Body tired and aching. Bones pushed and worked but not broken. Lids heavy and energy low. Step by step. Home is closer. Work doors swing their lips wide open, preparing to spit me out of the store as they have done many, many times before.
Loud music flowing through my brain. The waves distracting my mind of all worries. Music is my happy place. It helps me breathe. It's beats corse though my body till my heart replicates its slow rhythms. Fingers of ice, revive me from my trance. The mans lips are moving but the sounds are overrun by the angelic voices of modern musicians. Pulling the plug on the fantasy world I try to live in, I remove my earphone to listen to the gentlemen. "Excuse me, miss? Do you know where the bank is?"
Working in a centre for a long period of time, you know it better than a map of your own skin. "Just through those doors there, turn right, then at the next corner, right again and it should be on the right hand side," my voice sounding slightly rehearsed and robotic. Preparing to ignore the thanks off the man I lift my earphone to cocoon myself in the sound again, stopping when he speaks. The words not at all what I was expecting I hear.
"I know you. Hazel, right? I follow you on your social media, we've spoken. I am Mohia." My body is now the one to feel like ice. All blood seems to be drained and evaporated. I do know this man. But not for the reasons one would hope. All of the visions of constant disturbing messages and slurs boil themselves to the surface of my memory.
"I'm sorry, I don't recall. I don't recognise you." Forgetting my earlier plan of trapping myself in the music. My legs turn in the other direction setting themselves up for take off. "Please, Hazel, let me drive you home," his voice closer than my body had intended it to be, "It's only a five or ten minute drive." Nails pining my feet to the hard concrete, unable to move. I can feel fear wrapping its fingers around my throat one by one. Each finger depriving me further of any air.
Once again his limber fingers grab a hold of my elbow and as if he'd flicked a switch. I was off. Technically speaking I was actually on. I was on pure adrenaline. My feet carrying me faster and longer than they ever have before. It wasn't until I'd slammed my body against the treated wooden gate that lead to my front door that I realised what had almost happened.
When mum pulls open the metal screen door to let me in the house, I hug her tighter than paint on walls.
