APRIL
The next morning brings dread, thick and heavy, especially at the thought of passing the bar on the way to the bus stop.
Walking that route feels impossible, so Aria gets pulled into the plan. Cab money comes from her pocket, no questions asked. The car arrives at eight, and even with the bar closed that early, fear refuses to loosen its grip. Every shadow looks like Joe waiting to jump out and grab me.
Last night’s trauma comes in waves. One moment everything feels normal, almost calm. Thoughts drift to coursework, deadlines, handing in assignments like nothing ever went wrong.
Then it hits without warning. A tight band wraps around my chest. The sky feels too low, pressing down until breathing becomes work. Legs suddenly feel unfamiliar, like the brain has forgotten how walking
