Chapter 9: Eyes on Us
508 Words
Tia’s POV
---
The next morning, I didn’t tell him.
About the texts.
About the panic still clawing at my ribs.
About the way I spent the whole night staring at the ceiling, just listening to his heartbeat.
Instead, I put on my best face. A little mascara. A denim jacket over my favorite black dress. I smiled like it didn’t hurt to pretend.
“You look dangerous,” Micky said as we stepped out of the apartment. “In the best way.”
I smirked. “That’s the goal.”
He laced our fingers together, kissed the back of my hand, and led us down the street. We weren’t in a rush. It felt weird… peaceful. Like maybe last night really was just a ghost trying to get under my skin.
But ghosts don’t text you at 2 a.m.
And they definitely don’t follow you.
We ended up at this quiet little café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. Micky ordered black coffee and pancakes. I got a chai latte and fruit toast because my stomach couldn’t handle anything heavier.
“Talk to me,” he said, gently. “You’re zoning out again.”
I blinked. “Just thinking.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve said that three times since we left the apartment.”
I forced a smile. “Maybe I think too much.”
He didn’t believe me. But he didn’t push either.
And that? That scared me more. The way he loved me without needing every piece of me laid bare. Like he knew the mess was coming and still chose to hold it.
The food came. We ate. We laughed. For a moment, it felt normal.
Until I looked up—and saw him.
Across the street.
Standing by a bus stop.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
Just watching.
My stomach dropped.
Tall. Lean. Hoodie pulled low. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone.
I couldn’t see his face—but I didn’t need to.
I knew.
“Bathroom,” I said quickly, grabbing my purse and slipping out the side door before Micky could stand.
I ducked behind the café, heart racing, palms sweating. I pulled out my phone.
Unknown Number
> You look beautiful in that dress.
Smile for me, baby.
He can’t protect you forever.
I gasped. Covered my mouth. Nearly dropped the phone.
Then another message came through.
> Turn around.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
But I wanted to scream.
And when I heard footsteps behind me, I spun fast—ready to run—
“Micky?”
He stopped dead in front of me, confusion tightening his brows.
“Hey, hey,” he said, stepping closer. “You okay? You look pale as hell.”
I shook my head. Couldn’t speak.
He wrapped his arms around me without needing to know the reason. “Let’s go home.”
I nodded into his chest, tears burning behind my eyes.
Because he was right.
We needed to go home.
Before he decided to come any closer.
- Writer
