2. Nell
We’re three beers deep, and around me expressing my distaste for Adam and his schemes to make me miserable, Darcy has barely said a word.
Strange.
She’s usually the chatty one.
“What’s up with you?”
I swig back the beer, eyeing her suspiciously. She chews her cheek for a moment before finding her words.
“Nothing.”
“Seriously? How long have I known you, Darcy? I know when you’re on edge. So, spill it.”
With her it could be anything. Accidental pregnancy. Maybe she caught an STD from the guy she met last week. The possibilities are endless.
“I think I have a stalker.”
Well, that wasn’t on my bingo card for tonight.
I blink at her, words stalled on my tongue.
“What makes you think that?”
“I swear there’s this guy who’s been following me. I’ve seen him nearly every day for two weeks—same streets, same timing, always behind me.”
“What does he look like?”
“That’s the problem.”
She leans in, voice dropping like we’re already being watched.
“I don’t know. He always wears a hoodie. I can never see his face.”
“Then how do you know it’s the same guy?”
“He has hand tattoos. Big ones. Same height, same build… I promise, I’m not going crazy. Or maybe I am.”
She tips her head back and drinks like the bottle’s her anchor.
“Just when you’re walking home?”
“Well… not exactly.”
She winces.
“You’re gonna laugh. But I was Googling ‘what to do if you have a stalker’ the other night, and I must’ve passed out—and when I woke up, my laptop history was wiped clean.”
Okay, that’s eerie.
“Babe, that could’ve just been you mashing keys in your sleep.”
I raise both hands and place one over my heart like I’m swearing an oath.
“But as your most dramatic and devoted best friend, I hereby vow to solve your creepy mystery. No creep is going to make you feel unsafe. Period.”
She smirks, like I’m joking.
But I’m not.
My life is about as shit as it can get right now, I need something to channel my energy into. And a little light stalking might just scratch the itch.
Plus, it’s exciting. For me, not for her. I feel like a detective already.
“You’re hilarious,”
she scoffs, focusing back into the neck of her beer.
“I’m not messing around,”
I say, eyes locked on hers.
“If there’s some creep following you, I swear I’ll find him and drag his sorry ass into the daylight.”
Okay… maybe the dramatic delivery and borderline sarcastic tone didn’t scream ‘credible investigator,’ but I’m deadly serious. No one messes with my best friend and walks away unscathed.
She shoots me a sceptical look.
“I don’t know how you plan on doing that, but knock yourself out. If you can get a face, at least I can take it to the police.”
Challenge accepted.
“I’ll find him,”
I say confidently, brushing off the doubt.
“You forget I have excellent stalking instincts. Just ethically reversed.”
Truth is, she’s been through enough messes with possessive guys that paranoia comes easily. And maybe she’s jumping shadows. But maybe she’s not.
She exhales, shoulders softening now that she’s offloaded the fear.
“Okay, I’ll leave it in your obsessively loyal hands,”
she laughs.
“And while you’re on justice duty—can you tell Adam to go fuck himself? He left you. So why he feels the need to keep blowing up your phone like some sad little emo ex is beyond me.”
I roll my eyes.
“Trust me, if I could text ‘fuck off’ with a brick, I would.”
He didn’t just leave me though. He cheated. He slept with his cousin’s wife at their fucking wedding. Thankfully I wasn’t there to witness it, but his cousin was. Hence how I found out. Turns out he has a thing for keeping it in the family.
Dick.
“Yeah, I think he’s just bitter that I kicked him out. I think he thought I’d accept his apology. Anyway, I’m not handing Boomerang over to him, so he’s going to fight me for that either way.”
“Dickhead,”
we both say in unison.
Darcy and I are in sync. We finish each other’s sentences, read each other’s thoughts, and can spot a bad vibe across the bar with one look.
She’s magnetic tonight, catching the eye of more than a few men. One lingers longer than the rest, and before I can blink, she’s invited him to join us.
And then she wonders why she ends up with stalkers.
Still, I can’t blame her. If I had half her confidence, I’d be doing the same—bold, effortless, reckless flirting like it’s second nature.
Me? I haven’t touched anyone since Adam. And if we’re being honest, I’m starting to believe I never will.
He didn’t just hurt me. He scraped out every ounce of self-worth I had and left me hollow. I’m not saying that to collect pity points—I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I’m just a little cracked. A little off. Still trying to find my footing.
I’m also well-practiced in the art of third-wheeling now. So while Darcy and her new admirer laugh into their drinks, I nurse my bottle like it’s a lifeline, mentally sketching out ways to catch her alleged stalker.
Because if I don’t give myself something to fixate on, something to chase… I’ll spiral.
It’s good to have a hobby, right?
“We’re heading to mine, babe. You want us to walk you?”
Darcy’s voice is warm, but there’s something expectant in her eyes—a soft concern swimming beneath those deep brown irises.
I wave it off. I only live around the corner.
No need for a chaperone.
“No, you two go ahead. I’m just gonna finish this and head home.”
She flashes me a grateful smile and links fingers with tonight’s choice—a painfully average man who’ll probably forget her name by sunrise.
I know it’s catty, but I’ve met enough of her temporary obsessions to start mentally scoring them now. And this one? Flat six, at best.
I give them some space, then follow a few paces behind, blending into the city noise.
Not stalking, exactly—just… tailing.
I tell myself it’s about Darcy’s safety.
A little extra insurance.
And maybe—just maybe—I’ll spot her mystery follower. The one she’s convinced is trailing her.
Boomerang won’t starve if I take a few extra minutes. And I could use the distraction.
The streets are loud—clusters of work friends huddled around bar entrances, cigarette smoke curling into the night air. Laughter, shouting, glass clinking. A Friday soundtrack.
Nothing stands out.
No hooded figure. No shadows ducking behind lampposts. Just the usual chaos.
I sigh and consider turning back—chalking it up to paranoia and calling it a night. At least I logged some steps. That counts, right?
And then I see him.
Just a shape at first—tall, slow-moving, deliberate.
Not talking to anyone. Not part of a group.
Maybe he’s just walking home.
Maybe I’m imagining things.
Or maybe… not.
His hands are deeply rooted in his jacket pocket, but his hood is pulled up over his head, clinging to his back muscles from what I can see.
He’s tall.
Big in every sense.
But is he following her?
I can’t be sure. He’s not exactly beelining for her, but when he slips his hand out of his pocket to check his phone, something catches my eye.
Tattoos.
I can’t make out much from my side of the road—just the curl of ink wrapping around his fingers, dark and jagged. A skull, maybe.
I should’ve asked Darcy what the tattoo looked like.
Still… it could be coincidence. Just some random guy heading home.
If I had any sense—or the slightest grip on my sanity—I’d turn around the second Darcy disappears inside. But I don’t.
Instead, I wait.
Half-shrouded beneath the railway bridge, hood pulled tight, breath fogging in the damp air. Just watching. Observing.
He doesn’t know I’m here.
That alone sends a strange little chill through me—half thrill, half unease.
He’s stopped now.
Not too close. Just outside Darcy’s front garden. Leaning casually against a tree like he belongs there. But he doesn’t.
Not to me.
Darcy was right.
I think she has a stalker.