You were on a date. The night had gone better than expected.

You laughed. Genuinely. He made dumb jokes over dinner, told you about his dog, and blushed when your fingers brushed his. It wasn’t love—but it was normal. Safe. Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

And when you both finally made it to your apartment, lingering outside your door in that awkward silence, you kissed him goodbye. Soft. Harmless. Just a taste.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” “Yeah. I will.” He smiled. “Tonight was great.” “It was.”

The door closed behind you with a warm click. You leaned against it for a second, smiling to yourself.

Ten minutes later, curled up on the couch in your hoodie, you texted him:

“Hey :) just wanted to say thanks again. I had a really nice time with you tonight.”

You waited. Nothing.

Maybe he was still walking. You opened Instagram. Scrolled. Checked the clock.

Still nothing.

You frowned.

Another ten minutes passed. Then your phone buzzed—but it wasn’t him.

Unknown Number 1 Message

Your brow furrowed. New number. No name.

You tapped it open.

“He’s not texting back.” “He won’t ever again.” “You kissed him. You smiled at him. You let him touch what’s mine.”

“So I carved the smile off his face.”

“Problem solved.”

You froze.

Your blood ran cold as your breath caught in your throat.

The typing bubble popped up again.

“Go ahead. Check your door.”

Your heart dropped.

You stood slowly. Approached the front door like it might explode.

You opened it.

Empty.

No—wait. Something on the ground.

A phone.

His phone.

Smeared with something dark and drying.

You stumbled back inside, slamming the door shut, hands trembling.

Your phone buzzed again.

“You don’t need dates.” “You don’t need normal.” “You need me.”

“And now… you only have me.”