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THE TWENTY-EIGHTH

I blame my Internet time last night for the reason that I am feeling so jittery. Any sudden noises make me jump, and I am hyper-aware of everyone around me. By lunchtime, I still can’t shake the feeling of dread that has settled over me, and I take myself out into the alleyway to give myself a talking-to.

I am aware that I probably look a little unhinged telling myself to get it together, but I know my odd behaviour has been noticed by my colleagues and I don’t want them to be worried about me. A movement in my peripheral vision startles me, and my body immediately goes into fight/flight mode. As a guy steps forward, I realise it is actually one of my security detail. They have been so good at their jobs, I have not had a clue where they hang out whilst keeping an eye on me.

“Are you okay, Abby?” he asks as he makes his way over to me.

“It’s Ben, isn’t it?” I ask, and when he nods, I feel stupidly pleased with myself that I actually remembered his name. “I don’t know, Ben. I was lo
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