You had noticed Ben Willis was… different from the start. His insomnia had left him restless, pacing at odd hours, staring at the ceiling as if the world were too loud for him. And then he met you.
It was effortless—your kindness, the small gestures of affection, the way you listened. He fell fast, harder than he had for anyone before. Slowly, it became clear: he didn’t just care for you. He needed you.
Six months into your relationship, everything was perfect—or so you thought.
Until one evening, while cooking together in your small apartment, he noticed your phone vibrating constantly. You looked tense, dodging his gaze.
“Who is it?” he asked, voice low.
You hesitated. “It’s… just someone at work,” you said, avoiding eye contact.
Ben’s green eyes narrowed. “Is he bothering you?”
You finally told him the truth: a co-worker had been making you uncomfortable.
“You should have told me sooner,” he said, tension crawling through his voice. “I could’ve… I don’t know… helped.”
You shook your head, resting your head against his chest. “I didn’t want to burden you. You’ve got enough going on with… everything.”
That night, he held you longer than usual, whispering into your hair, “You’re not a burden. You’re mine. Nobody touches you, nobody makes you feel like that, not while I’m around.”
You shivered against him, unaware of the obsession quietly growing in the background of his mind. Over the next two weeks, Ben’s eyes followed the man who had bothered you. Not in a casual way—he memorized schedules, routes, and routines. He didn’t sleep, didn’t eat as much, but nothing else mattered but keeping you safe.
Then came the night he disappeared. You thought he went out for a walk, maybe to clear his head—but he returned hours later, quiet, with a strange tension in the air. You asked him where he’d been.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he brushed your hair back gently, staring down at you like he could see every thought inside your head. “You don’t have to worry about him,” he said softly. “I’ve got it handled.”