I resisted the urge to have another cigarette before entering the building. I was just putting off the inevitable. The fluttering in my stomach seemed to be a constant feeling and I wasn’t getting more than a few hours of sleep a night. I saw him everywhere, imagining his face, trying to fill in the parts of it that I didn’t see. I shook the thoughts from my head. I had to focus on work and get my life back to some sort of normality.

I hurried through reception, scanning my badge to gain access to the lifts. Inside, I stood at the back, waiting for the door to close, and rummaged in my handbag for a mirror. My hot flush so intense, I was concerned my make-up was sliding off my face. I was sure sweat patches would be visible under the arms of my blouse.

Someone slipped in just before the doors closed. A man stood with his back to me. Black trousers, black shoes; my gaze drifted upwards. The back of his head was sheathed in black fabric. Was he wearing a balaclava? I froze, holding my breath. My attacker had followed me to work. I had to get out.

Stretching my arm to reach for the panel, it was too far away, and I was worried the movement would cause him to turn round. The lift jerked into action, throwing me off balance, then slowly ascending. I had to find a weapon, something to protect myself with, but I couldn’t move. I pressed myself to the back wall, not daring to make a sound. Waiting for him to turn. How did he find me?

Seconds later, the lift came to a halt with another jolt. My lungs screamed for air, heart hammering. I stared at the back of his head, the need to urinate becoming more urgent by the second. The doors slid open and he turned back to look at me.

‘Oh, hey Eve, didn’t see you there,’ Gurpreet said, stepping out of the lift.

I coughed as I inhaled, filling my lungs up. It wasn’t a balaclava. Fuck’s sake, Eve. Gurpreet always wore a black turban. Idiot. I was losing my mind.

I hurried to the sanctuary of the toilets, relief turning my muscles to mush. I had to get my shit together.