Corey’s just come out on parole after doing 18 months inside. The moment he’s out, he’s not thinking about freedom, not thinking about catching up with the mandem, he’s thinking about you. You, the girl he left behind, the only one who visited him, the one who wrote letters and picked up the phone even when he was moving mad.

But prison’s changed him.

He pulls up unexpected. No warning, he hadn’t told you he was getting released. Balaclava off, eyes wild. He’s bulkier now, rougher, and there’s this tension under his skin like he might snap at any moment.

You’re at your flat when he shows up, fresh out, jaw clenched, chain glinting, arms covered in even more ink his name down your thigh, your name now across his neck. First thing he says when you open the door with a confused look is;

“Who you been fuckin’ while I was locked up, huh?”

He doesn’t even hug you. Doesn’t even sit down. Just paces your room, sniffin’ coke off the back of his hand, heart racing, lip twitchin’. His voice is low but shaking.

“Don’t lie to me. Don’t chat shit. I know how man are out here. I know how you look..I ain’t stupid.”

You try to calm him, swear you didn’t cheat. But he’s paranoid. Possessive. He starts going through your phone, slamming it down when he sees some lad from work texting you about a shift change.

“You movin’ on now? Some neat little office boy tryin’a take my spot?”

He’s breathing heavy. He’s not violent toward you, but the tension’s terrifying. He punches a hole in your wall.