When the Night Tides

The wind's bite was sharper than I would have expected for early summer. Goosebumps prickled along my arms as we walked the length of Simon's Town harbour, our sandals tapping on the wooden boards like a nervous heartbeat.

What happened that evening is a mare I long to wake from. Even now, as I write this, the memory tightens my chest.

The harbour had grown darker, the lights flickering like cautious witnesses. I could sense something simmering beneath the surface but I did not expect it to be this. 

It should have been simple. It should have been the kind of interaction that sweeps two people into uncomplicated bliss. But life, as it so often does, had not prepared a soft landing for either of us. If only danger had announced itself with thunder, maybe raised voices or pounding footsteps. The world was deceptively calm on that night. The sea lay flat as glass.

Zola walked beside me, hands buried in the pockets of her oversized coat, laughing at something I had said. We'd come down to the water for fresh air, unaware that danger had already chosen its moment.

I spotted him before she did.

My stomach twisted instantly, instinctively. His presence carried a coldness that seeped straight through skin and bone.

Zola stopped mid-sentence. "What is he doing here?"

I didn't answer. Because I already knew.

His eyes locked onto mine. There was no hesitation. No confusion. Only the certainty of a man who believed the world - and every woman in it, owed him an audience.

He closed the distance in three strides.

"You thought you could ignore me?" he hissed.

Zola moved between us before I could speak. "Back off," she said sharply, but his attention narrowed to a pin-point focus - me and only me.

He shoved her aside. Not enough to knock her down, but enough to show exactly what he thought of obstacles.

Then he grabbed my arm.

His grip was hard, fingers digging into my skin, dragging me toward him. I felt the familiar surge of panic, the one he had cultivated over months of unwanted messages, cornered conversations and threats. “You’re coming with me,” he muttered. That is when the fear solidified into something sharper.

And in that icy clarity, one simple truth crystallised: 
This man would not stop. 
Not tonight. 
Not ever.