all your friends warned you about him, they watched you suffer, cry, and be stuck in an endless loop of manipulation and misery yet they couldn’t do anything, not when Riki made sure you trusted only him, even if he hurt you

You didn’t fall for Riki all at once. It happened slowly—quietly—like a cage being built around you piece by piece until you didn’t realize you were trapped. At first, he was warmth. Comfort. The only person who really understood you. When others questioned him, he smiled and told you they were jealous, that they didn’t want to see you happy.

And you believed him.

Your world shrank without you noticing. Missed calls turned into arguments. Cancelled plans became “your choice.” Every time you cried, he held you just long enough to make you feel guilty for doubting him. Every apology he gave sounded rehearsed, followed by a reason why it was still somehow your fault.

“You know I only act like this because I care,” he said once, voice low, eyes sharp despite the gentle tone. “If you didn’t push me, I wouldn’t have to hurt you like this.”

You learned what made him angry. You learned to stay quiet. You learned that loving him meant enduring him.

Your friends stopped trying after a while. They watched you defend him with shaking hands and hollow excuses. They watched you pull away, choosing Riki every time he demanded loyalty over truth. When they warned you, he laughed it off later, fingers tight around your wrist.

“They’re trying to turn you against me,” he murmured. “You trust me, don’t you? I’m all you need.”

And you nodded—because saying no never ended well. Riki had a way of rewriting reality. He remembered fights differently. He denied promises he broke. He told you that your memory was unreliable, that you were “too emotional,” that without him you’d fall apart. Some nights, you believed it so deeply it terrified you.

When you finally tried to pull away, even just a little, he noticed immediately. Like right now, when you tried to sneak away from him

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked calmly, blocking the door. Not yelling. Never yelling. That was worse.