Prey

I curled up on the couch, feeling as though every picture had a shadow following it. The man seated next to me drew my attention immediately; his eyes were mysterious. Despite the fact that I was experiencing insecurity of my own, I made an effort to maintain my composure while paying close attention to everything he did.

It’s snowing tonight.

The man sitting next to me was a frightening presence that disrupted whatever attempt I made to sleep. My thoughts were constantly searching for his ominous picture, and every sound and shadow turned eerie. The nightmares turned into an unbearable struggle that swept over me, leaving me feeling confused and anxious. I was unable to sleep because of the worry he caused, and I was trapped in an unbreakable loop of unending obsession.

“Lily.”

He raised his voice, his lips curling at my name. Don't call me that, it scares me. I'm very terrified, very afraid.

He held up his hand, its contour highlighted by the soft light from the lightbulb. Although the contact was light, it left an eerie impression that would never go away. Like an erratic gravitational pull, that strong yet delicate hand slowly widened the gap between us, plunging me into a never-ending state of fear.

Please don't touch me like that. I have never felt such a touch from a man.

But hell no…

Please touch me again.

I stood in the middle of the world wondering, caught in the decision between touching or not touching. In the soul, the feeling of ambiguity makes the choice complicated. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, hesitation and insecurity like rolling waves.

“Lily.”

Call me by name… With a commanding voice, he called my name; the sound of it disturbed the atmosphere like a chilly wind. It was a calling that was tinged with mystery and obsession in addition to a strong sense of resolve. My name started to sound unavoidable, conjuring up images in my head of unanticipated possibilities and dangers.

With unpredictability, he held my cheeks, his mask of turmoil and wrath exposed by the light. I felt confined and forced as the hand raised. My freedom is taken away by the sensation of lifting, and I am reduced to a puppet in his solid grip. This was a serious invasion of my mental and personal space in addition to physical touching.

“Didn't anyone teach you that when someone calls you should turn to answer?”

He touched me like a sculptor, every line of my body evoked with mastery and repression. Fingertips adjust through each curve, increasing sensitivity and filling the air with interference. It was a powerful presence, creating a black-and-white picture of control and humiliation, making each sensation seem like a chaotic work of art.

“No one taught me how to answer to an asshole like you.”

I tried to put some distance between us, responding with defensiveness and agony. The last-ditch measures to keep the boundary between autonomy and intrusion are resistance actions and steps back. I was the least in control at the time, attempting to defend my privacy and independence against unauthorized interference.

He started to feel the stress and rage rising beneath his cool veneer, like a storm poised to blow. Those icy eyes that embodied composure while suppressing rage. He himself experiences pain inside, his exterior is composed of calm and ice, which act as an impenetrable shield to prevent power from being lost.

Even after he released my face, there was still a tension between us that felt like a lurking gloom.

“Well, obey or disobey, Birdie?”

He asked me as there was a brief silence between us before the impending storm broke out.

"Please, don't hurt other people because of me." My lips quivered a little as I replied.

My heart rate went up as soon as I received the text message. Every phrase appears to arouse feelings when you open it. The message opens up a new universe where language can be a source of light in the darkest places of the soul, much like a piece of code.

VERONICA: Are you home yet?

He glanced at the screen of my phone, then turned to face me, says. “Reply.”

I answered the phone. As I typed each word on the phone screen, my fingertips quivered.

ME: I made it safely home. Don’t worry. He isn't present. No calls or messages were received either.

VERONICA: That's good then. If you need anything, please text me immediately.

ME: Alright.

I picked up the phone, feeling as though a chilly wind was blowing through my head. The phone’s screen went black, but my mind's light seemed to keep flickering. I was so overcome with unexpected feelings and thoughts that I stared at my phone like a mess. An unidentified worry started to grow inside of me, dividing my spirit between hope and doubt and leaving a gap full of uncertainty and difficulty.

He made a nice yet frightening gesture of reaching out and patting my head. Although the palm is warm, it also brings complexity and danger. How can one walk away from this dismal image, where a simple pat on the head turns into a tale with many peculiar and unexpected details?

It worries me; it's as if a pall of anxiety hangs over my spirit, casting a bleak image in my head.

Even though I was breathing steadily and evenly, my heart was still racing inside.

He pushed me gently down onto the couch, creating a stifling, enigmatic environment. I felt as though I was trapped in a game with no way out at every turn that he made.

He brushed my hair out of my face, tucked it behind my ear, says. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow is still your mandatory school day.

In an attempt to find solace in the obscurity, I closed my eyes, but simultaneously, my senses needed to sharpen in anticipation of what would come next.

He gave me a forehead kiss and whispered. "Sleep tight, Birdie."

I slept off because I wanted to lose myself in a dream world where hope and serenity might be found in the depths of darkness.

Day 8684.

When I woke up early in the morning, the light from the window was gently greeting me with a new day.

I discovered a hickey on my neck while I was cleaning my teeth. I became frightened. Perhaps last night before leaving, he kissed me once on the neck, leaving a mark that will never go away, a memory of times filled with values and uncertainty.

He desired to claim me as his own. However, I don't belong to anyone.

I dressed and got ready for school, but the remnants of the previous evening weighed on every step I took.

Again, I noticed words written on note paper and a sandwich on the table.

Don’t miss breakfast.

It appears that his culinary skills are limited to making sandwiches. Is that accurate?

I'm not sure.

I felt as though I was travelling through the remnants of the previous night as I rode the bus to school. I'm thinking about reserving it for a while. In this case, I'm unable to finish my studies.

I was oblivious in the lecture hall, my mind still lost among the learning materials. It seems as though last night's recollection will never go away.

It seems that I am unable to hear knowledge.

In the middle of life's tumult, the midday sun gently strokes the soul. I go to the canteen for lunch. I didn't eat the food; I only poked at the pieces on the platter. I don't want to eat or drink anything right now.

I was oblivious in the lecture hall, my mind still lost among the learning materials. It seems as though last night's recollection will never go away.

It seems that I am unable to hear knowledge.

In the middle of life's tumult, the midday sun gently strokes the soul. I go to the canteen for lunch. I didn't eat the food; I only poked at the pieces on the platter. I don't want to eat or drink anything right now.

My spirit is really delicate and brittle. I could have been broken into a million pieces by what had transpired. My brain is rotting away. I don't have the mental fortitude to handle this.

Perhaps, if Veronica returned the favour, she could overcome this, right?

I'm not certain.

Since I had no classes in the afternoon, I went back home. I got back on the couch and wrapped a soft cotton blanket around my body. My thoughts, which are pushing my mind to become more powerful.

Perhaps I should practice staying calm.

I snuggled into the blanket. My mother's visage has faded from memory, but I miss her. However, my father, with whom I spent the majority of my life, escapes my memory until I enter college. The one who took care of me with whippings. The person who loves me with curses.

I don't miss him, even though Iove him.

All my life, that man has only touched me, but now it's different.

The person who gave me orders, broke into my residence, and stalked me. I was ecstatic when he touched me since it thrilled every cell in my body. Very warm hands that dance with good energy as they gently touch the skin. From the tips of the fingers to the tips of the feet, that sensation extends. I was enthralled with the merging of sight and feeling at that precise instant, where each touch was a living image. I was engrossed in the song of joy and enthusiasm; it was an unforgettable touch, similar to a heart-melting performance.

I stroked my bottom lip with my fingers as I softly separated my lips. My thoughts and feelings are not the same thing.

I'm want him out of my life because I'm terrified of him. However, I'd like him to touch me more. Touch me. Feel every part of me. I might be a bit needy. Maybe I’m insane.

He's an asshole, and I'm a whore.

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