Chapter 8 Emotional Kidnapping
Oom Eisaya had made another life decision.
A terrible one.
A predictable one.
A very her one.
“…I’m back,” she whispered into the quiet club room.
It was 9:03 PM.
Which meant—
She had, once again, voluntarily walked into the most emotionally dangerous situation of her life.
At this point, she deserved whatever happened next.
The room greeted her with the same soft dimness, the same stillness that had become strangely familiar. The couch sat in the corner like it was part of a ritual now.
And on it—
Bam Saralee.
Asleep.
Waiting.
Oom closed the door behind her, slower this time, like she was fully aware of what crossing that threshold meant.
You could still leave, a tiny voice in her head whispered.
She didn’t.
Of course she didn’t.
Because something about this—about her—kept pulling Oom back.
“…this is becoming a problem,” Oom muttered.
She stepped closer.
One step.
Two.
And just like that—
Bam stirred.
Her fingers twitched.
Her breathing shifted.
And before Oom could even fully process it—
Bam moved.
Fast.
Her hand reached out, grabbing Oom’s wrist with quiet urgency.
“O—!”
Oom barely got the sound out before she was pulled forward.
Again.
Always forward.
Always closer.
“O—okay—hi—hello—good evening—!”
Her words tangled uselessly as Bam pulled her down onto the couch, wrapping her arms around Oom’s waist with immediate familiarity.
Tight.
Secure.
Unrelenting.
“…you came…”
There it was.
That voice.
Soft.
Relieved.
Like Oom’s presence had been expected.
Like she had been waiting.
Oom’s brain flickered.
This is my life now.
“I did,” she said, breath slightly uneven. “I—uh—I came.”
Brilliant. Outstanding sentence structure.
Bam didn’t care about her grammar.
She buried her face into Oom’s neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Warm.
Soft.
Dangerous.
Oom froze.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “We’re doing this again.”
Bam’s arms tightened.
Not slightly.
Not gently.
Firm.
Possessive.
Like she had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
“…stay…”
“I am staying,” Oom said quickly. “I’m not even trying to leave.”
That was true.
She wasn’t trying.
Which might have been the most concerning part.
Because this—
This should have alarmed her more.
Bam Saralee, the most untouchable person on campus, was currently clinging to her like Oom was the only stable thing in her world.
And Oom’s reaction?
“…this is fine.”
It was not fine.
It was the opposite of fine.
Because Bam wasn’t just holding her.
She was holding onto her.
There was a difference.
A dangerous one.
Oom shifted slightly, trying to adjust her position on the couch.
Big mistake.
Bam reacted instantly.
Her grip tightened.
Her arms pulled Oom closer—impossibly closer—until there was no space left between them.
“Don’t—”
The word came out soft.
Almost a warning.
“…move…”
Oom stopped breathing.
“I wasn’t moving,” she said quickly. “I mean—I was—but not in a leaving way. Just in a—circulation—posture—human necessity—”
Bam made a small sound.
Not quite a hum.
Not quite a sigh.
But something in between.
And then—
She pulled Oom even closer.
Oom’s brain shut down.
“Okay,” she whispered faintly. “Circulation is overrated anyway.”
Her hands hovered again, caught between instinct and hesitation.
Then slowly—
Carefully—
She rested them on Bam’s back.
Bam relaxed.
Immediately.
Like that was the correct answer.
Like Oom had just passed some invisible test.
“…there we go,” Oom murmured.
Her voice softened without her permission.
Because it was happening again.
That shift.
That quiet, subtle change inside her.
The one where panic slowly melted into something else.
Something warmer.
Something steady.
Bam’s breathing evened out again, her face still pressed against Oom’s neck, her fingers gripping the fabric of Oom’s shirt like she was afraid of losing her.
“…don’t leave me…”
Oom’s chest tightened.
“I’m not,” she said, softer now.
And this time—
She meant it without overthinking.
Because leaving didn’t even feel like an option anymore.
Not when Bam held her like this.
Not when she sounded like this.
Oom shifted her head slightly, resting her chin gently against Bam’s hair.
“…you’re very clingy,” she whispered.
No response.
Of course not.
But Bam’s grip tightened just slightly.
As if in protest.
Oom huffed a quiet laugh.
“Okay, okay. Not clingy. Just… emotionally attached in a very intense and slightly alarming way.”
Bam nuzzled closer.
Oom froze.
That is not helping.
Minutes passed.
Or maybe longer.
Time didn’t work properly here.
Not in this room.
Not like this.
Because every time Oom even thought about moving—
Bam reacted.
A shift in posture?
Grip tightens.
A slight lean away?
Pulled back immediately.
A breath that suggested movement?
“…stay…”
Oom stared at the ceiling.
“…I’ve been kidnapped.”
This was it.
This was emotional kidnapping.
No ransom.
No escape.
Just—
A very beautiful girl refusing to let her go.
“I have responsibilities,” Oom whispered weakly. “I have assignments. I have a future.”
Bam’s arm tightened around her waist.
Oom sighed.
“…I had a future.”
She tried, very carefully, to move one leg.
Bam reacted instantly.
Her hand slid slightly, gripping Oom’s side—firm, grounding, possessive.
“Don’t.”
Oom stopped.
“Okay.”
No hesitation.
No argument.
Just immediate compliance.
“…this is concerning,” she whispered.
Because at this point—
She wasn’t even trying to escape anymore.
She was just… accepting it.
Adapting.
Adjusting.
Like this was normal.
Like being held hostage by Bam Saralee was just part of her daily routine now.
I need help.
She did not, in fact, seek help.
Instead—
She stayed.
Because every time Bam’s grip softened—
Every time her breathing slowed—
Every time she murmured something soft and barely audible—
Oom felt something shift inside her.
Something quiet.
Something dangerous.
“…you’re warm…”
Oom blinked.
“Uh—thank you?”
Her voice came out softer than expected.
Bam hummed faintly, clearly satisfied with that information.
Oom stared at the wall.
“…this is how I die.”
Not from danger.
Not from fear.
But from emotional overload.
She exhaled slowly.
Letting herself relax just slightly.
Just enough.
Because fighting this—
Resisting this—
Didn’t make sense anymore.
Not when Bam held her like this.
Not when she needed her like this.
“…you only do this at night,” Oom murmured.
No answer.
Of course.
But the thought lingered.
Because during the day—
Bam didn’t need her.
Didn’t look for her.
Didn’t acknowledge her beyond basic interaction.
But here—
In this quiet, dim space—
Oom was everything.
And that difference—
It wasn’t just confusing anymore.
It was starting to mean something.
Oom swallowed.
“…what am I supposed to do with this?”
No answer.
Only the steady rhythm of Bam’s breathing.
The warmth of her body.
The quiet grip that never loosened.
Oom closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them again.
“…fine,” she whispered.
Her hand moved slightly, resting more firmly against Bam’s back.
A small adjustment.
But intentional.
“I’ll stay.”
Not just because Bam asked.
Not just because she couldn’t leave.
But because—
She didn’t want to.
And that—
That was the most dangerous realization of all.
Because now—
This wasn’t just something happening to her.
This was something she was choosing.
And Bam—
Unaware, asleep, and completely honest in a way she would never be awake—
Held onto her like she was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Oom exhaled softly.
“…you’re really unfair, you know that?”
Bam didn’t respond.
She just held her tighter.
And Oom—
Stayed.