Rowan 24
Rowan
I ended the call and set my phone down harder than necessary. It hit the kitchen table with a dull thud, the screen going dark as I leaned back in the chair.
It was a short conversation. Polite, professional, kind enough.
Pastoral Care calls always were. But the message underneath all the careful phrasing was clear.
I wasn't ready. My sick leave was being extended until the start of the next term, and they'd check in again after the new year to see if I was in a better headspace.
Until then, I was on a mental health break, with a very strong suggestion that I see a therapist.
I knew they were right. Hell, I could barely force myself to open the door whenever Eli popped in. I'd never survive standing in front of a classroom full of teenagers. The idea of stepping outside felt impossible again. Whatever ground I'd gained had been stripped away in a heartbeat.
Frustration and guilt knotted my stomach. I'd let myself slip. One bad night had spiralled into another stretch of silence and avoidance and flickering panic. I was right back where I started, and now someone else had to step in and tell me I wasn't fit to do my job.
I pushed up from the chair with a huff and made my way to the stove.
My hands needed something to do, so I filled the kettle and flicked the switch.
Tea wouldn't fix anything, but it gave me a few minutes of distraction.
I grabbed a mug from the shelf and pulled out a bag of Earl Grey, trying to focus on the small motions – unwrapping the tea bag, dropping it in the cup, adjusting the handle so it faced outward. As if that mattered.
Now that I didn't have any lesson plans or schoolwork to keep me busy, my mind would wander into places I didn't like. I couldn't even get out of my head for five damn minutes.
What were my students thinking? I hadn't been in class at all this year. Stories had to be circling, and some of those kids weren't exactly known for discretion. They'd probably come up with a hundred outlandish versions of what happened.
And the staffroom... God, I could imagine the looks. The awkward silence when my name came up. The pity. The discomfort.
If I ever did manage to crawl my way out of this, even if I could get a handle on the panic and Marcus finally pissed off for good, how was I supposed to walk back into that school?
How was I supposed to stand in front of a class and pretend nothing happened when half the room had to be wondering what broke me?
Even Eli was starting to show the strain. I noticed it a few days ago when he dropped by with the shopping. He moved slower, didn't crack a single joke, and the usual warmth in his voice was thinner. And when he smiled, it looked forced now.
I didn't need to ask him about it. I already knew I was the reason.
That thought gnawed at me as the kettle started to boil.
He was trying so hard to hold this together, to hold me together, and now it was starting to wear him down.
I hated that. I hated knowing I was the weight dragging him under.
I was supposed to get my own shit sorted, but instead, he was shouldering the fallout.
A spark of worry caught in my chest and twisted into something else. Guilt, frustration, anger. At myself. I should've had a handle on this by now. It shouldn't take this much out of him just to keep me from falling apart.
The kettle started to beep. I poured the water and let the tea steep, watching the dark bloom spread through the cup like it might spell out a solution if I stared at it long enough.
It didn't, of course. I wasn't a fucking witch.
I wrapped my hands around the mug and tried to centre myself. I couldn't keep letting Eli carry this. I didn't know how the hell to fix it, but I couldn't keep staggering around waiting for him to hold me up.
Marcus wouldn't disappear if I ignored him.
That much was obvious now. But pushing back would make him lash out again, so I had to find a way to stand my ground without starting a fire I couldn't put out.
Because if I didn't, Eli would burn himself out trying to hold the line for both of us. I couldn't live with that.
I took a sip of the tea. It burned a little on the way down, but at least the heat gave me something to focus on that wasn't the jumbled mess in my head.
I heard a faint noise at that moment. Just loud enough to catch my attention. I paused and tilted my head to listen. It wasn't a knock. It was too soft and inconsistent. There was a ... a quiet scrape? Then a click... And another click.
I set the mug down and moved slowly into the sitting room, trying to keep my breathing steady. The closer I got to the front door, the clearer the sound became. The lock was jiggling.
Someone was trying to make it open.
I froze. For a second, all I could hear was the thud of my own pulse in my ears.
I forced out a breath and tried to rationalise it.
There was an old bloke who lived upstairs who mostly kept to himself and had a few episodes now and again.
He once wandered into the stairwell with no trousers on.
Maybe he was confused again. Maybe he thought this was his flat.
That made sense. That was reasonable. It was better than the alternative that my brain wanted to latch onto.
I grabbed my phone from the table and fumbled with the screen. I managed to find the camera app Eli had set up for me, but before I could open it, the noise stopped.
I waited.
Nothing.
My shoulders started to relax. It was just a mix-up. No need to panic over it. I could let it go.
Then my phone lit up with a new text: Change the locks on me, too, did ya?
My blood turned to ice.
I stared at the screen. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to do something, but nothing was firing right. My chest tightened. The back of my neck prickled. Why was Marcus trying to let himself in? I took back my spare key. He didn't have a way to –
Wait.
He made a copy. At some point after I gave it to him, he must have made a fucking copy. Thank God Mr Hodges thought to change the locks.
A sharp knock startled me out of my thoughts. I flinched and nearly dropped the phone.
I sidestepped fast and pressed my back flat to the wall, out of sight of the door. My heart pounded so loud I was sure it could be heard through the floorboards. My breaths came shallow, but somehow I kept enough control to not hyperventilate. Yet.
"Rowan. Open up. We need to talk."
I knew that tone. Smooth. Composed. The same voice he used to sound reasonable when he wanted control without raising his voice. But something was off this time. I heard a darker edge beneath the calm. Almost mocking. Like he knew I wouldn't open the door and was daring me to prove him wrong.
My legs threatened to buckle, so I sat down as quietly as I could.
Maybe if I waited him out, he'd think I wasn't home and go away.
My grip tightened around my phone, which reminded me I was going to check the camera.
I unlocked the screen again with shaking hands and tapped on the app. The loading screen took forever.
The live feed finally popped into view. Marcus stood right outside my door, leaning in as if to listen for movement.
He knocked again. Even though I saw it coming on the camera, my body still jerked like I'd been shocked. The sound cracked across my nerves and sent a bolt of cold down my spine.
"Come on, Rowan. We can talk this out. I just want to see you." His tone had changed again. It was softer now. Coaxing. Almost sing-song in the way that a parent talked to a child who'd thrown a tantrum and needed gentle handling.
My pulse spiked. The flat suddenly felt too small. The walls too close. I could hear my breathing picking up again. The edges of my vision blurred, and panic pressed at the back of my throat.
No, no, no, not again.
I shut my eyes and forced my breath in. Slow. Deep. Like Eli had taught me. Inhale. Count. Exhale. I pictured him in front of me, doing it with me. The rise and fall of his chest. The way his voice steadied me even when everything else cracked.
It helped... A little. Not enough to feel safe, but enough to keep the spiral from dragging me under. My hands still shook, and every muscle in my body felt ready to snap, but at least I could breathe.
But what was I supposed to do if Marcus didn't go away? I couldn't hide in the kitchen forever. And no way in hell was I about to open that door.
"Don't make me wait out here all day. You know I don't like being ignored." The false sweetness was gone. Just like that, his patience had a time limit.
I wanted to call Eli, but I also didn't want to drag him into this. If I called, I knew he'd be here in a matter of minutes. And that meant he'd be pulled into a direct confrontation with Marcus.
Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, I heard another voice in the hall. "For God's sake, what are you doing here?"
I froze again. That sounded like Mrs Cavanagh. My eyes shot down at the livestream to see her standing at her open door with a scowl on her face and her hands braced on her hips.
Marcus had his back to the camera now, so I couldn't see his face. But his tone made it clear he didn't appreciate the interruption. "It's none of your business, lady. Mind your own."
Mrs Cavanagh, bless her, wasn't having any of it. "It is my business when you're disturbing the peace. Rowan doesn't want to see you, so bugger off."
A surge of panic shot up my throat. Marcus didn't hesitate to let off on me when he felt threatened. I didn't doubt one bit he'd go after an old woman.
His voice cut through the air, louder now and more aggressive. "You don't know anything, you old bat. Back off."
Mrs Cavanagh's expression hardened. "I know enough to see you're trouble. Get lost before I call the police."
Marcus tightened his hands into fists and took a step in her direction. I couldn't watch this. I couldn't let him hurt her. I had to do something.
I tried to push myself up. My hands braced on the floor, but my legs refused to work.
My arms couldn't find the strength to hold me up, either, and I ended up just sitting there as my pulse roared in my ears.
Frustration burned hotter than the fear now – because for once, I actually wanted to move, and my body wouldn't fucking let me.
"Marcus."
The relief that crashed through me almost knocked the breath from my lungs. That was Eli's voice on the camera.
My eyes shot back to my phone to watch the feed. Eli appeared at the end of the hall, his expression firm and his posture rigid as he walked quickly to put himself in front of Mrs Cavanagh.
The puffed-up aggression bled out of Marcus all at once.
I was surprised that Eli's presence seemed to be enough to knock the wind out of whatever act he was putting on.
I still couldn't see his face, but his posture relaxed as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"Well," he sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who's here."
Eli didn't flinch. He didn't respond to the jab, didn't even blink. His voice stayed even, but I could hear the edge underneath. "You need to leave." He wasn't yelling. Wasn't baiting. But every word hit sharp. The kind of sharp that made it clear he was holding back more than he let on.
Marcus gave a humourless laugh. "I'm just here to talk to Rowan. You don't need to be involved."
"You've got no business being here. Walk away."
The silence that followed felt endless.
I stared at the feed, heart thudding. Marcus didn't move. Didn't speak. I braced for the lashing out that came whenever someone tried to stand up to him.
But it didn't happen. He stepped back, gave Eli one last look, and walked down the hall out of the camera's view.
And that was it. He left.
I didn't even notice how tightly I'd been holding myself until the tension released from my body. My breath stuttered out, ragged and uneven, and my chest all but collapsed on itself. My whole body sagged with relief.
Marcus was gone. For now, at least.
I didn't register anything else until I heard two short knocks at the door.
"Ro, it's me."
Eli's voice. He sounded as on edge as I felt.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and forced myself to move. My legs still shook, but this time they held my weight. I pushed upright, propping myself against the wall for balance. The walk to the door took longer than it should've, but I made it.
I undid all the locks and pulled on the knob.
Eli looked at me, and whatever he saw on my face made his brow crease. His shoulders dropped slightly like he was trying to ease out of the defensive posture he'd held seconds ago, but the concern didn't leave his eyes.
I must've looked like hell. My hands still quivered a little. My face was probably pale. Of course he'd be worried.
He stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him. "You okay?" he asked, his voice much gentler than it had been in the hallway.
I couldn't really answer that. My throat felt tight. The adrenaline still buzzed in my limbs. I didn't know what "okay" even meant anymore. "I can't believe he actually showed up here."
Eli wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Come sit down, yeah? You're shaking."
I let him guide me to the sofa. My legs didn't exactly protest, but they wobbled the second I let go of the doorframe. He stayed close, and we both eased onto the cushions.
I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees, trying to catch my breath and not fall apart all over again. Eli didn't say anything, but his hand stayed steady against my back. It calmed my nerves enough that I could start to get the adrenaline under control.
I was more grateful than I could say that he talked me into installing that camera. Marcus had come far too close for comfort today. Without that extra set of eyes on the door... I didn't even want to think about what could've happened.
"I can't keep doing this," I said finally. My voice came out rough. "I'm tired, Eli. I'm so fucking tired of being scared all the time."
I didn't have to see his face to realise he didn't know how to respond. His silence spoke volumes. Despite that, just having him near kept the panic from taking over again.
I stared at the floor. "I just keep waiting for him to come back. And every time I think I’ve got it together, he finds another way in. I don't even get a say in anything."
"Yes, you do," he said quietly. "You always do."
I wasn't sure I believed that.