The first thing he took from me was my phone.
Not like in horror movie, no shouting, no smashing it on the floor. Just his hand, calm, waiting. I froze. My thumb looked over the screen like it could fix this somehow.
"Give it to me," he said.
His voice was calm, almost bored, and that made my stomach twist. Calm, not threatening not even intimidating but somehow worse.
I didn't move.
We were in the hallway of his apartment building. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead made the walls look like they were breathing. My keys jingled in my hand. The door behind was locked. The door in front of me, his bedroom, was wide open.
I hadn't planned to come here.
That was the lie I told myself a thousand times.
"You don't get to decide that," I said, voice higher than I meant. My hands trembling. "I'm leaving."
He smiled.
Not warm. Not cruel. Just… sure. Certain.
"You already decided," he said. "The moment you came upstairs."
I could hear my pulse in my ears. I stepped back, then another, until i could feel the wall. The hallway felt narrower, like the air itself was pressing down.
I'd known him for three months.
Three months. Three months of late-night messages, shared laughs, stupid little touches that lingered too long. Three months of thinking, this is fine, this is normal.
And that was the worst part.
"I need to go," I whispered, softer this time.
He didn't move,didn't block me, he tilted his head, watching me like I was a puzzle he'd already solved.
"You're thinking about running," he said.
I laughed, but it came out almosy unheard, breathless. "You always act like you know exactly what I'm thinking."
"I don't act," he said. "I pay attention."
My stomach twisted again.
"You mean…...you notice me?" I asked, voice almost like a whisper.
"Every stupid, stupid detail," he said, stepping closer, just enough that I could smell his cologne, subtle, clean, dangerous. My body betrayed me before my brain caught up. A shiver ran through my arm. His eyes sharpened immediately.
"There," he murmured. "That."
I hated myself for what I felt.
"For what?" I spat.
"For wanting me to stop…...and wanting me not to," he said.
My breath hitched.
I shouldn't be here. Every instinct screamed at me, but every memory of him pulled me forward, like a magnet I didn't want to resist.
"Give me the phone," he said again.
"Why?" I demanded. "What are you afraid of?"
His expression didn't change. Colder now. "I'm not afraid. I'm preventing regret."
Regret.
The word slipped into my chest like ice.
I dropped the phone before I could stop myself. He caught it effortlessly, sliding it into his pocket like it had always belonged there.
"Good," he said. "Now we can talk without interruptions."
"You can't do this," I whispered.
"I already did," he said, close enough that I could feel the heat of him without touching.
I reached for the door behind me, fumbling with the lock, my hands were shaking too much. Before I could turn the key, his palm pressed against the door, trapping me there.
Still no violence.
That was the most terrifying part.
"Listen to me," he said, voice low, deliberate, with authority like he was lecturing a misbehaving child. "I would never hurt you."
My throat burned. "Then let me leave."
He exhaled slowly, disappointment dragging through the air. "I didn't say I wouldn't ruin you."
The words settled in my chest. Heavy. Permanent.
And then the front door to his apartment clicked shut. Behind us. Trapped.
I couldn't breathe. My knees felt weak. My phone, my lifeline, was gone. And every rational part of me screamed, you don't belong here, run, run, run.
But my legs weren't listening.
I hated myself for staying.
He stepped closer, and the hallway seemed smaller now. His gaze didn't leave mine. Not angry. Not hateful. Just…...observant.
"You're already here," he said. "So there's no running."
I wanted to scream, I wanted to run, I wanted to hate him, but something, terrible and electric, twisted inside me.
This wasn't the beginning of a love story.
This was the moment I stopped being free.