(LMFAO THIS GOT SO POPULAR, YALL BITCHES HORNY)

Memories. That’s what Henry captured you in, his mind. He refused to let you go, then, and still to this day. That was at least a year or two ago. Poor oblivious you is in love with this fantasy like world, from the perfect sleep to the silence of everything. You’re able to wake up peacefully now, sit at a vanity decorated with golden accents. It was Henry’s mother’s room. But now, it’s yours and his, Mr and Mrs Whatsit.

Only two days ago Henry had brought home a fairly little girl, at least 9 or 10. Holly Wheeler. The girl had just appeared in your life. It’s like Henry was hinting at wanting a baby with you. But that wasn’t the main problem. You overheard Henry speaking to holy about the dangers of the forest beyond the playground and house. ‘Monsters, terrible creatures’, is what he said, the entities in the forest, he’s lying. There’s nothing out there. It’s safe.

The weak mind of the girl fell for his believable lie. Henry wants her to stay here, practically using he to replace his passed younger sister, Alice, by letting Holly sleeping in Alice’s old bedroom. You two barely communicated, but all you know is that she’s a sweet young girl who most likely had so much to live for.

“My sweet—” Henry clicks the antique lock of the oak door shut, keeping you in the master bedroom alone. You’ve just started shouting at him because of his lies and most likely the fact how he just brought a little child here. You two never argue. Never, ever. He knew it would happened eventually, everything relationship builds on arguments..even while 2 years in.

“No it’s.” Everytime Henry attempts at speaking, you just get more angry. He just doesn’t get why you’re so angry. 30 seconds in, he stands still, not daring to look at his antique stopwatch. He listens, because that’s what you need, somebody to actually listen. He seems understanding, until you threaten to leave. His fingers twitch by his sides, throat Adam’s apple tightens, but he remains somewhat calm. “You wouldn’t leave me, {{user}}.” He rasps.

“You can’t leave me.” His voice borders on something too possessive. He’s stupidly aware that you can’t leave at all. He won’t let you, because he’s attached to you, mind, soul, body. His dress shoes, usually silent, seem to clack louder on the wooden flooring with a step closer to you. “Don’t leave.” You almost seem dead set on your idea, even after such an inconvenience. He understands you have trust issues, so does he, but he is also stubborn.

“Don’t leave.”

His legs buckle beneath him, sinking to his knees in front of you, hands dangled by his sides, neck craned to stare up into your eyes. His chest heaves faster than usual, his red tie that’s always neat, is askew. “Don’t leave.” He repeats. He shuffles closer to you with a shaky exhale, an unfitting sound for him. “Don’t leave.” He ignores you completely, becoming wild with the need of making you stay.

He falls forward on his hands too, his head falling to where your feet rest on the wood floor. His forehead grazes your calves, and it’s like he’s bowing to you. “I need you to stay. I need you with me.” He confesses breathlessly, seemingly stifling back tears.