Finished my first 1st draft! Now going into editing mode, Thoughts on this opening?

It's a short horror story that sees the protagonist stalked by a presence that delivers old objects from their past, sparking old, haunting memories. How does they come across in this intro? Does it give enough to keep things interesting? Let me know any thoughts!

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“I just can't shake this feeling that I’m being hunted. Like something is watching me or… I don’t know… Waiting for me to break again. And then what? What do I do then?”

Zachary had been here long before I showed up to my first meeting. I’d heard plenty of stories from him since then about his struggles with getting close to people, how he’s always felt “destined to hurt” someone. He never seemed the type, personally. Zach seemed like a good guy. At least the version of him I met on Tuesdays, anyway. Some people can’t help but put on a face when they go out in public. I can attest to that. No one needs to know what’s under the hood as long as the paint’s fresh and shiny. Still, I had a hard time imagining Zach actually hurting anyone. You get a good sense for that kind of thing after you’ve been exposed to it for a while. And in that case, my sense is well honed.

“Our bodies have a way of holding onto strong feelings sometimes,” Explained Cameron, ever the diligent mediator in his argyle sweater. He had taken over as head of the support group a year before and had saved it from nearly disbanding. People felt comfortable around him, enough to open up to the room when they otherwise would’ve stayed silent. The auditorium was cramped and the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, but things felt at ease when he spoke. He was a natural. “Those feelings have a way of bubbling back up after things have had a chance to settle down. You get so used to the danger and the panic that even after it's passed, your brain has a hard time believing it. So it stays prepared, and it doesn't take much to trigger it. Have you tried-”

I first found this group when an old fling gave me an ultimatum to “get help or get out,” as she delicately put it. And when I did “get help” and didn’t instantly become whatever version of myself she wanted me to be, she kicked my ass to the curb. I kept going every Tuesday, though. It’s nice to see the same faces and have a schedule to stick to. It helps. Even if I’m not the type to pour my heart out and sob in front of everyone, it helps.

“And how about you, Reily?” Cameron had turned to face me, meaning everyone had turned to face me. “How have things been this past week? How’d things go with Hannah?”

“Umm… Things are fine. They’re good.” I nodded along, choosing to look at the tips of my boots instead of the dozens of weary eyes trained on me. “Hannah, uh… We didn’t end up going out. Just didn’t feel right… I don’t know.”

I knew that wouldn’t be good enough. There was a sweet spot when it came to sharing personal shit when Cameron was at the helm. Too little and he’d keep pushing, too much and he’d subtly tell you to wrap it up so we can get to someone else. It was like a dance, in a way. You can’t be shoving everyone and stomping on toes, but you can’t just stand still either. I’d need to give a little more.

“I think she got cold feet, is all. Maybe I did a little, too.”