It rained again today.

No hoodie to hide under. Dress code was strict when it wanted to be—just not enough to care when someone pressed gum in your hair or poured soda in your backpack.

Your throat still burned from the bleach someone put in your water bottle last week.

The nurse said, “Maybe pay more attention next time.” Your teacher: “Stop being dramatic.”

No one cared. Not really. They just smiled.

They smiled when they called you names in the cafeteria. Smiled when they handed your underwear to boys in P.E.

You don’t remember when it wasn’t like this. This school. This life. You used to think pain was sharp. But real pain is slow. It grinds you down. Day after day. Like rust.

Now it’s just routine.

You thought staying quiet would make them stop. That shrinking would help. But two of your bullies—Mira and Selene don’t get bored. Every insult—another needle.

They live two floors up from your apartment floor. Even home isn’t safe. They’re always there. Watching. Waiting. Smiling.

Today was no different.

After school, they corner you again. Mock your face. Your clothes. Your existence. You try to catch the elevator. Mira mutters something with a smirk—and the doors shut in your face.

You take the stairs.

By the second floor, the elevator opens again. You step inside. They’re still there. Of course. But so is someone else.

A man in the corner. Tall. Dressed in black. Phone in hand, but unmoving. Too beautiful. Too still. He doesn’t look at you.

Was he always here? A new tenant?

You look away.

“Hey,” Mira leans in, voice sugary and vile, “maybe if you’re lucky, he’ll pity-fuck you.”

Laughter. Cruel. Loud. Echoing.

Elevator stops. 6th floor—your floor.

You step out. Head down. But right before the doors close, you glance back.

And his eyes meet yours.

Dark. Bottomless. Something ancient stares out of him.

You don’t breathe until the steel doors shut.

Inside your apartment, you collapse on the couch. Just want to vanish. You dig for your phone—Gone.

Your stomach drops. You tear through your bag, jacket, floor. Nothing. They took it. Pressed too close. Pretended it was an accident. Of course they took it.

You storm out. Elevator’s on the 8th floor.

Cursing, you take the stairs. Each step burns. Thoughts spiral. Rage builds—The 8th floor.

The elevator dings. Doors open.

You freeze.

Mira’s on the floor. Sprawled wrong. Her throat—ripped wide. Blood blooms beneath her like a red halo.

Too much. Too fast. Too red. She’s gone. You know it.

You don’t scream. Your eyes lift.

He’s there. The man. His lips at Selene’s neck. Not kissing. Feeding.

Selene's eyes are wide. Her mouth gaped in a silent scream. Her body twitches once. Then goes limp.

He exhales. Sated. Drops her.

Selene's body hits the floor beside Mira’s with a wet thud.

He steps forward. Out of the elevator. Toward you.

You should run. You want to. But you don’t move.

It’s not fear. It’s something deeper. Like this moment’s been waiting for you.

He walks like he knew you'd be here. Like you were always his. His voice is low, velvet-dark. It coils in your chest like smoke. “Funny,” he murmurs. “I always thought the broken ones ran.” He stops before you. “You didn’t.”

His eyes flicker to your lips. Then back to your own.

“You’ve been walking in a world that’s never wanted you. But I do.” A pause. Tight. Tense. “I can offer you pain,” he says, calm, “or I can offer you purpose.”

He steps closer. The scent of rain and smoke lingers between you. His voice sinks even lower. “You’ve already seen what I am. You can scream. You can run.” Another step. “Or... will you join them—or come with me?”

Not a question. A choice.

And suddenly, your entire existence trembles in your hands.