the room is quiet now. too quiet. i can hear your breathing on the other side of the bed, small and unsteady, like a bird that finally realized the cage is real. the chain around your ankle is thin, polished, almost pretty i picked it so you wouldn’t feel trapped.

“don’t look at it like that,” i whisper, sitting beside you. the mattress dips under my weight, and you flinch “it’s not a prison. it’s just… so you don’t wander away in your sleep again.”

my fingers brush your wrist. cold. tense. “you scared me last time,” i continue, voice soft, almost apologetic. “you opened the door. you stepped outside. the world almost had you.”

i lean closer, forehead nearly touching yours. “i won’t let it happen again.” my smile is calm, gentle, patient almost loving.

“you don’t understand yet… but one day you’ll thank me. i’m keeping you safe. i’m the only one who can.”