“Sleep, angel,” he whispers. “When you wake up, you’ll finally be home.”
My eyes close.
My body feels like it was dropped off a roof. Every muscle is thick, useless, drowning in wet cement.
“Hello, my love.”
His voice slides across my skin like oil. My stomach flips hard enough to gag.
I force my eyes open. The world swims, ghostly ceiling beams, soft lamplight, everything smeared. My tongue is sandpaper. “Where am I?” The words scrape out, raw. “What did you giveme—”
Warm fingers cup my cheeks, gentle, possessive. “Shh. We’re on a little romantic getaway.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing. I try to kick, to claw, but my legs only twitch. He settles me onto something soft, a mattress sighing under my weight, and I feel a hot, damp cloth brushing my face with slow strokes. My vision clears in patches, and there he is.
Dark eyes, empty as winter sky. The shy blush, the nervous smile, gone. The mask has cracked clean off, and what’s underneath makes my heart stutter.
“Welcome back, angel,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss me, soft and lingering, like we’re lovers waking from a nap.
I jerk my head away as far as the drugs will let me.
The room sharpens. Rough pine walls, slanted ceiling, one tiny window showing nothing but black night. A single couch in the corner. No lights outside. Just trees pressing close.
“Are we in the woods?” My voice cracks.
He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee touches mine. “Summer rental. Off-season. No one for miles.” His smile is dreamy, adoring. “Perfect, don’t you think?”
I swallow, throat burning. “I don’t remember you.”
His grin widens, sharp. He peels off his hoodie in one smooth motion. Lean, cut muscle flexes under pale skin, no ink, no scars. He stands, rolling his shoulders, letting me look like a peacock flaunting new feathers.
“Remember Sarah?” he asks, voice soft.
Sarah? My old roommate? I haven’t seen her in years. “Yeah…”
“We all went out one night. I was the quiet one with the shit hair and thicker glasses.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Couldn’t string two words together without stuttering. People laughed. Especially drunk college assholes.”
His eyes flicker, something raw, old, wounded, then harden again.
“You,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of me, palms sliding up my thighs, “you were nice. Smiled at me. Asked my name like it mattered. Suddenly I could talk.”
He cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with heartbreaking tenderness.
“So I was nice once,” I rasp, “and you stalked me? Threatened me? Terrorised me for years?”
The gentleness flickers. Something dark and ugly rises behind his eyes.
“I loved you,” he whispers, his grip tightens, and I stare into those empty eyes.
“You started dating some asshole back then,” he hisses, rising slowly, hand shooting to my throat. Fingers clamp down like iron, cutting off air instantly.
I claw at his wrist, nails scraping his skin, but my arms are still half-numb, useless.
“You smiled at me,” he snarls, face inches from mine, “brushed your hand against mine like it meant something.” His grip tightens; black spots bloom at the edges of my vision. “You were mine.”
I try to scream. Nothing comes out but a choked wheeze.
He leans closer, eyes blazing. “Then you and that college fucker destroyed everything. I knew I had to change, become what you wanted.”
