Not that it mattered.
When the fog came, not even a witness felt like a threat.
I held my breath as I darted out of the restaurant— the only thing that gave me a semblance of control anymore. All I was trying to do was protect her from another mistake, protect her from another fuck up like me. This thing assured me that I’d saved her from someone who was just going to use her, but as I pressed my back against the cool brick, relief wouldn’t come. It never came. All that I was left with was the decay— a scent not even her perfume would drown out.
The fog took another few moments to clear. I waited patiently in the alley for Tom Riley to rush out of the restaurant, rushing to his car as he grabbed at his throat. Then, I waited another two minutes before I dared to move from the dark. Men like Tom would be too proud to ever admit anything happened, but still, I ditched my sunglasses and black sweatshirt in the café’s trash. All that was left was to get back to my car before the guilt found its way into my hollowed chest, before this entire reality came crashing down around me. My body stuck close to the wall, eyes set on the bakery across the street that I’d come from. By the time the sickness returned, I hardly knew what I was looking at. By the time the sickness returned, I hardly knew how to stop it.
If I followed Omar’s advice, the advice of a friend, I would have taken the vacant seat in front of her. I would have done exactly what I came here to do. I would have dug my fingers into her pretty little thighs, would have whispered another venomous threat into her ear, and I would have guaranteed the safety I’d been living in for six years. If I listened to the pathetic twisting of my stomach, I would have reminded her of the boy that she couldn’t get out of her head. When I finally caught sight of her through the store window, caught sight of the way her face twisted as Tristan sat next to her, I was reminded why none of those options would ever be the right ones.
Birdie turned me into something awful.
She brought out the pieces I couldn’t stand— the ones that wanted to tear everything apart.
This thing snarled for respect, for peace, but before my teeth could sink into flesh, her voice pinned me in place. The scrape of her chair, the polite snap I wished I’d never have to hear.
“I’m going home.”
Tristan’s scoff tightened my chest. “Bridget, I didn’t mean anything by—”
“You need to give me time.”
“Bridget.” When her voice wouldn’t come, I heard Tristan’s chair scrape along the cobblestone. “Bridget.”
The click of her heels pressed my back against the brick of the old shop. Though, as she marched along the sidewalk, I didn’t think that would matter. Birdie walked close enough that I could reach out and touch her. She walked close enough that her perfume could fill my head, could drive out the memories that kept me awake. Hurried steps brought a collapse to my chest, and for a moment, I wondered if she felt it just as much as I did. For a moment, I wondered if that tug still lived inside of her. The woman paused for only a moment, to search her purse for her keys. In a single glance over her shoulder, I was certain all she’d see was the boy she left on the patio and a stranger checking his phone.
She must have, because if she had seen me, this entire thing would have been over. If she had seen me, I’d never be allowed to follow her again. I would have to give up the nights spent outside her window, listening to her gentle snores in the summer air. I’d have to give up the time I spent at her house, fixing that fucking faucet when it wouldn’t stop leaking.
But I wouldn’t give it up, would I?
Because she didn’t see me.
She never sees me. Not anymore.