The afternoon shift passes in a blur.Customers come and go.I pour pints, make small talk, and smile when I'm supposed to.
But inside I'm barely holding together.
Every time the door opens, my heart stops.Every man who approaches the bar makes my pulse spike.And there's this constant awareness that makes every sound too loud, every movement too sharp.
Around two, a man orders whiskey.Middle-aged, graying hair, unremarkable face.He sits at the bar, drinks slowly, and doesn't cause trouble.
But he's wearing aftershave.Something familiar.
Declan's aftershave.
The smell hits me like a physical blow.Suddenly, I'm not in the pub anymore.I'm in our old flat, Declan looming over me, that smell choking me, his voice low and dangerous…
"Enya?"
I blink.Ciara's staring at me, concerned."You alright?"
"Yeah.Sorry.Just spaced out for a second."
"You sure?You've gone really pale."
"I'm fine."
But I'm not fine.My hands are shaking badly now, heart racing, breath coming too fast.
I need to move.I need to get away from that smell before I lose it completely.
"I'm just gonna grab something from the back," I say, already moving.
Ciara calls after me but I don't stop.I push through to the storage room, close the door, and lean against it.
Breathe.Just breathe.
Five things I can see.Four things I can touch.Three things I can hear.
The grounding technique the therapist taught me.It works—usually.But today, my brain won't cooperate.It just keeps replaying memories I've spent three years trying to bury.
Declan's voice.His hands.The way he'd smile right before he lost his temper.
I pull out my phone and scroll to Warren's photos.This helps more; seeing his face, his gap-toothed smile, the reminder of why I left.Why I stay strong.
For him.Always for him.
I check my messages.Nothing new from blocked numbers.No texts from Declan.
The silence should comfort me.
Instead, it makes everything worse.
Because silence means he's planning something.Watching.Waiting for the right moment.
And I have no idea when that moment will come.
I compose myself enough to go back out.Ciara gives me a worried look but doesn't ask questions.
The afternoon rush starts.More customers.More noise.More doors opening and closing.
And then I hear his voice.
