A/N : trigger warning activated for entire story! please be aware of mentions of mental illness / crisis, stalkers, and violence.

she wasn't even sure if this was an actual problem or if it was all in her head

Turn around, look at me
Oh! I've waited
And I'll wait forever
For you
To come to me

Ten minutes till last call, and all her regular pity-party's were still sitting in their spots around the place, stewing in the low hum of The Vogues' Turn Around, Look at Me. Ten minutes till one am, and she was still wiping down freshly cleaned glasses behind the bar and wondering why so many people liked the harmonica. The lights were dim and the night was dark through the windows, lit up by the buzz of the city nightlife, which wasn't all so lively in that part of New Orleans. Her name tag was pinned on her apron in its usual spot, sagging a little from the overuse of the fabric. Everly, it said. Stray hairs fell from the bun on the top of her head, dusty brown wisps that framed the tan, taught, freckled skin of her face. She was looking down her nose at her rag, a little damp from all the drying she had been doing. Her fingers were sore and pruned. She put the last glass in its spot behind the bar and tossed the rag over her shoulder.

"Almost that time, Mr. Christmas," she said sweetly, and her voice had a bit of a southern tang to it, but it was undercut by a raspy New Orleans drawl. The man looked down at his empty beer bottle between his hands and ran his tongue over his teeth, drawn out finally from his thoughts. He turned his eyes up to her and the corners of his lips twisted up sleepily. He sighed.

"Ah, it always is, innit?" He asked, his voice low and sad. Everly pressed her lips into a sympathetic smile and leaned into the bar, waiting to take the bottle and finish tidying up.

"Want anything before I close up?" She asked as he stood, digging into his pockets and fumbling for a second. She took the bottle and tucked it into the glass bin before she wiped down where he had been sitting. He held up some cash before he slid it across the bar and rapped on the wood a few times.

"I'm alright, darling," he said pleasantly, voice laced with exhaustion. She glanced up as the dwindling crowd dissipated through the door. Lee followed her gaze, curious, and shrugged as the door swung shut with the weak sound of a chime following after it. "Need a walk to your car?"

Everly looked up at him and sighed. She was dead tired, so it took her a second to organize her thoughts into words.

"No car, Mr. Christmas," she said finally. "I'll be alright."

Lee studied her for a second and then shrugged. "I told you to call me Lee," he said, pulling the keys to his bike from his pocket. They clinked in his hands.

"I'll be alright, Lee," she said, tucking her apron away and grabbing her backpack. She swung it over her shoulders and made her way around the bar. She was maybe half a head shorter than him, and she looked up and met his eyes. "You should get some rest, though. You've been here every night of the week."

He looked down at his watch. "Eh, it's only Wednesday."

Everly chuckled and made for the door. Lee was one of her regulars; him and that ragtag bunch of friends he had. They were biker types, rough and tumble, and always kept to themselves unless something or other got up to no good and they could offer a hand.

"You know, if you need a drive or something…" he said, pausing as she turned and locked the bar up. She shoved the keys into her pocket and shrugged.

"You don't need to worry about me," she said. "And I should be taking those keys from you, anyway. You shouldn't be driving." He waved her off and started to turn away.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled.

"See you tomorrow?" She asked, smiling politely as he climbed onto his bike and grabbed his helmet. At least he was wearing one of those, she'd give him that.

"Maybe," he said, and he pulled the helmet on over his head. She turned from him then, facing the way of her apartment, and heard the bike roar to a start and begin to pull away.

Her uncle had owned the bar where she worked. She started there the minute she turned twenty-one because it was a family business, and she didn't mind the crowd, not really. It paid well and there wasn't a huge staff to clamor around and disturb the peace. It was her uncle, her cousin, and her. Sometimes they'd hire somebody for a temporary position, usually during the time leading up and following Mardi Gras. It was early December though, so the nights were a bit chilly and the holidays were keeping people busy. Seasonal depression meant their late-night crowds would go up, and therefore so would sales, but it wasn't more than they could handle on their own. More often than not, lately, Everly would be closing up by herself. The last few days she'd walked out with the company of one Lee Christmas, who was definitely exhausted with the seasonal jokes that were thrown his way. He wasn't the one from his group that would usually hang around, but she didn't mind the company of a familiar face. She trusted him, though she wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe it was because he never made any moves towards her, even when he was a little more than tipsy and in his feelings.

Yeah, he was an alright guy, she figured. They all were. She'd been seeing them around since before she even took the job.

She was walking along the sidewalk, the heels of her boots clicking with each step. It was roughly a ten minute walk in total; she knew because she had started to time it. If she walked briskly, she could shave off maybe a minute or two. If she took her time, she could stretch it out to fifteen. When she felt the eyes on her, like she had been for the last few weeks, she stiffened and quickened her pace. She was almost at the halfway point.

She did as she did every night. She pressed her keys into her knuckles just in case. She clutched the strap of her backpack just in case. She steadied her breathing and thought back to her self-defense class from a few years prior, just in case.

She was pretty sure it was a man and that it was the same man every night. Black hoodie, black pants, hands tucked into his pockets. She never saw his face, but he had to be around six feet tall and decently lean. For nearly a month she had been trying to place him, but it was difficult when she never got a glimpse of who he actually was. Any looks she would dare to steal were fleeting. She didn't want to draw more attention to herself than walking alone at night already did.

Maybe she should've accepted Lee's offer. Then again, she wasn't even sure if this was an actual problem or if it was all in her head. She could feel the man gaining on her, though. Real or not real, she thoroughly did not enjoy the feeling. She pressed onwards, down the residential streets with less lights and scanty townhouses that looked a bit rococo and unstable. She clenched her fingers around her keys and tried to center herself.

She was approaching the last block when she risked a look over her shoulder. Sure enough, the hooded figure was still following, and he was closer than he had been on other nights. She was pretty positive it was a guy from the view she got, but not a guy like Lee or the friends he hung around. This guy was more limb than torso, more sinew than bulk. She turned her head back in the direction she was walking and could see the entrance to her apartment building not far ahead. She took the key in her fingers and got ready to unlock it fast.

She skipped up the steps and scrambled to get the door open. Once the key clicked into place, she launched herself inside and slammed the door shut behind her. She locked it fast, slamming her back against it as she heaved for a few safe breaths. She hadn't realized that she had stopped breathing in her panic to put a wall between herself and that guy.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry. The last thing she wanted was her upstairs neighbor to come out in the middle of the night and get annoyed at the ruckus. She pressed her palm to her forehead and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. She felt like she was overheating.

She let herself into her apartment more slowly. Her hands were shaking and she found it difficult to fit the key in the lock, but she got there eventually. The place was exactly as she had left it. She wasn't sure why she had expected it to be any different. She locked her door and dropped her keys onto the table with a clatter. The moonlight that wasn't blocked by the city lights or tall buildings flitted through her curtains. She made her way over to them, rubbing her hands up and down her arms and anxiously chewing on her inner cheek. She slipped her pointer finger into the gap between the fabric and pulled it slightly back. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she closed it tight.

He was still there, pacing the sidewalk in front of her door. Would a few locks be enough to keep her safe if this was what she thought it was?

She backed up a few steps and felt the panic creep in. Surely this wasn't a thing real people did, right?

Clearly it was. She had to pull it together.

She made her way to the kitchen and slid open her junk drawer. She remembered getting pepper spray from her uncle at some point, but she had never put it in her bag. She rummaged through the mess and pulled out a whole lot of nothing. Rubber bands, junk mail she'd never thrown out, a copy of some sappy romance novel she had gotten at an airport when visiting her mother- no pepper spray. Where the hell had she put it?

She bit down hard on her lower lip. There was a relatively dull carving knife in the block on her counter, and she wrapped her fingers around the handle and looked back to the door and then to the window.

She felt stupid for a second. There could've been a rational explanation for what was happening. She wished she had a roommate, or a dog, or, hell, even a gun. She shifted back towards the edge of her kitchen, the old fake leather of her boots squeaking with each step. She reached down and unzipped them, slipped them off, and kicked them to the side out of the way. She could hear her own heartbeat and it felt too loud, let alone her own steps.

A few minutes came and went and nothing else happened. The anxiety was starting to subside and she dropped her hand to her side, knife still gripped firmly in her knuckles. She debated calling her uncle or her cousin but it was late and they would be asleep. If the guy was gone, what could they do, anyway? She rested the knife on the counter and the blade slid with a sharp metal brush against the surface.

Then her apartment buzzer went off. She snapped her head back to the door, one hand gripped over her pounding heart.