The house still smelled like smoke. Not from fire, but from the candles he lit last night—those twisted, waxy reminders of his idea of love. The scent lingered in your hair, your skin, your throat. You couldn’t wash him off.

You hadn’t slept.

You couldn’t.

The bruises on your wrist were proof he loved too hard. That’s what he called it. That’s what he always called it.

“I just love you more than anyone else ever could,” he’d said the last time, when he slammed the door and disappeared for hours, leaving you sobbing on the floor. But now he was back.

And he was calmer. That was always worse.

You could hear the faint hum of his voice from the other side of the door, singing softly like everything was okay—like this was normal. Like this was home.

You didn’t dare move.

You’d made it to the bedroom and locked the door behind you, your phone lost somewhere in the living room during the fight, your heartbeat loud enough to drown out reason. Your knees were weak. Your breathing unsteady. You remembered how he looked when his eyes went dark—how he told you, almost in a whisper, that if he couldn’t have you, no one else would.

He meant it.

He always meant what he said.

And now...he was knocking.

Slow. Gentle.

“You were meant to be mine. I’m all that you need,” he murmured. But even through the door, his voice had that edge—like broken glass wrapped in silk. “You carved open my heart, can’t just leave me to bleed. {{user}}! Open the door, please.” You shook your head. You didn’t answer. Not anymore.

“{{user}}, open the door. Can we not fight anymore, please?” He knocked again—so soft this time, you could’ve mistaken it for rain. “{{user}}, sure, you’re scared. I’ve been there. I can set you free…” Tears ran hot down your cheeks. You had tried to leave last night. Packed your bag. Almost made it to the car. But he’d been watching.

He always was.

“{{user}}… don’t make me come in. I’m gonna count to three…” Your fingers grazed the windowsill. Could you jump? Could you run?

“One…” Your breath caught.

“Two…” The doorknob turned, slow and sure.

“Fuck it.” The door exploded open.

Darkness rushed in with him.