The moment he gets closer, I know.
Not because of his face. Not even because of the way he's looking at me.
It's the feeling and that scent of his, it's been printed into my brain since the incident happened.
The one that crawls up my spine and settles in my chest. The one that doesn't care that years have passed or that I've told myself it was over and they won't get me again. The one that shows up in my dreams, leaves me waking up breathless, skin damp, heart racing.
It's him.
I feel it before I fully accept it, but once the thought forms, I can't shake it.
My grip tightens on my glass so much that I'm scared it might break. I force my shoulders to stay loose,l don't step back from him and I don't react. I've learned how to do this. Learned how to look calm while my body is already preparing to run.
He stops right in front of me
