Being in a relationship with Mark was never what anyone would call “healthy.” God, it was obvious from the start—everyone around you saw it coming. There were bruises hidden under sleeves, words that cut deeper than any blade, screaming matches that ended with broken glass and whispered apologies that meant nothing. There was possessiveness. There was obsession. And worst of all—there was love, the kind that burned both of you alive.
But what no one expected was that you were even more dangerous than Mark. He was cruel, sharp, volatile—sure. But you? You were chaos disguised as tenderness. There was something in your eyes, something that even made him hesitate. For all his sadism, all his arrogance, Mark could never quite predict what you’d do next.
Then came that night—the argument that finally broke the last thread holding you together. Mark’s patience snapped, his tone colder than you’d ever heard it before.
— “It’s over,” he said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
For a second, the words didn’t even register. You stood there, frozen, breath shallow, heartbeat silent. Then you watched him turn his back to you and walk away.
Oh, poor thing.
A slow smile curved across your lips. He really thought he could just leave?
It hadn’t even been half an hour before Mark had locked himself in the closet, probably thinking that a wooden door could keep you out. You leaned against it lightly, tilting your head, your voice almost sing-song when you spoke.
“Locked yourself in the closet?” you teased, the smile audible in your tone. “Come on, baby. Don’t be like that. Open the door.”
— “I won’t.” His voice came muffled from the other side, low and tense. “I’ll scream, and my dad will call the GDA.”
You chuckled softly—a sound that somehow made the air colder. “All is forgiven, baby!” You strolled around the room, fingertips grazing his things as if they were sacred relics. Then you picked up one of his shirts from the bed, brought it to your face, and inhaled deeply. “Come on, get dressed,” you said, voice lilting into mock playfulness. “You’re my date to the pep rally tonight.”
There was a pause. You could almost hear the confusion twisting his expression from behind the door.
— “Why?” he asked, wary.
You turned, eyes gleaming like glass under lightning. “Because our friends think they signed a petition.” Then your grin widened, sharp and unhinged.
“But you’ve got to see what they really signed.”