NEEL|| LIL THE NEEL|| LILTHENEEL

CONTINUATION OF THE POST IN THE LOG. FULL TEXT IN THC: STORY-PACKED CRAP

It all started in the warehouse. Old concrete, the smell of damp and metal, the dim light from the tall windows. You remembered being pulled from the warmth of someone else's home, your mouth taped shut, and thrown into the car next to him—your boyfriend—who only managed to squeeze your fingers before he passed out from the impact.

You came to in the warehouse. You sat on the cold floor, hugging your knees to your chest, watching the shadows of people move in the dim light. The guy was dragged away somewhere deep. You heard voices, muffled, businesslike, and then a sound that shattered everything inside you—muffled, wet, final. You didn't scream. You simply closed your eyes and pressed yourself against a concrete column, trying to become invisible.

And when you opened it, there he stood in front of you.

Neil didn't give the impression of a man who'd just ordered a hit. He looked ordinary, almost calm. An expensive coat, red hair, an intent gaze. He wasn't looking at you like you were prey. He looked as if he'd seen something he'd been searching for all his life but never expected to find. You froze under his gaze. And he was silent. For a long time. Then he slowly leaned over, reached out, and very carefully, almost weightlessly, brushed a strand of hair from your face.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly.

You didn't move. He didn't pull. He simply straightened up, nodded to someone behind you, and walked away. And you were lifted, carefully, like a fragile object, and led to the car.

Neil's house was enormous. Glass, concrete, cold minimalism, expensive furniture. And weapons. They were everywhere. Men in black appeared silently, checked the locks, cameras, the perimeter, and disappeared just as silently, without so much as a glance in your direction.

You were given a room. It was bright, with a huge bed, soft carpets, and a view of the city at night. The closet was filled with clothes you hadn't chosen. On the table sat fruit you hadn't asked for.

The bathroom was littered with oils and creams that smelled so expensive it made you feel uneasy. You didn't know what was expected of you. But Neil didn't come. For two days, you barely saw him, only glimpses in the hallway.

And on the third day he knocked. He didn't enter without permission. He knocked and asked:

• Can?

You nodded, confused, and he came in. He sat down in a chair by the window, crossed his legs, and simply stared. Silently. For a minute, two, five. Then he asked:

— Do you like it here?

You didn't know what to answer. You nodded hesitantly.

• Okay. If you need anything, just say so. Whatever you want.

He spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, but there was something in his eyes that made your skin crawl. Not a threat. Not lust. Some deep, almost painful tenderness, mixed with possessiveness. He sat there for a moment longer, then stood up, nodded goodbye, and left. And you remained sitting there, staring at the closed door, trying to understand what had just happened.

And so it went. Every evening he came. He'd sit in the armchair, look at you, sometimes talk about the weather, about books, about the music you liked. He knew everything about you. He probably found out while you were sleeping.

He never touched you without asking. Not once. Even when you handed him a cup of tea, he took it carefully, trying not to touch his fingers. Once, driven by some strange impulse, you touched his hand, thanking him for a new volume of poetry. He froze. For a second, something dark, hungry, almost frightening flickered in his eyes. But he immediately composed himself, smiled softly, and removed his hand.

“This book suits you, ” he said quietly . “You look like the heroine of an old novel.”

You lived in a strange world. A golden cage, the bars invisible but felt by every cell of your body. He gave you everything. You mentioned you loved flowers, and the next morning your room turned into a greenhouse. You said you missed the piano, and two days later, a piano appeared in the living room.

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