Page 20 of Hunting Harbor

I have to get out. Have to escape the walls closing in around me.

Keys. Book. Shaking hands. One last look at the wreck of my morning. The manuscript sits like a festering wound, the stain vivid against the white page.

I need to clear my head, get some space. I need to breathe.

The door closes with a sharp, final click, locking away the chaos inside.

Lila texts while I’m still on my way to the cafe.WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING??

The urgency of it stings my already raw nerves. How can I begin to explain? How can I even try? My thumb hovers over the screen.Sorry, just dealing with some things. We need to catch up soon. Miss you.

I wait, watching the little dots of Lila’s reply flicker in and out of existence. My anxiety grows with each blink.What things???

Hard to explain over text. Will call you later, okay?

I walk faster, each step an escape from the thoughts I can’t quite get rid of. Lila won’t let it go. She knows me too well, knows when I am avoiding, when I am breaking down and trying not to admit it.

Later when?? I’m just going to call you, thought maybe you’d gone missing!

A guilty knot tightens in my stomach. Lila, worried and waiting while I am losing myself to dark fantasies and stains on my manuscript. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves better.

You’re the absolute best, you know that? I promise I’m okay. Talk soon.

I am the worst liar, and even in text, I know she’ll hear it in my voice. But what can I say?

Okay, if you say so. Just don’t make me send out a search party!

I’d love that! Maybe with balloons?Sarcasm is the best offense.

You’re an idiot. LOVE YOU.

The knots in my stomach loosen just a little knowing my best friend always has my back.

Heading to read now and clear my head. Will call after!

I slip the phone back into my bag, relieved and anxious all at once. How long can I keep pretending this isn’t happening?

The café is sunlit and cheerful, the exact opposite of how I feel inside. A refuge of normalcy, where everything should be okay. I slide into a corner table, back to the wall, eyes on the door. It’s supposed to feel safe. Instead, it just makes me more aware of how jumpy I am. How close to unraveling. The barista has to ask me twice before my brain registers her words.

It’s a perfectly ordinary morning for everyone else. Laptops open, heads bent over books, the smell of fresh pastries. The comforting chaos of a bustling café.

But for me? Each clatter of a spoon feels like an earthquake. I pull the novel from my bag, hands still trembling, wishing the story will take me away like it used to.

The door chimes, and I flinch. A couple walks in, holding hands and smiling, as if to mock my paranoia.

My coffee arrives, sloshing over the rim as the mug touches down. Even that splash seems like a reminder, a flashback to the stain.

I try to lose myself in reading. Try to escape the trap my thoughts have laid for me. Maybe it’s just me, but the words don’t connect like they should have. They keep slipping away before they form into meaning.

I touch my phone, the screen lighting up with Lila’s last message.You’re an idiot. LOVE YOU.Should I call her? Tell her everything? Or should I call and pretend everything is okay?

The café’s warmth doesn’t reach me, the normalcy doesn’t stick. Instead, it all makes me feel more isolated, more aware of how different my world has become.

I stare at the same page for what feels like an eternity, my mind circling back to the only thing it can’t escape.

That stain.

That awful, accusing stain.

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