Page 31 of Presence

Once outside, the city’s hustle pulls me back to reality. Cars rush by, people chatter, and the normalcy of the day tries to soothe my frayed nerves. Yet, the sense of being watched doesn’t fully leave. It clings to me like a shadow that no sunlight can chase away. Not that it matters anyway—there’s no sun today, just gray clouds swirling in the wind.

It’s typical for late autumn here: dark, dreary, and devoid of color. The only odd thing today is the unusual humidity that makes me want to rub my nose.

The nearest grocery store isn’t far, so I decide to walk. The route is familiar: one crosswalk, then a ten-minute walk, and that’s it. Nothing complicated. So, when I reach the crosswalk and start waiting for the light to turn green, I take a deep breath, trying to relax my tense muscles.

The countdown for the light begins.

3…2…1.

I step forward, my gaze on the ground. Water puddles line the street.

For a moment, I switch off my thoughts and just walk. Then, I’m jolted back to reality by a blaring horn, as loud as a freight train, right next to me.

Oh, shit!

Startled, I leap back, my heart hammering as adrenaline surges through me. A car speeds by, the driver glaring at me through the window as if I’m the one in the wrong. My ears ring and my vision blurs momentarily from the rush of blood to my head.

He must have rolled down his window because I hear him yell, “What are you doing?! Blind bitch!”

Shaken, I stand at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the car disappear into traffic. My heart still races as I look back at the crosswalk lights. They’re red. Not green, but red.

What the hell? I could have sworn it was green. It couldn’t have changed back so quickly.

“I’m really losing it,” I mutter to myself, feeling the frown tug at my dry, rough skin. It’s nothing like the smoothness I felt in my dreams with Echo. There, I felt like I was thriving. Here, I’m barely surviving. If I touched my face now, I’d feel all the dents and ridges from a year of neglect and a broken spirit.

I wait for the next cycle of lights, watching intently this time to make sure I’m not seeing things. When the light finally turns green, I cross the street, my senses on high alert, half-expecting something else to go wrong. But nothing does. I reach the other side safely, though my heart continues to race a little too fast.

Some time later, I reach the store.

I grab a basket and start walking through the aisles, searching for the instant food section. The type of day I’m having calls for comfort food. I can’t handle cooking. Fuck no.

“Hey there, miss?” a voice calls out from a nearby area, cutting through the background noise. My heart skips a beat at the sudden address, anxiety rushing through me. But then I turn and see an elderly woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. Her warm expression eases my tension.

“Yes?” I reply, dropping the noodle soup I was holding into the basket and walking over to her. She’s squinting at a jar of jam, holding her glasses in one hand and moving them up and down like it’ll help her see better.

“Can you tell me if this is okay for diabetics?” she asks in a soft, elderly voice.

My first instinct is to say no. I’ve had enough unwanted things happen to me, and I’m not exactly known for being nice to strangers, so feeling uncomfortable is my first reaction. But I ignore that urge. I’m human, after all, and that means interacting with other humans. So, forcing a smile, I take the jam from her.

Diabetics have to watch out for sugars, so I check the ingredients list.

“My eyes aren’t what they used to be,” the old lady says as I read the label. I’m not looking at her, partly because I avoid unnecessary eye contact with strangers, and partly because I just want this over quickly.

“Um, It’s made with sugar substitutes, so it should be okay, right?” I say, finally glancing up at her.

But she’s gone. I’m alone.

The feeling of being watched intensifies. It seeps into my bones.

“What...?” I whisper into the empty space, feeling something inside me break. The facade I’ve tried to maintain all day starts to crumble. My head spins, my palms sweat, and my fingers won’t respond. The jar slips from my grasp, crashing onto the tiled floor and spreading the red substance like blood.

I stare at the mess, my mouth agape, a silent scream building in my throat.

No, please… Not again. I can’t handle this. No, no, no, no.

But it’s happening. I lift my head and look around, feeling eyes on me. I am being watched—I can feel it. Someone, something, is watching me, peeling back my layers, examining my heart as it beats. It sees me naked. It wants me broken. I can taste its satisfaction in the air as my lower lip begins to tremble.

But that’s not the worst part. As I turn, looking for the source, I see nothing. On my first spin, no one is nearby. On the next, strangers begin to appear, one by one, staring at me and the broken jar at my feet. More join them.

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