Shattered by Stephanie Carty

Author:Stephanie Carty [Carty, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-02T16:00:00+00:00

I don’t leave the gym until after seven o’clock. The Tube ride home felt hypnotic and healing. My body aches in a satisfying way. As I turn into my street, I see the blue car. It’s on the opposite side of the road to my flat, facing away from me. Around ten metres. I’m still in gym gear so pull up the hood on my sweatshirt and tuck my hair out of sight. Rather than cross the road where I usually would by the postbox, I stay on the same side of the pavement as the car. I’m unrecognisable. My pulse beats in my jaw.

As I get nearer to the car, I see that it has scratches along one side despite being only last year’s number plate. Somebody has been in a rush. The top of the driver’s head shows above the back of the seat. As I close the gap and look through the side window, I can make out a mobile phone in one hand emitting light, but not what’s on the screen. The driver’s head is fixed to the left to watch out for anyone approaching my flat. Definitely watching out for me. There had been times where I argued with myself as to whether I was imagining things or being paranoid. But here’s the evidence. I’m in line with the back of the car. I’m alert, awake, alive. I haven’t been spotted: I win.

The world slows down then. I knock three times on the window, bending forwards to catch eyes. The figure jumps. Turns to me. Drops the phone in recognition. We stare at each other for a tiny eternity.

Daniel.

My ex found me. It wasn’t paranoia; he’s been stalking me all this time.

He mouths ‘shit,’ and I feel bionic. I pull at the door handle as if I could rip it off, drag him out, demand answers while I pin him against the bonnet. It’s locked. He grabs for his keys. The car lurches forward as it stalls. He looks up once more, his neck taut, then the car roars away.

I don’t move from the spot on the pavement. Although he’s gone, I feel as if Daniel is still here watching me. I swish my glance up and down my neighbours’ houses that look no different from any other day and yet feel less familiar. My street, my new home, my new life. All invaded. His desire for control continues. I head home and wonder how he found me, whether he broke into my house from here or the back. Does he have my diary, poring over pages in rage at how I stopped being the malleable, fearful woman that he needed me to be?

Back home, I kick off my trainers in the hallway, then throw myself across the sofa. Getting an answer to who’s been following me only creates more questions.

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