around. The relief tastes like guilt.
Inside, I pause at the base of the narrow stairs. The silence presses heavily. For a second, I picture Noah at the top, waiting—angry. The thought is too jarring, though. I can’t truly imagine Noah angry with me.
I head to the stockroom instead, palms braced against the cool wood of the door. Breathe. Just go upstairs. Shower. Open the shop. Keep moving.
Everything will be okay.
You're safe.
I head up, toeing off my shoes in the hall, and head straight for the bathroom. The shower burns hot across my shoulders,leaving my skin flushed. I scrub hard, as though I can wash off the parts of me that are still caught in the darkness.
When I’m dressed again—clean T-shirt, soft sweater—I feel a little more myself. What version of myself? I don’t know.
I make the bed before leaving the apartment because order is something I can control. I need some semblance of control today before I shatter.
On the back of the door, a note waits in Noah’s messy scrawl:
Sick of me slowing you down? Missed you this morning – N x
The guilt is like a physical blow. He’s missing me while I’m running from him. I press the heel of my hand to my sternum, like I can keep the pain contained. Why do I have to be like this? Why did I kiss him?
I swallow hard.
I just need to keep busy.
Downstairs, there are new boxes of stock by the counter. I slice one open with my house key. Colorful spines gleam up at me—the new LGBTQ+ titles I ordered weeks ago. The sight of them steadies me. This is something I can do.
I sort them by category: YA queer joy, trans memoir, lesbian lit, spicy MM romances that I’ll pretend not to blush over when Abbie and Ciarán inevitably add one to our book club. That thought makes my mouth twitch despite my mood.
