Saturday morning arrived quietly, but Annie did not.
The sun from the east filtered through the blinds in thin golden lines, slicing across the bedroom wall, touching the edge of her pillow, warming a body that had not slept. Annie lay on her back, her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as if answers were written there.
Sasha was still around and asleep in the bed at the far end of her one room self con. She could hear the faint rhythm of her breathing through the half-open door. Safe, calm and unaware.
Annie envied her peace and calmness. She wished she had that kind of peace. She simply sighed.
By evening, Sasha left because she had an emergency to attend to. Annie had closed the windows twice before bed. She had checked the locks three times. Walked from her room to her kitchen, then to the bathroom room and toilet like a restless guard in her own apartment. And still, when she finally lay down, the image returned.
The man in black hoodie, his stillness and the way it didn't move. It wasn't the darkness or his hooded looks that unsettled her. It was the familiarity.
She turned her head toward the window now. The curtains shifted slightly from the air vent. Nothing outside there was neither a shadow, nor a figure.
Her chest still tightened anyway.
Her mind drifted where she did not want it to go. A memory from her past
*** *** ***
Roman Pierce— her ex, had not always been cruel, and hat was the worst part.
At first, he was charming, magnetic, and confident. He was intense in a way that made her feel chosen. Like she was the only woman in a crowded room he could see. He remembered small things. Things like the way she liked her coffee, the songs she hummed absentmindedly. The exact shade of blue she once said made her feel calm.
He had studied her.
And she mistook that for love.
He liked holding her hand in public. Not gently. Firmly. Fingers locked tight, almost possessive. At the time, she told herself it meant protection.
"You're mine," he used to whisper with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Mine! He had always repeated. And that constantly rang in her ears.
At first, the word used to flutter in her chest. Until it started to suffocate.
It was subtle at first. He made a comment about her dress being "too inviting." He questioned her about why she laughed so freely with male colleagues. He also made a suggestion that maybe Sasha wasn't a good influence.
"You don't need all those people," he would say softly but firmly. "You have me."
And she believed him.
The first time he grabbed her wrist too tightly, it was during an argument about something literally small. She couldn't even remember what happened exactly. She only remembered the sting.
"You're overreacting," he had said when she pulled away.
He apologized afterward. He always apologized. Flowers. Kisses on her knuckles. Promises of change.
And she always forgave.
Because love was supposed to be passionate, intense, unpredictable.
Right?
It escalated slowly, like a bruise forming beneath the skin.
One night, she told him she was tired. Just tired. Work had drained her to the core. Her body felt weary and heavy.
He laughed like what she said meant nothing.
"Don't act shy now," he murmured, pushing her gently, not enough to seem violent, but just enough to overpower hesitation.
When she winced, he paused.
Then smirked.
"You like it," he said quietly. "Stop pretending." he said not minding her facial expressions.
She'd almost screamed from his violent thrust, but she held her guard and just gave in helplessly. He was supposed to be her safe space when her body was weak but she was more or less like a tool.
She remembered also staring at the ceiling that night too, tears dropping effortlessly but slowly. She'd dared not complain to Roman, hence he beats the living daylight out of her..
Just like now, she's still staring at the ceiling...Only back then, she had felt smaller.
She never told anyone.
Not Sasha.
Not anyone.
Because admitting it would mean admitting she stayed, that she mistook obsession for devotion.
That she allowed herself to shrink. Sasha had seen her with bruises sometimes, mostly on her face, and everytime she cared to ask she would lie all the way up for him.
She finally broke free and the last time she saw him, his voice had been low, almost calm.
"You think you can just leave?" he had asked.
His eyes weren't angry, just certain.
"You're mine, Annie. Don't forget that."
*** *** *** ***
She sat up abruptly.
Her skin felt colder than usual. Her breathing was shallow.
The hoodie...
The posture...
The stillness...
It had felt like him.
"No!"
She pressed her palms into her eyes.
It couldn't be.
Her phone rang, slicing through the silence.
She flinched before grabbing it.
Sasha.
"Good morning, trauma queen," Sasha's voice came through, bright and unapologetic. "You alive?"
Annie swallowed. "Barely."
"You need air, a maybe some alcohol. We're going out tonight." she said, not expecting her to turn down her offer.
"No—"
"Yes," Sasha cut in. "One or two shots. A clubhouse, music... Meet people. You need to stop staring at walls like a haunted Victorian child."
Despite herself, Annie let out a weak laugh.
Maybe Sasha was right. Maybe she needed noise loud enough to drown and loose her memory.
"Fine," she said quietly.
*** *** *** *** *** ****
By evening, the city hummed with weekend energy. Everywhere was expectedly buzzing.
Annie stood before her mirror longer than usual.
She chose her outfit carefully. Not something soft, not something fragile.
It was a fitted black dress that hugged her waist, a small love shaped tearing at the back revealing her fresh skin. The gown stopped close to her knees. The gown brought out her structured shoulders. She then paired it with a sleek heels that made her stand taller. Her makeup was controlled, sharp liner, muted lips.
When she stepped into the clubhouse, the bass vibrated through her chest. Lights pulsed blue and violet. Laughter bounced off polished surfaces. The air smelled like expensive perfume and ambition.
For a moment, she felt almost normal.
Sasha was already at the bar, waving dramatically.
"There she is!" Sasha grinned. "The woman of mystery."
They ordered drinks. The first shot burned. The second softened the edges of the day.
Annie was just beginning to feel steady when a familiar voice slipped in beside her.
"Well," Mr. Leighton said smoothly, "this is a pleasant surprise."
Annie turned and almost frozed
He looked different outside the office. Less corporate. More dangerous. His shirt sleeves were rolled slightly, exposing strong forearms. No tie. Just confidence. And yes he was attractive.
"Mr. Leighton," she said, surprised.
"Call me Leighton," he corrected, smiling. "We're off the clock."
Sasha's eyes flicked between them, assessing him stylishly.
"What brings you here?" Annie asked.
He shrugged. "I enjoy places where beautiful things gather... beautiful things like you."
His words made her heart skip.
His gaze lingered on her.
Too long.
Heat crept up her neck, unwanted.
He bought them another round. He stood close enough that she could feel his cologne. When guiding her through the crowd, his hand rested lightly on the small of her back.
Not inappropriate.
But intentional.
"You clean up well," he murmured near her ear.
She stepped slightly away.
Across the dance floor...
She froze as she sees something.
There he was...
Through flickering lights and shifting bodies.
A figure standing still.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Familiar posture.
Adrian.
Her breath caught.
He wasn't dancing. Wasn't smiling.
Just watching. A girl stood close to him, dancing seductively. Her appearance was almost nude. She let her eyes off and focused on him
The music seemed to dull in her ears.
Their eyes almost met...
A group of people moved between them.
The lights flashed.
And he was gone.
She scanned the room.
Nothing.
Her heart pounded harder than the bass.
Was it him?
Why didn't he come over?
Why hadn't he been at work?
"Annie?" Leighton's voice pulled her back.
She forced a smile.
"I'm fine."
But she wasn't. When they finally left, the night air felt cooler than expected.
Sasha chatted beside her, oblivious.
Annie slowed as they approached her car. She looked at her car and something felt off.
She stopped.
The driver's door was slightly ajar, not open wide.
Just enough.
Her stomach dropped. She knew she locked it. She always locked it.
Sasha noticed her stillness. "What?"
Annie didn't answer. The world narrowed. The streetlight flickered above them.
And for a split second—
Across the lot.
Near the far end.
She thought she saw the outline of a black hoodie.
Standing.
Watching.
Then a car passed.
And it was gone.
Sasha was watching her closely wondering what went amiss. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She had escaped him once.
But what if he had never left her?