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Chapter 8: Someone Was Watching
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2026-03-13 16:10:54The streetlights flicker, half-awake—just like me. Shadows stretch across the pavement, pulsing in rhythm with my thundering heartbeat. My backpack digs into my shoulders, stuffed with everything I didn’t have time to fold: clothes crumpled into corners, my battered journal, a charger dangling like a lifeline, a few torn bills, and a half-melted chocolate bar. None of it mattered if I didn’t make it out.
I don’t look back. Not yet. Not until I’m far enough away to know I’m free. I have to escape—for Zoey’s sake and mine. I refuse to involve her in my mess, the chaos with Dad signing that absurd marriage contract. She’s done more than enough for me already.
The bushes scrape against my arms as I slip past them, thorns digging into my sleeves, red flowers pretending to be safe. A petal catches on my shoelace; I shake it off, heart hammering. Every rustle, every whisper of wind makes me flinch. The feeling that someone is watching never leaves me. Every glance behind doubles the unease, like eyes are blinking open in the darkness all around me.
Of course, I feel watched—I’m sneaking out like a damn criminal, I tell myself.
Just as I reach the edge of the pathway and prepare to step onto the street, a snap cracks under my feet. A twig? A leaf? Whatever it is, it reverberates too loudly in the still night. I freeze, convinced I’ve been caught.
I dart across the pavement, lungs clawing to keep pace with my legs. Get to the sidewalk. Get to the street. Run.
The streetlights are both allies and enemies. I need them to see where I’m going, but not that brightly. What if someone recognises me? What if he’s sent someone to follow?
I know I’m overthinking. I know I am. I don’t know many people here, certainly not anyone near Zoey’s place. And yet, paranoia clings to me like a second skin.
My feet feel detached, like they belong to someone else. Every step forward feels like defiance. Every breath, borrowed. Finally, I collapse at a T-junction, panting. The streets are empty. Silent. Midnight and 2:50 a.m.—perfect.
I unscrew the cap of my water bottle, letting the cool liquid wash over my parched throat. It trickles down like a balm, settling my rattled nerves. My hands still tremble, gripping the bottle like a lifeline.
Suddenly, headlights slice across my face. I duck instinctively, stuffing the bottle back into my bag. My palms are still shaking.
The hoodie clings to me like a weighted blanket, trapping warmth I don’t need. The wind is cold despite the forecast’s promises of a warm night. I wipe my hands on the thick fabric and push forward.
I walk fast, unevenly, scanning my phone for the map. Ten percent battery. Of course. I curse under my breath, eyes flickering between parked cars and uneven sidewalks. Tonight, the drivers are perfect shields, unaware that I’m darting through their shadows.
Zoey would already be panicking. Filing reports, calling me endlessly. The police would wait twenty-four hours before they even started asking questions. I have time—but not much.
Every step forward feels like rebellion. Every breath, a fragile victory.
And then I feel it.
A presence. Heavy. Too real to be imagined.
Footsteps. Behind me. Too close.
I don’t dare look. I sprint.
Maybe it’s stupid to wear a heavy hoodie and a stuffed backpack, but I don’t care. I need to vanish. I tell myself I’m fast enough. I have a head start. That they won’t catch me.
I’m wrong.
My legs feel unmoored, running on clouds. My vision blurs. The world tilts.
And then—arms.
Around my waist. Another clamp over my mouth.
Oh f**k.
Oh no.
Oh God, no.
I thrash, wild, elbows swinging, feet kicking. I hit nothing but air. He’s taller, stronger. His grip is steel.
My lungs scream for oxygen. My heartbeat slams against my ribs like it wants out.
I try to twist. Bite. Knee him. But he’s fast. Precise. Calculated.
His hand covers my nose. I jerk violently, but the cold air doesn’t reach me. It’s like drowning in plain sight.
My limbs slow. Everything blurs. Colours fade.
My head slams against metal. The side of a car. Pain explodes behind my eyes.
Then darkness.
Faintly, I feel myself being lifted, tucked in like fragile cargo. A low murmur of voice echoes near my ear.
“F**k,” he mutters. “She scratched me.”
I go limp. Too exhausted to struggle. But deep down, I know this is far from over.
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