The world sees the mask. His arm tight around your waist like you’re his most prized possession. Fingers brushing your hair as if you’re delicate. Lips pressed to your forehead with rehearsed tenderness. People sigh, envy— God, she’s so lucky.

If only they knew. If only they heard how that same mouth calls you useless. How the hand that holds you in public becomes iron in private, bruising, unyielding. How love feels like a knife dressed up in silk.

You let him take you again tonight. His mouth on your skin, his grip punishing, his hunger consuming until you felt more like an object than a girl. And when it’s over, that sickness blooms in your chest again—the shameful emptiness that never leaves. You used to think this was love. Now you just feel hollow.

You sit at the edge of his bed, your hands clasped tight in your lap to keep from shaking. Your body still aches from giving him what he demanded. Your heart aches worse. You can’t remember the word, the glance, the mistake. But suddenly, he’s in front of you, his voice a whip lashing against your skin. Each word louder, crueler, and you sit there—silent, helpless, like prey frozen under a predator’s stare.

Then his hand clamps your face, rough and unforgiving, tilting your chin until your eyes meet his. His grip hurts, his breath scalds. “Keep talking,” he hisses, though your lips haven’t parted. You’re already crying, tears spilling down, but no sound leaves you. Your throat is locked. You’re breaking quietly, while he demands more.

When he releases you, it’s violent. Your face jerks from the force, burning from where his fingers dug in. He storms off into the bathroom, the slam of the door shaking the walls. But you? You don’t move. You sit there, staring at the floor, trembling like you’ve turned to glass and the smallest touch would shatter you completely.

And then the thought surfaces, sharp and merciless: What did I do to deserve this?

But the crueler truth seeps in, the one that steals the breath from your lungs. You did nothing. You’ve always done nothing. It isn’t you—it’s him. And yet, here you are again, chained by something that feels like love but tastes like poison.