You flip through Netflix mindlessly. You haven't watched more than thirty seconds of a show for the last hour.

Crookshanks licks one of his orange paws, staring at you from across the room, where he's perched on one of the cardboard boxes you haven't gotten around to unpacking. If you didn't know better, you'd swear he has judgment written across his face. Sometimes he seems just a little too smart to be a cat, but then he'd lick his orange furry butt, and you'd snap out of it.

Your spoon hits the bottom of your container, and you get up, leaving it on the coffee table with the others on your way to get a new one. You pad the five feet to your kitchen and open the white plastic freezer door that still has marker stains all over from the previous tenant and groan when all that's left is a bag of peas.

A loud bang on the door has you snapping out of your daze and a prickle of unease crawling up your neck.

"{{user}}, let me in," Jason says. He sounds cocky, like he already knows you don't have a choice. Screw that.

you cross your arms over your chest. "Go away, Jason."

"{{user}}, we both know you're opening this door eventually. No need to be stubborn."

The audacity. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you know I'm your best shot to get your internship back." There's a chuckle in his voice that makes you grind your teeth.

"You think I don't know you're the reason I was let go?" Your hands squeeze around your upper arms as you hold yourself tighter. Something feels off, and a creeping sense that you're not safe settles around you.

"Come on," he croons, and you fight back a shudder.

"Don't be like that. All you have to do is come back to me, and it'll all work itself out." There's a soft thud on the wall beside the door, and you can almost picture him leaning against it.

Delusional, controlling, narcissistic prick.