The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Naya sat on the edge of the bed, her hands pressed into her lap, wrists red from where he'd gripped them too tightly. Her skin stung, her chest ached, but mostly it was the stillness afterward that got to her—the calm that came too soon, too forced, like silence after a slammed door.
She stayed there, motionless. Trying not to cry. Trying not to move. Trying not to feel.
She wasn't sure how long she sat like that before her eyes shifted to the window. Evening had folded into night. The street below glowed orange and soft, headlights passing every now and then. It was the same street she used to walk with headphones in and no one waiting for her. Back when loneliness was the worst thing she knew.
Back when she met Liam.
It had been just over a year ago. She had walked into that bookstore on a rainy afternoon, hiding from the downpour and half-heartedly scanning the self-help section. Her fingers trailed over titles about healing and boundaries and finding yourself. And then she'd heard a voice beside her: "You don't look like someone who needs saving."
She'd looked up and there he was.
Tall. Disarming. A little too confident, but charming about it. He had dimples when he smiled and kind eyes that didn't flinch when they met hers.
"Sorry," he'd said, laughing. "That was weird. I just—I saw you and wanted to say hi."
She had nodded. Said nothing at first. Then gave him a small smile—one she didn't realize she still had.
He didn't push. He asked her about her favorite books. Told her his own. When she hesitated, he filled the silence easily, like he wasn't uncomfortable with pauses.
They left the bookstore together. He offered her a ride since it was still raining, but she declined. He didn't insist. Just asked if he could text her sometime.
And he did. The next day. Then the next. Conversations that felt light. Calls that made her laugh. Memes. Voice notes. She found herself waiting for them, even though she wouldn't admit it. He didn't rush anything. Didn't press.
He was different.
That's what she told herself when she agreed to coffee. Then dinner. Then to be his girlfriend.
In the beginning, Liam listened. He let her talk in fragments. He didn't poke at her silence. If she forgot to text back, he understood. If she spaced out, he gave her space. There were flowers, kind words, lingering touches that didn't overstep.
"You're easy to love," he'd said once, holding her hand under the glow of her bedside lamp.
And she wanted to believe it.
But over time, the tone shifted.
He started calling more than texting. Not in a sweet, I-miss-you way, but in a checking-where-you-are way. He'd ask who she was with. What she was doing. Why she didn't reply sooner. It didn't sound like anger—it sounded like concern. Like he just cared more than most people did.
"You know I worry about you," he'd say. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
Then came the comments. About her clothes. Her friends. Her habits.
"You looked better in the blue dress."
"She talks too much—why do you even hang out with her?"
"Babe, don't shut me out. I'm the only one who really gets you."
And slowly, Naya stopped arguing. Stopped correcting. Stopped reaching out to people he didn't like.
She didn't even notice when she stopped smiling as much.
The first time he raised his voice, it shocked them both. He apologized. Brought dinner. Rubbed her shoulders until she relaxed.
The second time, he blamed stress. She told herself he didn't mean it.
The third time, she said nothing at all.
Now, back in the dim light of her room, with her body sore and her mind stretched thin, she breathed slowly, carefully.
She had once told herself she would never end up like this. The kind of girl who got caught in a relationship she couldn't name out loud.
And yet here she was.
Caught, but not screaming.
Hurting, but not bleeding.
Liam hadn't started this way. That's what made it harder to leave. Because the man who had made her feel safe once… still smiled like he meant it.
But
the smile didn't reach his eyes anymore.
And hers didn't come at all.