5. Eli #2
I hesitate, fingers curling under the edge of the table. “Thank you for cooking for me. It all looks delicious, but…” I swallow, careful with every word now. “I was at Ree’s for tea. I already ate.”
The air shifts instantly, and his fork stops halfway to his mouth.
A sigh slips out of me before I can stop it.
Slowly, he lowers his fork back onto his plate. Then he stands, and he walks around the table without taking his eyes off me, and I feel myself shrink under the weight of it. My gaze drops to the table before he even reaches me.
His fingers close gently around my chin and guide my face up.
“I just spent the last two hours preparing this food for you, Elijah,” he says quietly. “You will show your appreciation. And you will eat what I put in front of you.”
Something inside me folds in on itself. My throat burns, and my vision blurs for a second. The command settles over me like a weight I know I can’t lift. I swallow it down and make myself small.
“You’re right,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. I am hungry. I’ll eat it.”
Something in his expression settles again. He releases my chin and returns to his seat as if the moment never fractured at all.
I pick up my fork, and I eat because there is nothing else to do.
Each bite grows heavier, my stomach tightening in protest, but I don’t stop. I don’t slow. I just finish it. Because finishing feels safer than not.
Adrian talks through dinner like nothing is wrong. I answer when I have to, nod when expected, but most of the time I’m quiet. There’s a pressure in the room that doesn’t lift, even when the plates are empty.
By the time I make it upstairs, I feel sick, not just from the food, but from the weight of everything sitting inside me.
The shower runs too long. I stand under it until the water starts to cool, then step out and dry off on autopilot. The house is warm tonight, so only pajama bottoms, bare chest.
When I step into the bedroom, the lamp is already on. Soft light spilling over the bed. Adrian is there, sitting up against the pillows with a book in his hand, like he’s been waiting without needing to say it.
“There you are,” he smiles as I walk over and climb into bed. “Are you okay?” he asks, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder.
“Just tired,” I murmur.
I stop when I see his expression shift, subtle, but immediate. Like he’s recalibrating something. He closes his book, places it on the bedside table, and turns fully toward me.
“You’ve been tired a lot lately.”
My eyes drop to his chest as his arm slides around my waist and pulls me closer.
“Work been busy?” he asks.
I swallow and nod.
Every instinct in me tells me to move away. To create space. But I don’t; I stay where I am, body still, hands folded tightly against myself like I’m trying to hold everything in place.
I remind myself not to panic as Adrian rests his forehead against mine.
“You know I miss you when you’re gone,” he says softly. Then he kisses my forehead.
And there it is.
The guilt, settling in as though it belongs there. The way he does it so easily, turning absence into responsibility, distance into something I need to correct. Until I can’t tell where his feelings end and my blame begins.
His arm tightens slightly.
I press my hand against his chest, not pushing, just… creating space. A small boundary that doesn’t feel like one.
“Adrian…”
“I want you,” he says simply, kissing my cheek. His words aren’t gentle or soft, and something in my chest locks.
Because there’s no room in the way he says it for anything else. No hesitation, or question, just his expectation wrapped in his calm demeanor.
My breath catches.
I don’t want this, and that thought lands cleanly, sharply, too clear to ignore. I’ve learned what happens when I resist. When I make things difficult. When I turn something simple into something that has consequences.
So I don’t fight. Instead, I force my body to go still.
The version of me that argues, that reaches, that pushes back, steps back quietly, like it knows it won’t be needed here.
I make myself smaller without moving.
My mind drifts, slipping away from the room, from him, from the moment. Everything feels muted, distant, like I’m watching myself from somewhere far above. It’s the only way I know how to survive what comes next.
Quieter without speaking.
Not gone.
Just… distant.
It’s easier that way.
Safer.
That’s what I tell myself as the space inside me goes quiet, and I wait for the moment to pass like all the others do.
The pain is excruciating. My body is being used, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
Adrian calls this love. It isn’t. This is ownership, and I’m his toy.
Tonight, he wants pain, and my screams echo in my ears as he hurts me. Agony tears through my body as I lie still. I go to that place inside my head, far away from here.
Away from Adrian. Away from the pain. Away from the hurt.
I can’t do this anymore. This man is slowly breaking me apart; I’m no longer Eli. I’m Elijah, Adrian’s plaything.
When it is finally over, silence fills the room, and Adrian lies beside me, completely calm, as if nothing happened, as if he hadn’t just forced himself on me. I stare at nothing, the light dancing on the ceiling above me.
“You didn’t cum.”
My body jolts at his voice, and my throat tightens. “It’s okay, Adrian,” I whisper. “I’m just tired.” I turn away from him, as I can’t have this conversation.
He leans over me and kisses me lightly on the cheek. Rolling over, his back to me, I listen to his breathing. Waiting for it to steady and for him to sleep.
I count the minutes until I know he won’t wake, and then I carefully make my way to the bathroom, locking myself in. Starting the shower, I look at myself in the mirror. I need to stop pretending. The damage is there to see, the proof in the blood and the finger marks on my throat.
I can’t deny this anymore.
I shower quickly and return to bed, but sleep never comes, and I spend the night awake. My body aches, and my mind refuses to quiet. The pain in my body isn’t what breaks me.
It’s the truth.
Adrian will not stop, no matter how much I want to believe that he will.
I keep telling everyone I am fine. I keep telling myself that I am fine, but I know I am not, and the realization of that settles slowly and heavily in my soul, making it impossible to ignore. Adrian doesn’t love me the way he should. He doesn’t see me as a partner.
He sees me as something he can keep. Something he can control. So when I roll over and look out the window, Ree’s question comes back to me. It sits in me, quiet and simple, but relentless.
Are you safe?
The question lies beside me in the dark, as real as the man sleeping next to me. It waits, patient and relentless, waiting for me to answer it. The truth hurts more than any bruise Adrian has ever left behind, because once I admit it, I can never deny it.
The answer is simple.
No.
For the first time, I don’t lie or make excuses, and I don’t soften the truth.
I face it. Tears quietly slip onto my pillow as the last sliver of hope inside me finally breaks. It isn’t my spirit; It’s the illusion, the hope that he would change. The belief that I can survive this forever.
For the first time, I know exactly what I have to do.
Run.