Listen to Love The Way You Lie by Rihanna and Eminem

I had never felt terror like this. It clung to me, thick and suffocating, like a second skin. For days now, every sound, every shadow had me on edge. The slightest mention of my name was enough to send my heart plummeting, as if someone had pulled the ground out from under me.

I couldn't stop looking over my shoulder, convinced I was being followed. Every time a police car cruised by or an officer stepped into view, my chest tightened so painfully I thought my ribs might shatter. My mind screamed the truth over and over: tying someone up and keeping them locked away was a crime. A serious crime.

And Ryan... Ryan was still in my closet. Tied up. Helpless. Every time the thought crossed my mind, my pulse spiked, erratic and frantic. My breath came fast and shallow, and it felt like I might collapse under the weight of what I'd done. I'd never imagined myself capable of something like this. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I wished—God, I wished—that things could have been different.

Two days. Two long, excruciating days since I knocked him out and dragged him into that closet. Since then, I'd been walking on eggshells, every step calculated, every word cautious. No one could know. Not a single soul.

The night air was cold against my face as I walked home from my shift, gripping the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles turned white. The street was eerily quiet except for the soft crunch of my boots on the pavement. When a noise came from behind me—a sharp rustle—my entire body tensed. My heart stopped.

I spun around, chest heaving, only to see a woman jogging with her dog. She smiled, oblivious, and I forced myself to return it, though my face felt frozen. Relief washed over me, momentarily lifting the weight that had been pressing on my chest.

But the relief was fleeting. By the time I reached my door, my hands were trembling so badly I could barely type in the password. My mind raced with fear that Vina might be back early, that she might see him. I stepped inside, closed the door behind me, and pressed my forehead against it, trying to steady my breathing.

I dropped my bag, headed to the kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of water and some food, my every movement robotic, detached. My legs felt like lead as I walked into my room and locked the door.

The air in the closet was stifling. I stepped inside, and there he was—Ryan, his eyes blazing with anger and defiance. He glared at me like he wanted to burn a hole straight through my skull. I sank into the chair I'd placed in front of him, clutching the bottle of water so hard I thought it might shatter.

"Hi, Ryan."
I smiled at him.

He struggled in the seat trying to break free, I rolled my eyes tired of seeing him try.

I moved closer and pulled the duct tape from his mouth, he groaned.

"Let me go, crazy bi**h!"
He spat.

"You pushed me to this, Ryan," I said, my voice trembling but sharp. "I never wanted to do this. You kept blackmailing me, demanding every cent of my hard-earned money. What was I supposed to do?"

Ryan's glare was venomous, his words cutting like a blade. "You won't get away with this. My friends will come for me."

"You have friends?"
I said with a dramatic gasp.

"I'm shocked," I added with a smile.

"They'll notice something's wrong," he hissed, his voice taut with defiance. "They'll go to the cops. Even my grandma—she's expecting my daily call. Thanks to you, I haven't spoken to her in what? How long have I been here?"

"Two days," I said flatly, though the words carried a weight that pressed against my chest.

His eyes bored into mine, a promise of vengeance burning in his gaze. "You won't get away with this. I swear it."

I swallowed hard, the fear I'd been suppressing threatening to surface. "I want to let you go, Ryan. Believe me, I do. But I'm scared. I'm scared you'll go straight to the cops the moment I do."

"Wow, are you a psychic? Cause you just read my mind."

My jaw clenched. "You left me no choice. If you'd just stopped asking for money, if you'd stopped threatening to spill my secrets, you wouldn't be tied up in my closet right now."

He smirked, the kind of smirk that made my blood boil. "What are you so afraid of? He's the father, isn't he? Three years—don't you think that's enough time to move on from whatever happened between you—"

Before he could finish, I grabbed a piece of steak from the plate and shoved it into his mouth, silencing him. His muffled protests were both infuriating and satisfying.

"I don't know," I murmured to myself, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm protecting my baby."

Ryan chewed slowly, his sharp gaze never leaving mine. "So, what's the plan? Keep him away from his son forever?"

I folded my arms, meeting his stare with a coldness I didn't recognize in myself. "That's the plan."

He laughed, low and mocking. "Damn. You're ruthless. Why am I even surprised? You look like someone who could commit murder."

I froze, his words hitting harder than I wanted to admit. My glare sharpened, cutting through the tension between us.

"This is my first time doing something like this," I said through clenched teeth. "And you made me."

Ryan leaned back, his smirk widening. "Secrets are dangerous, babe," he said, his tone almost teasing, like this was all some kind of game.

"Just shut up," I snapped, grabbing another piece of steak and forcing it into his mouth, cutting off whatever smug remark he had ready next.

"Is not every day a hot chick tie you up and feed you. By the way, my favorite part of all these is that I get to see you every morning pick out a dress with only a short towel tied around you, best view ever."

"You're disgusting," I finally spat out.

He winked. 

I couldn't stand it any longer. I slapped the duct tape across his mouth with more force than necessary, and turned on my heel, the door to the room slamming behind me.

I almost collided with Vina in the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing through the quiet house. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes flicking from the plate in my hand to my face, sharp and knowing.

"What?" I snapped, my heart racing. "I felt like eating in my room."

She didn't respond to my defensiveness, just stared at me for a moment, the air between us thickening with unspoken words.

"I didn't say anything," she finally said, voice flat, before moving toward the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets with the precision of someone who'd done it a thousand times.

I exhaled, relieved, and tried to bury the tension clawing at my chest. "Is your boyfriend gone? I haven't seen him in like two days."

"Yeah, he went back to L.A.," I answered quickly, too quickly, the words tripping over each other as I tried not to sound too rattled.

She glanced at me, her brow lifting. "He didn't even care to say goodbye to me."

The words cut deeper than they should have. "He was in a rush." I gave a forced laugh, but it didn't sound right. Not even close.

She didn't seem to notice. She walked past me, her hands submerged in the sink, scrubbing at a cup. Her voice was almost casual as she spoke again, but I could hear the weight behind it. 

"So... how was work?"

"Stressful," she groaned. "But I love the place," she added, her face softening, lost in the thought of it.

"There's this guy... his name's Jacob, and he's really cute..." she trailed off, her voice fading as she gazed at the cupboard, the words leaving her lips like a secret.

But none of that mattered. I couldn't hear her. The words blurred, the sound of her voice muffled by the pounding of my thoughts. Jacob. A guy. Cute. All I could hear was the sharp echo of my own panic. My pulse spiked, the room spinning slightly.

The worst-case scenario—no, it wasn't a case, it was already happening, it was spiraling out of control right in front of me—and I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep pretending that it wasn't.

I stared at Vina, but the words she was speaking didn't register. My mind was a mess, a whirlpool of fear and regret and desperation. I should tell her. I had to tell her. But how?

Tell her, tell her, tell her.

"Vee," I said, voice suddenly steady as I grabbed her attention, cutting through the noise in my head. My breath caught in my throat. I had to say it. Now.

"Yes?" Vina's voice was soft, but there was something sharp beneath it—an edge that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She turned toward me, one hand still wrapped around her mug, the steam rising in delicate curls.

I swallowed, my throat dry, my hands suddenly twitching with nervous energy. I tried to steady them, but they betrayed me, restless, fiddling with each other in a futile attempt to find control.

"I have..." The words got caught in my chest. My mind was a storm, everything I had been suppressing threatening to break loose. "I have something I need to tell you." My voice was so small, so fragile, like I wasn't even sure if I should be speaking at all.

Can I trust her? The thought hit me like a slap. What if she panics? What if she tells someone? My heart hammered in my ribs, the weight of the secret pressing down like a thousand tons. I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't ready for any of it.

Vina didn't say anything right away. She just watched me, her eyes sharp, assessing, like she could see through the cracks in my composure. She took a slow sip of her herbal tea, the faint scent of chamomile filling the air between us. Then, without breaking her gaze, she set the mug down, the porcelain clinking against the countertop, and leaned forward, waiting for me to speak.

"Chloe?" Her voice softened, but her eyes held me in place. "I'm listening."

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, and for a moment, I wondered if I could keep pretending everything was fine. But I couldn't. Not anymore.

I inhaled sharply, fighting the tightness in my chest. "Tristan's back." The words slipped out before I could stop them, hanging in the air, heavy and dangerous.

I paused, a deep knot twisting in my stomach, unable to look her in the eye. I felt my pulse thunder in my ears, each beat reminding me of the weight of what I had just said.

Vina didn't speak right away. She didn't flinch or react with the shock I expected. Instead, she just stared at me, her expression unreadable, her features frozen in a kind of quiet expectation. 

"I know. What did he do? Be honest with me Chloe, you know I will go to jail for you." She looked serious.

"Relax," I said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "It's nothing. I thought you didn't know, and I just decided to tell you."

The words felt hollow, like I was trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince her. I watched Vina closely, trying to read the flicker of doubt in her expression, but she was hard to read. 

"Is that all?" Her voice was calm, but there was something in her eyes—a sharpness that made my heart race. She didn't believe me. Not entirely.

"Yes." The word was tight, desperate, as if I were trying to squeeze all the truth I could into that one syllable. But I knew it wasn't enough.

For a long moment, Vina didn't say anything. She just studied me, her gaze unyielding, and I felt that old, familiar knot of unease curl in my stomach. She was waiting for me to crack, waiting for me to give her something more. But I couldn't. I couldn't give her anything more.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice lighter, but there was an edge to it. "Do you still have feelings for him? You can tell me, I won't judge."

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. It made my chest tighten, my throat dry. I recoiled, horrified by the mere thought of it.

"No! Of course not," I snapped, almost too quickly, too harshly. The words felt like they burned in my mouth, the lie already souring on my tongue. But it was the only answer I could give her. It was the only answer I could give myself.

She studied me a moment longer, her lips curving into a smile that was almost too sweet, too knowing. "If he tries anything stupid, or if he bothers you... let me know," she said, and there was a wickedness to her smile now—a hint of something dark beneath the surface. It made me uneasy, but also strangely reassured. It was like she had my back... or like she was waiting for something to break.

"I have some work to do," she added, her tone shifting to something more casual. It was as if the conversation had never happened, like the tension between us had dissolved into thin air. She stood, brushing past me with that quiet grace of hers, but I couldn't shake the feeling that she was leaving something unsaid.

I watched her walk away, every step measured, confident. But I couldn't move. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

I had been so close. So close to telling her everything, to begging for help, to admitting how badly I needed someone to share this burden with. But something stopped me. The doubt. The gnawing, relentless voice at the back of my head, whispering warnings I didn't want to hear.

Don't trust her. Don't tell her anything.

The words echoed in my mind like a mantra. I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of the choice that had just passed me by.

And yet, even as I told myself to keep my distance, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just missed my last chance to escape.

∆
The monotonous clink of plates and the hum of the kitchen were starting to get to me. I was tired of taking orders and serving food to people I barely knew, their faces fading in and out like they didn't matter. The dull rhythm of it all was suffocating. My mind was elsewhere, drifting between thoughts I didn't want to entertain.

Then the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, slicing through my fog of boredom. I looked up, ready to greet the next customer with the practiced smile I had perfected, but as the door swung open, my stomach dropped.

It was Grey.

"Hey, Chlo." He waved, his voice casual, almost too much so. His presence was like a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying, pressing down on me in the most unexpected way.

"Hi, Grey." The words slipped out, distant and stiff, barely more than an acknowledgement. And just like that, the awkwardness settled over us like a thick fog.

Grey and I hadn't been close in a long time. Not since the incident with the Sanchesters. The incident that changed everything between us. Afterward, he tried to make things right. He tried to make me believe that we could pick up where we left off—move in together, build something. But I couldn't. I couldn't even look at him without hearing the echoes of what had happened. I pushed him away, and he kept coming, hoping I'd come around.

But eventually, he stopped. 

When I finally left to get my own place with Vina, Grey still tried. But I kept him at arm's length, too afraid of what might happen if I let him back in. So, I pushed and pushed until he finally faded into the background of my life.

That was, until I came back from Cuba.

We hadn't spoken in months. And then, there he was, standing in front of me on Vina's birthday. He walked in with his new girlfriend—Gabby—and my heart clenched at the sight of them. I was relieved, in a way, to see he'd moved on.

But now, here he was again, back in my world like nothing had changed.

He took the seat across from me, his eyes watching me with that same easygoing curiosity. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in weeks."

I forced a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Busy. I'm sure Vina already told you I lost my other job." I tried to sound disappointed, like it mattered. But the words came out wrong, flat.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, his gaze shifting slightly. "No, she didn't."

I nodded, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Oh, well... now you know." The words tasted sour, like I was giving away more than I intended.

Grey didn't seem fazed. His attention shifted quickly, and before I could dwell on my discomfort, he changed the subject. "I'll have a chocolate milkshake, please."

I nodded, turning to grab his order, trying to shake off the feeling that the air between us had shifted again, like it always did when we were around each other.

When I returned with his milkshake, his eyes were on me, studying me in that way that made everything feel too intimate. Too much. "What happened?" he asked, his voice low, but not unkind.

His question hung there, waiting for an answer I didn't want to give. The last thing I wanted was to talk about my failures. The last thing I wanted was for him to know how much I was falling apart, even though I was trying so hard to keep it together.

I laid everything out for him, each word tumbling out like a confession, a release I thought I needed. I explained the mess with my old job. But instead of offering any sympathy, Grey did the exact opposite.

He laughed.

It wasn't the kind of laugh that made me feel lighter. It wasn't warm or understanding. It was dismissive. The kind of laugh that made you feel small, like your pain was an inside joke he didn't even need to explain.

"I think it's a good thing you got fired," he said, his grin wide and almost cruel. "You don't belong there."

I felt my stomach drop, a mix of humiliation and frustration bubbling up in my chest. The words stung, and I couldn't hide the sharp edge of annoyance that followed. "Should I be offended?" I asked, voice laced with sarcasm, trying to mask the vulnerability threatening to spill over.

He shrugged, the motion so nonchalant that it felt like he was shrugging off my feelings too.

"So... how's Gabby?" I asked, forcing the words out, my eyes fixed on the milkshake in front of him as if it might give me some kind of clarity.

The change in his expression was instantaneous. His smile faltered, his gaze flicking away, and something in his eyes tightened. He looked annoyed—no, irritated—that I even dared ask about her.

The air between us shifted, thickening with tension. It was the same every time I brought her up. The uncomfortable silence that followed felt like a brick wall I couldn't scale. He didn't want to talk about her with me. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't find another question. The words didn't seem to matter anymore.

His phone rang, the sharp trill cutting through the space between us like a jolt of electricity. He pulled it from his pocket with a slight sigh, glancing at the screen before giving me a tight smile.

"It's Gabby," he said, already standing. "I have to pick her up. Sorry."

I nodded, but the words felt empty, the part of me that wanted to say something left stranded. "It's fine. Thanks for stopping by."

He smiled again, but it was polite. Cold. "Bye, Chlo."

"Bye," I said, almost singing the word, though it didn't feel real. My voice sounded hollow, even to me.

It was well past eleven when I finished cleaning up the last of the mess at the diner. My back ached, my legs were sore, but I was used to it by now. Closing the place down was always a strange, lonely ritual, the weight of the night settling into my bones as I locked the door behind me. I took out the trash, dragging the heavy bag toward the alley, the cool night air brushing against my skin, a brief relief from the stifling heat inside.

I started walking down the empty street, the world still and quiet around me. But then it hit me—Ryan. I had to feed him when I got home. My shoulders slumped. Another night of playing caregiver, pretending like everything was fine, while I struggled to hold myself together.

I glanced at the time on my phone.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, quickening my pace. Vina will be home by now. I cursed again, this time more out of frustration than anything else, and I picked up my step, the sound of my shoes echoing in the empty street.

But then, just as the cold air felt like it might settle my thoughts, a blinding light cut through the darkness, making me freeze. The headlights of a car were coming toward me, too bright, too intense. I squinted, holding one hand up to shield my eyes from the onslaught of white-hot light.

The car came to a stop right in front of me. The harsh beam of light snapped off, leaving me in the dim glow of the streetlamps. My breath caught as the door swung open.

And there he was.

Tristan.

I froze for a moment, my heart skipping a beat, all my instincts screaming to turn and walk away. I shot him a hard look, the coldness in my eyes a thin veneer over the confusion and anger I still felt when it came to him. 

I gave Tristan a hard look as he stepped out of the car, the city lights casting harsh shadows across his face, making his features look sharper, colder. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I could almost feel the weight of everything unsaid between us pressing down on me, suffocating the air.

I sighed, exhaustion settling in my chest. I had no energy left for this—no patience, no desire to keep playing this game with him. So I turned, my body already bracing for the release of distance between us. I needed space. I needed quiet. I needed to be far from him.

But before I could take even a step, his hand shot out and gripped my arm, yanking me back toward him with a force that made my breath catch in my throat. My body collided with the side of the car with a harsh thud, his strength a reminder of the kind of pull he had on me—something neither of us had ever fully shaken.

I gasped, the air knocked out of me. I could feel the tension in his touch, a raw, desperate need to hold me there. As if he were scared that if he let go, I'd disappear into the night, like I always threatened to do.

His hand on my arm tightened, and the world around us shrank into nothing but the heat of his body pressing close, the rough edge of his breath against my ear.

I looked up at him, and my heart froze.

He was furious.

It wasn't just anger—it was something primal, something wild. His eyes were dark, almost black in the dim streetlight, filled with an emotion I couldn't name. But I saw it in the rigid set of his jaw, the tautness in his shoulders, the way his chest moved with short, heavy breaths. It was like he was on the verge of tearing himself apart, and I was standing there, a barrier he couldn't break through.

"What the hell, Tristan!"
I winced as he held me against the car. He didn't look like he would let go anytime soon.

"Where is he? Where is my son?!!!"

Oh Oh Oh...