I lean back against the door, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor.
It wasn’t a big deal.
Nothing happened.
He didn’t touch me.
He didn’t threaten me.
He didn’t even raise his voice.
But my body doesn’t care about logic.
My chest rises and falls too fast, adrenaline buzzing under my skin like electricity with nowhere to go.
“You’re fine,” I tell the empty room, but my words soundflat. I press my palms against my thighs, trying to still the trembling. “Everything is fine.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and when I pull it out and glance down at the screen, my chest constricts all over again.
Shepherd
You make it home okay tonight?
It’s an innocent and simple text but my throat tightens reading it. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know and yet his timing makes something twist in my chest. I stare at the screen longer than necessary, confused that my first instinct is irritation.
Of course he’d check in.
Of course he’d be protective.
Of course he’d assume I need someone watching out for me.
But then regret washes over me when I realize I never texted him back when he wrote earlier.
He’s not overbearing.
He’s just showing he cares.
My thumbs move over the screen as I text him back.
Me
Yeah. I’m fine.
I type it then delete it because it feels like too much. It feels like an invitation. For what, I don’t know but I start again.
Me
Home.
That’s it. Just one word. It’s safe and neutral and guarded so I hit send before I can overthink it. The reply comes almost immediately.
Shepherd
Good. Sorry I missed the chance to walk you home.
There’s no follow-up. No push for info. No questions about my night or why I didn’t text him back earlier. And something about that makes my insides flutter in a way I don’t want to examine too closely. I set down my phone and exhale slowly, the shaking in my hands subsiding the longer I sit here.
The apartment is quiet now.
