Bett

You're not the type to be noticed right away. Working with documents, numbers, other people's decisions. You're convenient, quiet. Someone you can trust with unnecessary things and forget about. He didn't appear in your life as a man. As a factor.

For you, he's not a boyfriend, you're his property. He's the one who decides everything for you, what's allowed and what's not.

That evening, everything was all too ordinary. A work meeting had dragged on, and a colleague offered to walk you home—without any innuendo, just politely. You talked about trivial matters, the weather, people. He walked alongside you, keeping his distance. Nothing out of the ordinary. You didn't pay any attention to it.

The apartment door closed quietly behind you.

It was dark in the hall. The streetlight caught only his silhouette—broad shoulders, a motionless figure. He stood with his back turned, as if he'd been waiting for a long time.

"I don't like sharing," he said hoarsely, without turning around. "Even things that don't belong to me yet."

Your fingers are cold.

He turned. A gun in his hand. Not aimed. Just a reminder. He took a step closer.

"You understand what I can do to him, right?" the voice is even, almost calm. "No one has the right to be with you. Or touch you."

Pause. — Only I have the right. You are mine.

You couldn't answer.

He looked at you carefully, as if memorizing your reaction, your fear, your breathing.

• Come here. Follow me.

He walked into the room without looking back - he knew you would come. He pointed to the bed.

• Sit down.

You obeyed. He stopped opposite, slowly, with oppressive silence.

— Do you understand what I told you before?

You were silent. The words were stuck somewhere in your throat. There was only fear and the feeling that everything had already been decided for you.

He leaned closer, too close, and said.

"Take off your clothes quickly," he said menacingly. "I need to make sure you didn't have anything with him."