The room feels smaller. My tea has gone cold. My thoughts start stacking up, one on top of the other. Suddenly I can’t tell which ones are mine and which ones are fear wearing a familiar face.
“What if I’m doing this because it feels powerful to be chosen?” I ask, more to myself than her. “What if I’m ignoring red flags because I don’t want to go back to being invisible?”
Jo doesn’t answer right away. She reaches out and squeezes my knee. “I just don’t want you getting hurt again. And I don’t trust men who mark territory.”
That does it.
By the time she leaves, after hugs and reassurances and promises to check in, I’m more wrecked than I was before she arrived. The doubts have teeth now. They pace. They ask better questions.
I curl up on the couch again, phone in my hand, staring at Ethan’s name without opening the thread, because I don’t know what I’d say if I did.
I try to distract myself the responsible way. I rinse my mug. I wipe the counter that was already clean. I open my laptop and close it again without reading a word. Every attempt at normalcy slides off me like I’m made of Teflon today.
My phone buzzes.
I glance down, expecting the group chat or maybe Ethan, and my stomach drops when I see a number I don’t recognize. No name. No picture. Just digits.
Unknown: You look better when you’re scared.
I freeze.
I stare at the screen, waiting for my brain to supply context or logic or anything useful, but it doesn’t. It just tightens. I tell myself it’s a wrong number. A bad joke. Spam that took a weird turn.
Then another message comes through.
Unknown: Did you really think running once meant you’d never have to do it again?
My pulse kicks hard enough that I have to put the phone down for a second, like physical distance might help. It doesn’t. I pick it back up, fingers already cold.
Me: Who is this?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Unknown: You know exactly who this is about.
My chest feels tight now, not panic yet but something close enough to make my breaths shallow. I stand up without realizing it and pace the length of the living room, my socks sliding on the floor.
Unknown: You didn’t do a very good job of running the first time, Lila.
My vision blurs, and it takes me a second to realize my eyes are watering. Someone who knows where to press.
Me: If this is a joke, stop.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then the phone buzzes again.
Unknown: He said you were special too, remember?
He said he chose you, you belonged to him.
My stomach turns.
I sit down hard on the couch, my knees suddenly weak, and I feel the old instinct flare, sharp and unwelcome. The scan for exits. The urge to minimize. To go quiet and wait it out.
Unknown: Funny thing is, you didn’t really run from him.
You just waited until someone else picked you up.
The room feels smaller, like the walls leaned in when I wasn’t looking. My thoughts tangle, past and present blurring together in a way I hate. I think of Ethan’s note.You’re mine. No one else gets to have you.I think of Jo’s voice, careful and worried. I think of how easily my body relaxes when his hand settles at my waist.