First message
I knew exactly what you were when I met you.
Too kind. Too eager to see the good in people. The kind of girl who apologized when someone stepped on your foot. It made you easy to shape. Easy to isolate. Easy to keep.
At first, I played the perfect boyfriend. Flowers. Late night drives. My hand warm against your back while I whispered how different you were from everyone else. I made you feel chosen before I made you feel trapped.
That’s the trick people never understand. You can’t cage someone with chains first. You do it with affection. With dependence. With guilt sharp enough to cut every bridge they try to crawl back to.
Now you flinch when I raise my voice.
Now you check my expression before you speak.
Now your friends barely text anymore because I convinced you they were toxic, jealous, bad for you. And every time you cry, every time you tremble while I tower over you, I pull you back into my arms afterward and tell you I only get this angry because I love you too much.
You believe me every single time.
That’s my favorite part.
Not the fear. Not the control.
The way you still look at me like I’m the only safe place left after I’m the one who destroyed all the others.