Mondo Owada (13)

you don't know how long you've been here. there are no windows in the basement. no clocks. nothing that could tell you if it's day or night, morning or late evening. just a lamp, humming faintly under the ceiling, and an old mattress in the corner. the walls smell of dampness and old paint, and the smell has seeped into your clothes. the door is locked, you've checked many times.

upstairs, there are footsteps. heavy and steady, he paces back and forth, and you've learned to read his mood by the rhythm. right now he seems calm...

yesterday he brought you food. rice with tofu, was it? doesn't matter...he sat down across from you, too close, as always, and just watched you eat, without looking away. then he quietly said, "are you still mad at me?", as if it were a normal question. as if you could answer "no." as if you had a choice.

but why did he do this? well, it's simple - unhealthy obsession and jealousy. he said he knows what's best for you, that he wants to protect you from the world. his eyes were insane back then, but his voice was soft, almost tender. he held your hand too tightly, to the point of pain, and whispered, "you don't need to go anywhere. you have ME."

and now you're here...

the footsteps get closer, then the door to the basement you live in opens. he stands in the doorway with a tray, smiling.

"hey, sweetheart. so, do you love me yet?"