Chapter Two
286 Words
Gracie hated the way bookstores made her feel.
Not because she didn’t love them—God, no. Books had always been her safe place, a world where heartbreak didn’t sting as much and men didn’t lie with pretty words.
But walking out with a bag full of new titles always reminded her of one thing. She preferred characters on a page to people in real life.
She adjusted the strap of her bag as she walked down Fulton Street, weaving around clusters of Friday-night noise. Couples laughed too loudly, men leaned against lampposts throwing out half-hearted catcalls, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. Typical Brooklyn soundtrack.
Gracie ignored it all. She’d mastered that skill years ago.
She walked fast, eyes forward, shoulders squared like she dared anyone to try her.
Most always expected her to shrink. Instead, she learned to sharpen herself.
Her phone buzzed.
A text from her best friend lit the screen.
Simone: Another night in?
Gracie: Yup!
Simone: You suck... you need d**k. from a REAL man.
Gracie: A real man? In THIS economy? Girl, please. I’ll take fictional boyfriends over disappointment any day.
Gracie snorted, shoving her phone back in her pocket, muttering under her breath, “At least the men in my books never cheat.”
Her sarcasm was armor, and she wore it well. It kept people laughing instead of looking too close. It kept her safe.
But safe didn’t mean unobserved.
That prickling sensation crawled down her spine again. The one she’d been feeling lately. Like eyes were on her when she crossed a street too slowly. Like shadows lingered a beat too long when she turned a corner. She shook it off, tugging her jacket tighter.
- Writer
