milk & tea

one

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Sage's POV (seven months ago):

He's following me again. I feel his presence behind me, although when I look, he's not there.

Beginning to panic, I rush into the building nearest me: Hugs with Mugs. When I go inside, I'm overwhelmed with a sense of peace. It's warm and cozy, the air is full of the aroma of coffee and bread, and there's a charming girl smiling at me from the counter. This relaxing environment reminds me of what my therapist keeps telling me: He's not real. He can't be following me if he isn't real.

With a comforting feeling of safety settling in, I head over to the counter to order.

"Hello, welcome to Hugs with Mugs. What can I get for you?" the girl asks cheerfully, her dark chocolate eyes twinkling at me.

"I'll just have an earl grey tea with milk, please," I reply, tucking my hands into the pockets of my cardigan.

"Would you like some complimentary macaroons?" 

"Oh, sure. Thank you." I pay with cash, telling her to keep the change, and sit at a table by the window to wait.

I can't make myself stop doing perimeter checks for him, despite knowing that he isn't there and never will be there. If he isn't there, then there must me someone watching me.

Some people enjoy people-watching, while I prefer find-out-which-person-wants-you-dead-before-it's-too-late.

There's a couple eating at a table in the middle of the room, laughing as they share a plate of chocolate-chip cookies. It can't be them; they're not watching me.

It couldn't be the teenage boy waiting by the counter either, because he's flirting with the brown-eyed cashier.

I notice a man heading towards the window from the corner of my eye, and I immediately spin my head to get a better look.

It's him. 

He stands perfectly still on the sidewalk, staring right at me. He doesn't even breath. His eyes are a dull brown, and his clothes are ripped and baggy. His greasy hair covers his forehead, and there's blood and dirt smeared on his face.

I stand up and back away slowly, careful not to break eye contact. When I bump into an empty chair, I whirl around and sprint to the bathroom, breathing raggedly. Slamming the door behind me, I lean my back against the wall opposite the door and slide down to the floor. I would hold my head in my hands and sob, but I can't look away from the door. If I do, he'll get in. My heart pounds in my chest, and my hands are shaking with terror.

He's not real, Sage. Your brain created him as a way to relive the difficulties of your past. You need to forgive your father and move on, or he'll follow you everywhere, my therapist's words echo in my mind. 

I know he's not real, I really do. But I can still see him. When he touches me, I can feel him. I might be the only one who can see him, but he's still there.

There's a soft knock on the door. "Ma'am? Are you okay in there?" It's the girl with the chocolate eyes.

"Is he looking for me?" I question, forcing my voice not to shake. If I show any signs of fear, he'll get me. I know he will.

"Who? There's no one asking for you." I hear genuine confusion in her voice, and I know I can trust her.

I hesitantly open the door, ready to slam it closed again if necessary. 

It's just the girl.

"Hey, are you alright? You ran into that bathroom pretty damn fast," she speculated, a look of uncertainty on her face. "What happened?"

"I... just really had to pee," I say offhandedly. "Is my tea ready?" 

Her head is still tilted, and I know she doesn't believe me.

"Yes, it is. Is it alright if I ask for your name? I'm Kyla, by the way." 

I usually don't give my name to strangers in case they use it against me, but I trust Kyla. I know I shouldn't; after all, this is how you get hurt. "My name is Sage."

She gives me a reassuring smile as I follow her back to the counter. "I hope you feel better. Here's your tea and macaroons."

"Thank you, Kyla."

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"After your episode, you didn't see him again on your way home?" Ashley, my therapist and overall favorite human, asks, a look of concern on her face.

"No, I think that place helped. I think Kyla helped."

"I'm happy to hear that, Sage. I think you should go there more often, especially as you mentioned earlier that it made you feel peaceful. But still, it isn't good that you saw him again. You should schedule an appointment with Theresa so you can discuss a change in medication," she suggests, turning to type this into her computer.

Theresa is my psychiatrist. She's a little spacey, but she knows her stuff when it comes to my happy pills. 

I bite my nails as I confess, "I'm worried that he'll come to my house when I'm alone. I don't want him to hurt me... or me to hurt myself."

Ashley turns to me, nodding in understanding. "Can you stay with a friend until you feel safe again? If you're really worried about hurting yourself..."

"No, I know what you're going to say. But I can't go back there. It's okay; I'll figure something out." 

"If you have any thoughts of self-harm or suicide, you call the hotline immediately, alright? And you schedule the soonest appointment you can with me."

I give her an awkward thumbs up. I don't know what it is talking about my suicidal thoughts, but I hate it. I hate how weak and helpless it makes me feel when others tell me I need to ask for help. 

"Does one week still work for you?" she asks, turning back to her computer to input a new appointment.

"Thursday morning works best, if possible."

"Okay, I'll see you next week, Sage. Remember to go back to the cafe."

"Thank you." 

I leave, and all I can think about is the lies I told her when I promised I'd ask for help if I need it.