He was watching
1730 Words
Reza
The bar swallows us whole the moment we step inside.
Sound hits first, music crashing through the room in heavy waves, bass vibrating through my chest like a second heartbeat. Coloured lights sweep across bodies packed tight together, smearing skin and glass and motion into something blurred and indistinct. The air is thick with alcohol, sweat, perfume, layered scents. Wolves and humans tangled together until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
Too much.
Good.
I want noise. I want chaos. I want enough stimulation that I don’t feel the bond humming beneath my skin like a live wire, tight and watchful and impossible to forget.
Stephanie whoops beside me and vanishes toward the dance floor almost immediately, already halfway lost to the crowd. Milly drags Carol toward the bar, laughing about something I don’t catch. Nancy lingers half a second longer, her gaze flicking to me, brief, unreadable, before she follows.
And suddenly I’m standing alone for just a fraction too long.
Starla lifts her head.
- Inside, she says. It’s louder here.
- I know, I say, and step forward before I can second-guess myself.
The crowd closes around me immediately. Someone brushes my arm. A laugh bursts too close to my ear. The press of bodies should feel overwhelming, suffocating.
Instead, it numbs.
We claim a high table near the edge of the dance floor. Drinks appear quickly, shots first, then something tall and bright and deceptively sweet, condensation already slick against the glass.
“To surviving Mondays,” Stephanie declares when she reappears, breathless and grinning.
“To bad decisions,” Milly adds, lifting her glass without hesitation.
“To new beginnings,” Carol finishes, smiling in that careful way she gets when she’s trying not to look at me too closely.
I hesitate only a second before lifting my glass.
The alcohol burns on the way down, sharp and immediate, searing a line of heat straight to my stomach. I welcome it. The sensation is grounding, real in a way thoughts aren’t.
One drink turns into two.
Then three.
The edge dulls. The ache beneath my ribs softens, retreating from sharp to distant. The room grows warmer, looser, like I’m floating just slightly out of sync with myself. Conversation blurs into fragments, laughter spiking and fading, half-heard comments, background noise I don’t have to engage with fully.
Starla withdraws, displeased.
I ignore her.
The dance floor comes next.
Stephanie doesn’t ask. She grabs my wrist without warning and yanks me into the crowd, her laughter swallowed instantly by the music. Bass pounds so hard it rattles my bones, vibrating through my feet and up my spine. Lights sweep low and fast, turning movement into instinct.
I let go.
I let rhythm take over where thought used to live. I spin. Laugh. Lift my arms. Someone bumps into me and apologizes with a grin. Another gaze lingers a second too long.
I don’t mind.
In fact, I welcome it.
Another drink presses into my hand. Then another. I don’t remember asking for either of them. The burn grows harsher, my stomach rolling slightly, but I push past it.
Distraction is the point.
The bond hums, not sharp, not demanding.
Aware.
I freeze for half a beat, the movement so brief no one around me notices.
Starla jolts awake. - He’s close.
- No, I murmur under my breath. He’s not.
But my chest tightens anyway.
The room feels heavier. Denser. Like the air itself shifted, thickened around me. I scan the crowd, pulse stuttering, eyes flicking from face to face.
Nothing.
I don’t see him.
But I feel him.
I down my drink too fast, coughing as it burns its way down. Stephany shouts something I don’t quite hear. I laugh anyway, the sound thin but convincing enough to pass.
A man steps closer, human, I think. Easy smile. Warm hands. Nothing dangerous about him. He says something lost in the music, his mouth close to my ear.
Normally, I’d pull away.
Tonight, I don’t.
I let him dance with me.
His hands settle at my waist, confident but not rough. He spins me, laughs when I stumble, steadies me again. His scent is wrong, flat, unremarkable, but that almost makes it easier. There’s no pull, no echo. Just presence.
Starla growls low.
- This isn’t him.
- I know.
I close my eyes and move with him, letting the press of bodies hide me. Letting the music drown out memory. Letting the bond stretch thin, not breaking, just quieting beneath the noise.
This isn’t forgetting.
It’s delaying.
Another drink appears. Then another. Time loosens its grip. My limbs feel lighter, my thoughts pleasantly slow, edges blurred just enough to be manageable. The ache dulls further, retreating into something distant and tolerable.
This is working, I think vaguely.
The man leans closer, his voice brushing my ear. “Want to get some air?”
For a heartbeat, I consider it.
Not because I want him.
But because I want out.
Space. Breath. Somewhere the noise can’t reach.
Then the bond snaps taut. Sharp enough to steal my breath.
Starla surges forward, furious.
A warning.
Possessive. Controlled only by distance and restraint.
My eyes fly open.
I don’t look right away. I know better. The bond flares insistently, dragging my attention outward, toward glass and darkness and streetlight.
My chest aches.
Anger flares hot and fast.
He doesn’t get to watch.
He doesn’t get to stand somewhere safe and witness this, witness me, after he walked away.
But my gaze betrays me anyway.
Through the wide front window of the bar, half-lit by streetlights..
Aaron.
He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, posture deceptively relaxed. He isn’t pacing. Isn’t moving.
He isn’t watching the street.
He’s watching me.
The bond explodes.
Starla howls.
- Mate.
The word crashes through me, unwanted and undeniable. Panic surges sharp and immediate, tangling with fury and something dangerously close to longing.
I recoil like I’ve been burned.
I shove the man away, harder than necessary. “Don’t touch me!”
His hands lift instantly, startled. “Hey..”
I don’t wait. I turn sharp on my heels and push through the crowd, breath coming too fast, pulse pounding in my ears. My reflection flashes in a mirrored wall, flushed cheeks, eyes too bright, lips parted like I’ve been running instead of dancing.
What is he doing here?
Why is he here?
In the bathroom, I grip the sink and splash cold water on my face, grounding myself in the shock of it. My hands tremble slightly as I brace myself against porcelain.
“This is stupid,” I whisper to my reflection. “You don’t owe him anything.”
Starla stays silent.
Listening.
Waiting.
When I step back into the bar, the music crashes into me again, but now it feels sharper. Less forgiving.
Where it was numbing before, now it’s abrasive.
I spot Stephany first, dancing with Milly near the edge of the floor, both of them laughing too loudly. Carol is nearby, drink in hand, talking animatedly to someone I don’t recognize. Nancy is harder to find, her presence isn’t loud, but I feel it somewhere at the edge of the room, watchful.
The man from before catches my eye.
He’s still here. Leaning against the bar now, casual and interested, eyes lighting up when he sees me. He smiles, lifts his glass slightly in invitation.
Starla bristles sharply. - No.
The bond hums beneath my skin, stretched tight and insistent, no longer content to be background noise.
I turn away from the dance floor, weaving through the crowd toward the table where we left our things. I grab my bag quickly, like someone might stop me if I hesitate too long.
Carol notices first.
“Hey,” she says, frowning slightly as I sling the strap over my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply too quickly. “I’m just.. gonna head out.”
Stephanie appears at her side, breathless and flushed from dancing. She studies my face, the line between her brows deepening. “Already?”
“I need air,” I say. Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Milly tilts her head. “You want one of us to come with you?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ll be fine. Promise.”
Starla huffs, unconvinced.
Nancy materializes beside the table, quiet as ever. Her eyes flick over me, my posture, my colour, the way my fingers curl too tightly around the strap of my bag.
“You sure?” she asks.
There’s no judgment in her tone. Just awareness.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I just want to go home.”
Nancy holds my gaze for a beat longer, like she’s weighing something. Then she nods once. “Text when you’re in.”
“I will.”
I don’t wait for goodbyes to stretch. I turn and push through the crowd, each step feeling more urgent than the last. The music fades behind me as I shove open the door, cool night air hitting my face like a slap.
I inhale deeply.
The street is quieter, lit by amber streetlights and the distant hum of traffic. My head spins slightly as the sudden calm settles over me, the alcohol making the world tilt just a fraction off-center.
I steady myself.
Starla presses close, tense.
- He’s still here.
- We’re leaving. I tell her.
I don’t look toward the car, toward Aaron.
Because if I do, I might stop. And stopping feels dangerous right now.
The pavement tilts beneath my feet as I step off the curb, the night stretching too wide, too quiet after the noise inside. My balance wavers, just enough to notice this time, and I hiss a breath through my teeth as I steady myself again.
Starla presses close, uneasy.
- You’re not steady.
“I am,” I tell her out loud, even though the world sways.
- Too fast, she warns. You shouldn’t..
“We just need to get home.”
I take another step. Then another. The distance between here and safety suddenly feels longer than it should.
I don’t slow down.
I don’t check for traffic.
And I don’t see him move.
But nonetheless, a shadow breaks away from his car across the street.
- Writer
