LET ME BE ME

– Eden's POV

I'm late again. I know it the moment I step into the gallery. My heart pounds in my ears. My hands shake. I see the paint stain on my fingers-dark green, the color of rot.

"This is unacceptable," the gallery owner says, voice sharp. He's a big man in an expensive suit. He doesn't even look at me as he talks. He's too busy checking his watch. "You ruined a masterpiece worth half a million."

I swallow. "I'm sorry." My voice sounds small.

"Sorry doesn't fix this," he says. He holds up a gilded frame. Inside is an old painting of a lake at dawn. A thousand tiny cracks run across the surface. The varnish is smeared.

I should have asked for help. I should have taken a break. But I didn't.

I walk out without another word. My stomach twists with shame and fear. I need fresh air. I need to run.

I find a coffee shop on the next block. The bell over the door jingles as I enter. It smells like burnt sugar and warm milk. I order a latte to go, my hands still trembling.

The cup burns my palm. I hug it close as I step back into the street. It's colder than I thought. I pull my coat tighter.

I don't want to go home. Not yet.

One step. Two steps. My vision blurs. I don't know where I'm going. I just keep walking.

A man bumps into me. "Hey!" I snap, turning.

He's too close-his breath smells like cheap liquor. His shirt is stained, as if he-

I raise my knee without thinking. It connects with his body. He crumples. I run.

My hands grip the latte so hard it spills on my coat. I don't care. I just keep running.

I turn into an alley. Dark bricks on both sides. My heart races. I press my back against the wall and slide down until I sit.

I don't check my phone. I can't. I just breathe.

Then I hear another step.

I look up.

He stands there.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair that falls in his eyes. He wears a black coat. The moonlight catches the red stain on his sleeve. I can't see his face clearly-only the shadow.

My chest tightens.

He doesn't move. He just watches me. I can't tell if he's angry or curious. I swallow.

I'm supposed to be afraid. I should scream. I should run. But I don't.

My mind goes blank.

Finally, I say, "The moon is pretty, isn't it?"

He blinks, like he wasn't expecting words. His hand moves up, holding a gun.

I don't flinch. I don't scream. I just stare.

He freezes. His finger twitches. Then he lowers the gun.

"Look at the moon," I whisper. "It's cold tonight."

He doesn't answer. He just watches me.

I touch the sleeve of my coat. Still wet from the coffee. I sniff it. The smell is weird-like burnt sugar mixed with night air.

He steps closer, raising one eyebrow. I shove the latte cup at him.

"Wanna sip? I can't finish it."

His eyes go to the cup. He takes it without a word. He sips.

"It's sweet," he says.

I nod. "I like sweet things."

He looks at me, like I'm a puzzle. I don't know what to say next.

"I need to go home," I say after a moment.

He watches me for a beat. Then he steps back.

I turn and walk away before he can stop me.

But he's still there when I look back. He just stands in the alley.

I keep walking until I reach my building. The door buzzes open with my code. I step inside without looking back.

I leave the latte on the table in my hallway.

I don't feel relieved. I only feel... strange.

That night, I can't sleep. I keep seeing his shadowed face, the way he held the cup.

I know one thing for sure: I'm never this calm around strangers.

And there was nothing normal about that man.