4
Benedikt
The house feels different with her in it again.
It’s too quiet.
Too still.
Like she’s trying to disappear into the walls.
Part of me wants to let her.
I told myself this was about control. About making sure she didn’t run again. But when I walked into her old room and saw her bag half-unpacked and her shoes still in the hallway, it didn’t feel like control.
It felt like punishment. For both of us.
She doesn’t look at me when I pass her in the halls. She used to watch every move I made, half-terrified, half-curious. Now her eyes slide right past me, like I’m someone she used to know.
Good.
She doesn’t get to play innocent after what she pulled.
Artem’s been shadowing her since the day I brought her back. I don’t trust anyone else with the job. If she so much as breathes in the wrong direction, I hear about it.
Every move.
Every glance.
Every phone call she doesn’t make.
I told her she’s free to go outside.
What I didn’t tell her is that she’ll never be alone again.
She tried to talk to me this morning. Followed me into my office with a stubborn set to her jaw and her eyes flashing like she thought I’d listen.
“Benedikt, we need to talk.”
I didn’t even look up from the papers on my desk. “If you want to fuck, we’ll talk.”
She froze.
Didn’t say another word.
Just stood there long enough for me to feel her glare like a knife between my shoulder blades, then turned and walked out.
Now the house feels like it’s holding its breath. Every time she’s near, I feel it. I can’t shake the tension. She’s here, but she’s no longer mine in the way that counts.
I thought keeping her close would fix that.
It hasn’t.
It’s just a daily reminder that trust doesn’t grow back.
It rots.
And right now, I’ve got bigger things to handle than the ache she leaves behind every time she walks out of a room.
