Amelia stared at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers tracing the faint bruise on her wrist where Michael had gripped her the night before. The mark had faded, but the memory of his anger was still fresh, gnawing at her like a persistent ache. She applied a bit of concealer to the spot, trying to cover it up, but no amount of makeup could hide the fear that had settled deep in her bones.
She had barely slept, her mind racing with thoughts of how things had spiraled so quickly. In the beginning, Michael had been everything she thought she wanted—charming, attentive, and deeply passionate. But that passion had quickly turned dark, morphing into something that terrified her. Yet, even as she saw the danger in his behavior, a part of her still clung to the hope that he could change, that the man she had fallen for was still in there somewhere.
As she finished getting ready, her phone buzzed with a message from Michael.
Michael: I'm coming over. Be ready in 10.
Amelia's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't been expecting him so soon, and the suddenness of his message sent a wave of anxiety through her. She quickly straightened up her apartment, making sure everything was in order, before taking a deep breath to steady herself.
When Michael arrived, his expression was unreadable, his mood as unpredictable as ever. He kissed her on the cheek—a perfunctory gesture, devoid of warmth—before walking into the living room. Amelia followed, feeling the familiar tension build in the pit of her stomach.
"I've been thinking," Michael began, his voice calm but with an edge that made Amelia's skin prickle. "About last night."
Amelia swallowed hard, unsure of where this conversation was going. "Okay…"
Michael turned to face her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I didn't appreciate the way you let your friends talk to me. You didn't defend me, Amelia. You just sat there and let them disrespect me."
"I'm sorry," Amelia said quickly, her voice trembling. "I didn't know what to say. It all happened so fast."
Michael's expression darkened. "That's not good enough. You need to be on my side, no matter what. I'm the one who's looking out for you, not them."
Amelia nodded, trying to appease him. "I know, Michael. I'm sorry. I'll do better."
But her words seemed to have the opposite effect. Michael's eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step closer to her. "Do you think I'm stupid?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Do you think I don't see what's going on? You're trying to push me away, trying to sabotage what we have."
"No, Michael, that's not true," Amelia protested, her heart pounding. "I would never—"
"Don't lie to me!" Michael shouted, his face contorted with rage. "I know what you're doing. You're trying to make me look like the bad guy, trying to turn people against me."
Amelia's eyes widened in shock. "Michael, please, that's not true. I'm not trying to—"
Before she could finish, Michael's hand lashed out, striking her across the face with a force that sent her reeling. The sound of the slap echoed in the small apartment, and for a moment, everything went still.
Amelia stumbled backward, her hand flying to her cheek as a searing pain radiated through her face. She stared at Michael in disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes. "Michael…"
He didn't apologize. He didn't even seem to regret what he'd done. Instead, he looked at her with a cold, detached expression, as if she were an object that had malfunctioned and needed to be corrected.
"You need to understand something, Amelia," Michael said, his voice dangerously calm. "I'm not going to let you ruin this. You're mine, and you'll do as I say. Do you hear me?"
Amelia nodded, too stunned to speak. Her cheek throbbed where he had hit her, the skin already beginning to swell. The reality of what had just happened—of what Michael had done—was sinking in, but she couldn't process it. She felt like she was in a nightmare, one she couldn't wake up from.
Michael stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup her uninjured cheek. "I'm doing this for us," he murmured, his tone softening as if he hadn't just struck her. "I want to protect you, to keep you safe. But you need to trust me. You need to listen to me."
Amelia flinched at his touch, but she didn't pull away. She didn't know what to do. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and despair. The man she had loved, the man she had trusted, had just crossed a line she never thought he would. But instead of feeling anger or outrage, all she felt was fear—fear of what he might do next if she didn't comply.
"I trust you," she whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
Michael smiled, a twisted version of the smile that had once charmed her. "Good. That's all I ask. Now, let's put this behind us and move forward. We're stronger together, Amelia. Don't ever forget that."
He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal his control over her. Amelia stood frozen, unable to respond, her mind screaming at her to run, to get away, but her body refused to move. She was trapped, bound by fear and the belief that somehow, this was her fault.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Michael stayed with her, acting as if nothing had happened. He talked about his work, about their future together, all while keeping a close eye on her reactions. Amelia did her best to respond, to play along, but she felt like she was walking on eggshells, terrified of saying or doing something that might set him off again.
By the time Michael finally left that evening, Amelia was emotionally drained. She locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the couch, her body shaking with silent sobs. The pain in her cheek had dulled to a steady throb, but the emotional pain was far worse. She felt like a hollow shell of herself, stripped of her strength and dignity.
She reached for her phone, her first instinct to call someone—anyone—for help. But as she stared at the screen, her hand hovered over the contacts list. Who could she call? Her friends were distant, pushed away by Michael's manipulations. Her family was far away, unaware of the turmoil she was in. And she couldn't bear the thought of telling anyone what had happened, of admitting how far she had fallen.
In the end, she put the phone down, curling up on the couch as tears streamed down her face. She was alone, utterly and completely alone, and the weight of that realization crushed her. She didn't know how she had ended up here, in this dark, terrifying place, but she knew there was no easy way out.
The red flags had turned into flashing sirens, but Amelia was too deep in the toxic pull of Michael's control to see a way out. She felt like she was drowning, caught in a current that was dragging her down, and the more she struggled, the harder it became to breathe.
That night, as she lay in bed, the events of the day replaying in her mind, she made a decision. She would do whatever it took to keep Michael calm, to avoid his anger. She would be the perfect girlfriend, the woman he wanted her to be, because the alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.
But deep down, in the darkest corner of her mind, a small voice whispered that this wasn't love. This was something twisted, something dangerous, and if she didn't find a way out soon, she might not survive.