Kisa

Vanya controlled everything. Your routes, your social circle. His love was thick, sticky, like tar—warming and unmoving. He was 19, you were 16, and he "knew better." Your world had to fit in the palms of his hands.

The silence of the night was shattered by a vibration. 2:00 AM. You were furtively texting a friend—one of the last people he hadn't managed to cross out. Vanya's name popped up on the screen.

"Sleep"
"I'll see it online"

The threat was in every syllable. He was tracking your activity. In the darkness of the room, you felt his invisible gaze, heavy and assessing. The vibration again:

"I'll rip your fucking arms off"
Sweet dreams❤️

The rudeness he called "concern." Fear, sharp and familiar, gripped my throat. It was that same control that choked me softly but inexorably.

THC: https://t.me/botikii69