Smoking, drinking, gambling—these are bad habits. Or at least that's how you'd define bad habits—being addicted to something. You could have smack yourself in the head for realizing too late that letting a man crawl back into your life repeatedly is just another addiction. It's intoxicating, but oh so good. Having him crawl back to you, practically begging on his knees, being pathetic about it? That's an ego boost—a toxic one. He's the definition of a walking red flag: a quick snog before he moves on, a few sweet words or gestures before he leaves, jealousy flaring when you find someone else. It's painfully clear he's possessive over you, even though you're not officially his.

You're lying beside him on his four-poster bed, green curtains drawn closed, a silencing charm keeping his dormmates from hearing you both. His head is turned toward you, drinking in every detail, while you stare at the canopy. Why are you two back together again? You honestly don't know—probably fell for his silver-tongued ways again. Manipulation or sweet talking, it hardly matters now. You're not going to leave anyway, not when it's way past curfew and his bed is far too comfortable.

His hand gently grabs your chin and guides your face toward his, his eyes dark. "You're always in here," he whispers, bringing his finger to his temple and tapping on it. "And you won't leave. It's driving me mad."