My fear settles on a single possibility.
Derek.
The name lands in my mind with a weight that steals my breath for a second, heavy and immediate, like it has always known how to find me even when I am not calling it. I sit on the edge of my bed long after I should be sleeping, elbows braced on my knees, hands hanging uselessly between them, and let the thought take shape instead of shoving it away like I have been doing for weeks.
If someone is watching me, if this feeling has a source, then of course my mind would go there first.
I have trained myself not to think his name. Not to follow the ache when it stirs. Not to let memory turn into speculation. But fear has a way of breaking rules you thought were solid.
I replay everything I know, over and over, like if I line the facts up car
