Chapter 2
1796 Words
Mia arrived at exactly five, because Mia treated emotional crises like appointments.
She let herself in without knocking. “Before you speak,” she said, dropping her bag, “I need to know if we’re crying first or drinking first.”
Charlie, sprawled on the couch, lifted her head. “Dealer’s choice.”
Mia nodded gravely. “Multitask.”
They drank from mugs that said World’s Okayest Human and I Tried. They caught up and actually did cry a little—not about Joshua, but about being tired in ways sleep didn’t fix and about Mia’s on again, off again ‘friend with benefit’, Adrian. Adrian was a douche. Charlie knew it, Mia knew it. But now was not the time to remind her of that. Mia cried dramatically. Charlie cried like she was rationing it
By six, Mia clapped once. “Enough. Shower. We’re going out.”
“I hate outside,” Charlie said.
“You hate inside more.”
That felt unfairly accurate.
The shower helped until it didn’t. Steam filled the bathroom, fogged the mirror, blurred the edges of things.
Come out, little girl.
Charlie froze, hands braced on the tile.
“No,” she said, louder than she meant to. Her voice bounced strangely in the small space. “Not tonight.”
She shut off the water and dressed quickly—black jeans, a low-effort top, lipstick she rarely wore. If she was going to lie to the world, she might as well commit.
Mia whistled when she emerged. “Oh. We’re doing that.”
“Don’t comment. It might break the spell.”
The bar was louder than Charlie would’ve chosen, which made it perfect. Music thudded through her ribs. Lights smeared into warmth. No room to think.
First drink burned pleasantly. Second softened the edges. Third made her laugh too easily.
Mia danced immediately, like the floor had personally invited her. Charlie stayed at the bar, elbow sticky against the counter, watching people move like they belonged somewhere.
Another drink appeared. She didn’t remember ordering it, but she took it anyway.
“Pacing,” Mia shouted over the music, wagging a finger.
“I am,” Charlie shouted back. “Emotionally.”
She drank.
The mirror behind the bar caught her attention—not sharply, just a flicker. Her reflection looked flushed, eyes bright in a way that wasn’t happiness exactly. She raised her glass to it in a small, mocking toast.
See? she thought. I came out.
The words made something twist in her stomach.
Come out, little girl.
The voice was quieter here, threaded through the bass, almost playful.
Charlie laughed too loudly and drank again.
A man said something to her—compliment, question, invitation. She nodded, smiled, let him buy her another drink she didn’t need. Mia appeared, approved him briefly, then vanished back into the crowd.
Time blurred.
At some point, Charlie was dancing. Badly. Joyfully. The floor felt unsteady in a way she decided was charming. Her head buzzed, thoughts dissolving before they could finish forming.
This was better. This was working.
Then she caught her reflection again.
Not smaller this time. Just… wrong. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. For half a second, she didn’t recognize herself at all.
The voice slid in, intimate now.
There you are.
Charlie’s chest tightened. She swallowed, hard, and knocked back the rest of her drink.
“Not tonight,” she murmured, to the glass, to the mirror, to whatever part of her was listening.
Mia reappeared, breathless, hair wild. “Okay, captain,” she said, gripping Charlie’s arm. “You’re officially drunk.”
Charlie grinned. “Define drunk.”
“You just tried to apologize to a coat rack.”
“That rack had bad energy.”
Mia laughed, but her grip stayed firm. “Water. Now.”
Charlie let herself be steered, the world tilting pleasantly. The noise, the lights, the alcohol—all of it pressed the voice farther back, muffled and manageable.
For now.
As long as she didn’t stop moving.
Water helped less than Mia wanted it to.
Charlie sat on a high stool near the wall, feet swinging slightly, glass of ice sweating onto her fingers. The room tilted in slow, manageable waves. Mia hovered nearby, talking to the bartender like she was negotiating a peace treaty.
Charlie let her eyes drift.
That was when she noticed him.
He wasn’t at the bar. Not dancing. Not talking. He occupied the shadowed edge of the room like he’d been placed there deliberately, half-lit by a dying neon sign. Dark hair falling over his shoulders, unremarkable clothes, posture too still for someone drinking. He held his glass untouched. He looked out of place, too good to be in a place like this
And he was watching her.
Not in the open, appreciative way men usually did. No smile. No scanning. His gaze stayed on her like she was a fixed point in a shifting room.
Charlie’s first thought was Oh.
Her second was I am drunk.
She looked away, then back again, just to be sure.
Still there. Still watching.
Heat crept up her spine—part nerves, part something else. She tipped her glass back, swallowed melted ice, and laughed quietly at herself.
Get a grip, she thought. Everyone looks broody in bad lighting.
But when she glanced again, his head tilted slightly, as if he’d noticed her noticing.
Her stomach dipped.
Come out, little girl.
The voice brushed her ear like a breath.
Charlie flinched and turned sharply, heart hammering. No one stood close enough to have spoken. The music swallowed everything.
She laughed again, louder this time, and waved Mia over.
“Do you see him?” Charlie asked, leaning close.
Mia followed her gaze, squinted. “Tall. Dark. Intense eyebrows?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah,” Mia said. “He’s been there a while.”
Charlie blinked. “You didn’t tell me?”
“You looked like you were having a spiritual experience with tequila.”
Fair.
She looked back. The stranger’s gaze hadn’t moved. Not once. His expression wasn’t predatory. It wasn’t friendly either. It was… assessing. As if he were taking inventory rather than watching.
A strange pressure settled between her shoulder blades, the unmistakable feeling of being tracked.
“Okay,” Charlie muttered. “That’s new.”
Mia studied him more carefully. “Do you feel unsafe?”
Charlie checked in with herself. Her body buzzed—loose, heavy. Her pulse was fast, but steady. Almost expectant.
“No,” she said slowly. “Just… seen.”
Mia’s mouth tightened. “I don’t love that.”
The man shifted then, pushing off the wall. The movement was economical, controlled, like he’d already decided something. Charlie’s breath hitched as he crossed the room—not toward her, but past her, heading for the door.
As he passed, her skin prickled. Not from touch—he didn’t touch her—but from proximity, a sudden awareness that made her spine straighten without permission.
The scent reached her a second later. Clean. Cool. Not cologne. Something sharper, like rain on stone.
He didn’t look at her.
Which somehow felt worse.
“Okay,” Charlie said faintly. “I liked it better when he was staring.”
Mia snorted. “You’re drunk-drunk.”
But then the man stopped near the door and glanced back, just once.
The room seemed to narrow, sound dulling at the edges as his eyes locked on hers—steady, dark, intent in a way that made her breath catch.
There was no smile. Just recognition.
There you are.
The words weren’t spoken—but her body reacted as if they had been. A shiver slid down her spine, uninvited and precise.
Her hand tightened around her glass. Ice cracked.
Mia swore under her breath. “Do you know him?”
Charlie shook her head. “No. But I feel like… he does.”
That sobered her more than the moment should have.
The stranger turned and disappeared into the night.
Charlie sagged, a strange mix of relief and something dangerously close to loss settling in her chest.
Mia pulled her close. “Okay. We’re done here.”
“Wait,” Charlie said, surprising herself. “If he comes back—”
Mia gave her a look. “If he comes back, I talk to him.”
Charlie nodded, then laughed weakly. “Deal.”
But as they gathered their things, Charlie couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted—like a door she hadn’t known existed had opened and quietly locked behind her.
The night hadn’t ended with his exit.
It had started.
And somewhere beyond the bar’s warm, buzzing walls, someone had already decided she was worth waiting for.
They stepped out into the night, the door thudding shut behind them.
Cold air slapped Charlie’s cheeks, sharp enough to clear some of the fog from her head. The street glistened from an earlier rain, neon reflections trembling in the puddles like they couldn’t decide what they were. Somewhere down the block, a siren wailed and faded.
Mia looped an arm through Charlie’s. “Taxi. Now.”
“Mm.” Charlie let herself be steered, but her attention snagged on the dark between streetlights. Every shadow felt… occupied. Not watched—held, like the city itself had leaned closer.
She shook her head. Alcohol. Adrenaline. Imagination.
Still, her shoulders stayed tight.
They made it half a block before Charlie slowed.
Mia noticed instantly. “What.”
“I just—” Charlie frowned, searching her body for an answer. “Do you hear that?”
Mia paused. Listened. “Traffic? Drunk guy singing badly?”
“No.” Charlie tilted her head. The sound was faint, almost below hearing. A low vibration, more pressure than noise. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Then it stopped.
Her breath left her in a rush.
“Okay,” Mia said. “You’re officially cut off.”
Charlie huffed a laugh, but it came out thin. “Fair.”
A taxi pulled up at the curb, tires hissing. As they climbed in, Charlie glanced back down the street.
Nothing.
Still—she had the unsettling sense of having passed some kind of marker. Like stepping over a line she hadn’t seen drawn.
She slept badly.
Dreamed worse.
She was standing in the rain, barefoot on cold stone. The night pressed in close, thick with scent and shadow. She couldn’t see him, but she knew where he was—behind her, always just out of reach.
Waiting.
Not hunting.
Waiting was worse.
When she turned, the dream fractured. Dark eyes. Heat. A hand hovering just shy of her spine, never touching, never leaving.
Soon.
- Writer
