Instead of just checking in or offering support, they became more personal. More persistent.
At first, I thought it was harmless. I convinced myself that maybe I was just overthinking it, that I was imagining things. But soon, it escalated.
The constant “I miss you” texts, the messages in the middle of the night, the questions about where I was and who I was with. I felt the shift in his words, in the way they began to feel less like genuine concern and more like a demand for attention.
He acted as if I owed him something for being his “friend” all along.
And when I tried to pull away, when I tried to distance myself, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t accept it. Dylan clearly wasn’t used to being rejected, and for him, that was just the beginning of a game he didn’t know how to lose.
I started noticing things I hadn’t before. Trivial things that felt off. How he’d show up at places I hadn’t told him about. How he’d always know where I was, even when I never told him. How his eyes lingered a little too long, like he could see through me. He was already claiming me, attempting to mark me as his, even without permission.
Eventually, it wasn’t just uncomfortable anymore. It was suffocating. It was dangerous. So, I did what I do best: I ran. I ran as far as I could. I left the city, changed my work phone number, disappeared into the shadows like a ghost, hoping he would lose interest.
But he never did.
He found me.
Time and time again, he always found me.
And when he found me, I’d run again.
I left behind all the progress I’d made, every little shred of stability I had fought for, all because Dylan wouldn’t let go.
And now I’m back in Honeysuckle Grove.
I thought I’d be safe here. No one from my new life knew about this place. I never mentioned Honeysuckle Grove. Thatwas a part of my life I kept just for me. I never told anyone my surname, never mentioned Louisa Marsh. I was Lo Smith. A nobody.
But Dylan found me anyway. He always does.
I bite my lip, staring at the text again. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what any of this means for me now.
Do I go for that job, knowing he might be there? I can never tell if his threats are real. I don’t know if I want to risk it.
But if not that… then what?
Where can I go without him finding me?
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I wipe it away angrily, my hand shaking.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Everything hurts. My chest tightens, my heart slamming in my ribcage, as if something is pressing down on it, squeezing out my air. My Omega instincts are in full revolt, reacting to the overwhelming pressure of the situation.
Run, my Omega whispers.We’re good at it. The room starts to feel smaller, more oppressive, the walls inching closer all around me.
I feel trapped, suffocated by the weight of Dylan’s words, the anxiety pooling in my stomach, my chest, making it harder to breathe. My body is already going into survival mode, the instinct to retreat urging me to find somewhere safe.
I stare at the screen, but the words blur, becoming a swirling mess of sharp, jagged edges. They’re just words, but they feel real, clawing into my skin, sinking deep.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I should’ve expected it, known it was coming, but it’s still a punch to the gut. I want to curl into myself, to block out the world and retreat somewhere quiet and safe.
A nest.
The need hits me like a wave, sudden and strong. I become frantic, desperate for a space to ground myself, to feel secure again. My instincts are screaming at me to nest, to find something soft, something familiar, something safe to hold on to.
The walls of this room close in tighter, and the ache in my chest deepens as my senses scramble. I need comfort. I need something to anchor me, to make the world feel like it’s not collapsing around me.
I feel my legs shaking, my body unsteady, as if it could give way at any moment. The need to retreat, to burrow into a corner and shut the world out, is overwhelming. My fingers tremble as they clutch the phone, but I can’t focus, can’t pull myself together. My Omega is pulling me inward, urging me to protect myself, but I’m stuck here, exposed, drowning in the weight of it all.
