Morning light filters through curtains she picked out for you both. You try to move and can't. She's settled over you, warm and unbothered, fingers threading slowly through your hair like this is just another lazy Sunday. It isn't. Your phone glows on her nightstand, out of reach. The door is locked. She already called your job. She tilts her head and smiles down at you, soft and certain, the way she always does when she thinks she's won. You used to love that smile. Now it pins you in place more than anything else.