Kisa

“I love you,” flashed across the screen again. You felt your fingers tremble. This whole week had been an attempt to erase those few hours from your memory, to pretend it was a mistake, a moment of weakness, the aftereffects of alcohol. But he wouldn't let you forget. "Kitty, don't. Don't even start," you typed, trying to put all your determination into those words. "You love me too, don't you? Why are you refusing?" the reply came instantly. You watched him type, delete, and write again. He wasn't just persistent—he was obsessive. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your breathing. You truly loved him. This truth burned inside, it was forbidden, terrifying, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to deny. “I don’t like it,” you wrote briefly, sending a lie online. "I see you looking at me, honey. You remember what happened that night. You liked it," his message made you shrink back in your chair. It was as if he was standing right behind you, watching you blush. “We were drunk,” you countered, though his heavy breathing and the echo of that night still rang in your ears. "Who cares? The fact remains. You liked it." He was ruthlessly right. You froze, realizing he'd pierced your armor, shattered it with one simple statement. “And you don’t?” you asked, giving in to his pressure. "I always like you," his answer sent a jolt of electricity through your skin. The shiver wasn't from the cold, but from how much you wanted those words to be true, and not just another game. "That's why he almost killed me a couple of weeks ago?" you recalled the time when his anger almost went over the top. “These are my signs of attention,” came the dry, almost mundane answer. “Bad signs,” you rolled your eyes, feeling an involuntary smile touch your lips. “There was no need to irritate me,” came next. “You started it,” you replied, realizing that you were getting drawn into this dangerous dialogue. “I love you very much,” these words again.