* * *
My shift ends at five.I grab my jacket, say goodbye to Ciara, and head out into the cool Dublin evening.
The street's busy with people heading home from work, couples meeting for drinks—the usual Friday chaos.
But I can't settle.I can't shake the crawling awareness that someone's watching.
I start walking.Fast.Head down, bag clutched tight.
And right there, across the street.A figure.Just standing there.
My heart stops.
Is that him?Declan?The build looks right.The height.The way he's standing.
I walk faster.
The figure doesn't move.Just watches me.
Or maybe I'm imagining it.Maybe it's just someone waiting for the bus or checking their phone or just going about their day.
I turn the corner, nearly running now.My breath comes in sharp gasps, hands shaking, vision narrowing.
I risk a glance back.The figure's gone.
Or was it ever there?
I don't know.I can't tell what's real and what's paranoia.
By the time I reach my building, I'm shaking so badly I can barely get my keys out.I drop them once, twice, then finally manage to unlock the door and stumble inside the main entrance and run up the stairs, my breathing hard as I take the stairs two at a time.I reach my apartment on the third floor, thankfully, managing to open the door without fumbling my keys this time.
I rush into my apartment, slam the door shut, lock it, chain it.Check them twice.
Then I slide down to the floor, back against the door, and let myself break.
Not crying.Just shaking, gasping, trying to breathe through the panic threatening to drown me.
Declan's out there.Watching.Waiting.
And I don't know how much longer I can do this alone.
I don't know if I can keep Warren safe.Keep Mam safe.Keep myself safe.
I don't know if I'm strong enough.
The flat's quiet around me.Warren's at the dining room table doing homework.Mam's cooking dinner.I can smell it from here.Normal domestic sounds.
But nothing feels normal.
Everything feels fragile.Temporary.Like it could shatter at any moment.
Like Declan could take it all away with one move.
I press my hands against my face, trying to hold myself together.
I need help.I know I need help.
But asking for it means admitting I'm not okay.It means letting someone in.It means risking them getting hurt because of me.
