“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, my voice tighter now.
His expression hardens.
“I do,” he replies. “Because you’re mine.”
The words land clean.
Final.
My hands go still against the restraints.
“That’s not how this works,” I say.
“It is,” he says, stepping closer. “It always has been.”
My chest tightens.
“That’s not what it was,” I push, the words coming out before I can stop them. “We weren’t good, Paul. You weren’t even happy with me.”
The shift is immediate.
Sharp.
“I was trying to make you better,” he snaps, something breaking through the control. “That’s what you never understood.”
The air feels tighter.
“You wanted me to change everything,” I say, the memory slipping out before I can stop it. “What I wore, who I spoke to, what I did...”
“Because you needed it,” he cuts in, his voice rising just enough to fill the space. “You didn’t know how to be what you could be. I was helping you.”
My pulse is racing again, the rhythm uneven now.
“That’s not helping,” I say.
“It is when you stop fighting it,” he replies.
I can feel it. That edge. The way he tips. I don’t push further.
I let the tension drop just enough, forcing my shoulders to ease, forcing my breathing to steady.
“Okay,” I say carefully. “Then… what now?”
For a moment, something shifts in him.
Softens. Relief threading back in.
“Now we fix it,” he says, quieter again. “We go somewhere new. Just us. No one else interfering. No one else getting in the way.”
My stomach tightens.
“Where?” I ask.
His mouth curves slightly.
“You’ll see.”
He reaches for something beside him and I don’t notice what it is until he steps closer, until the smell hits first, water, something faintly metallic from the container in his hand.
