Shit. Shit. Shit.
I slow enough to turn, calculating the exact distance between us. The man is maybe mid-thirties, wearing a Portland Rush hoodie. His hands are shoved in his pockets, a posture that’s supposed to read as harmless but makes my throat constrict. Where I’ve seen him before clicks into place: third booth from the door, always orders whiskey neat, tips exactly fifteen percent.
“Yes,” I say, my voice steady despite the thunder of my pulse.
He steps closer. The space between us shrinks, and with it, my options.
Run?
Scream?
Fight?
I hold my ground, though every instinct screamsretreat.
“You were closing tonight,” he says, like we share secrets.
“I was,” I reply, my keys digging into my palm.
Silence stretches between us like a tripwire.
He smiles, not mean, not threatening, but a little…entitled. Like I owe him this moment. “So, what, you don’t talk outside work?”
My mind races through scenarios.
Be nice,safer option?
Be cold,will that provoke him?
Scream,embarrass yourself if he’s harmless?
“I have somewhere I have to be,” I say, voice controlled while my thoughts fracture.
His smile falters, and for a sickening second I wonder if I’ve made the wrong choice. “Relax,” he says, hands up now. “Just being friendly.”
“Then be friendly from over there.” I nod toward the space he just crossed, hating how my voice nearly trembles
He laughs dismissively, which pisses me off. “Okay, okay,” he says, backing up a step. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I’m sure.”
My words taste like copper. We stare at each other for a beat and then he shrugs and turns away, muttering something under his breath I don’t quite catch but can perfectly imagine.
I wait until he’s halfway down the block before turning around, shame and relief battling for dominance in my chest.
And I keep walking.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
My shoulders stay straight.
My pace stays even.
And I don’t let myself look back again though I feel his eyes like a brand between my shoulder blades. By the time I reach my building, my hands feel numb. The key sticks in the lock for half a second before sliding in and then I’m slamming the door closed and locking it behind me. The deadbolt turned four times just to make sure it actually works, and the chain latched.
And then all the air leaves my lungs in a rush. My hands shake and I drop my keys into the bowl with a loud dramatic clatter.
“Jesus.”
