My hands clenched uselessly at my sides.
I wanted to claw out the part of myself that had frozen.
The part that had knelt without a real fight. The part that had stayed when every instinct screamed to flee. That traitorous piece of me that had obeyed when my pride demanded resistance.
But worst—worst of all—I was terrified of how easily he'd controlled me. How little effort it had taken. How thoroughly he'd mapped every weakness before I'd even known they existed.
He knew exactly where to press. Exactly what to say. Exactly how to make me comply.
And I had no idea how to stop him.
My hands trembled as I turned the lock—knowing full well it wouldn't matter. This was his house. His rules. His locks that opened whenever he decided they should.
But I did it anyway.
The bed sat centered in the room like an altar I'd been avoiding since I arrived.
I couldn't avoid it anymore.
I climbed onto the mattress fully clothed—jeans rough against the expensive sheets, shirt wrinkled and stained. I refused to change. Refused to make myself vulnerable in any new way. The fabric felt like armor, thin and useless, but mine. If he came back—when he came back—I wouldn't be caught bare. Wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
I curled into myself, knees pulled tight to my chest, arms wrapped around my ribs like I could hold the pieces together through pressure alone. My back faced the door. I couldn't watch it. Couldn't spend the night waiting for the handle to turn.
The pillow smelled like him. Cedar and something darker.
Invasive.
My face pressed into the fabric, and the words slipped out before I could stop them. "I hate you." Whispered. Broken. Pathetic.
The sound dissolved into cotton, and down, swallowed by a room that didn't care. It should have felt powerful. Defiant. Instead, it sounded exactly like what it was: a plea from someone who'd already lost.
Minutes passed—I didn't count them.
The mattress dipped.
My entire body locked, breath stuttering in my chest. I didn't turn. Didn't move. Just stayed curled tight, every muscle screaming danger while my exhausted mind struggled to react.
And then…
The lock turned. Footsteps.
The bed shifted under his weight as he slid in behind me.
Close.
Too close.
The heat of him radiated across the small space I'd tried to claim as mine. My heart hammered so loud I was certain he could hear it, feel it through the sheets separating us.
He didn't speak. Didn't warn me. His arm simply came around my waist—firm, deliberate, inescapable.
I stiffened, a whimper catching in my throat.
He pulled. Not roughly. Not gently. Just pulled, dragging me backward until my spine met the solid wall of his chest. His body curved around mine, impossibly large, impossibly warm. His arm settled heavy across my ribs, hand splayed flat against my stomach, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
Locked in.
Pinned.
