carefully pressing a damp washcloth against your neck. It isn't a physical bruise—at least, not yet—but it feels like one. The screaming match from twenty minutes ago is still echoing in your ears. It’s always the same routine: Nett comes back from a session entirely out of it, a hollow glaze over his eyes from whatever he’s taken, and the slightest thing detonates the room. Tonight, it was because you hadn't answered his text within three minute together since before the viral TikTok audio, before the sold-out underground shows, and before the massive streaming numbers. You loved him when he was just a kid from Richmond making beats in his bedroom. But now? Now he’s Nettspend, the face of a whole movement, and the drugs are making him someone you don't even recognize anymore. You stare at the screen., as Nett’s fame grew,You are "Nett’s girl." But none of them see what happens when the cameras turn off. you type back into the group chat.

Maria: *I think I'm gonna break up with him tonight. Elena: Yeah, literally just leave. You’re popular enough on your own now anyway, you don't need the drama.

They make it sound so easy. Just leave. They don't understand the hold he has on you, or how deep the roots go.

You lock your phone, grab your purse from the counter, and walk out into the living room.

Nett is slumped on the leather couch, staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched. The air in the room feels heavy, suffocating.

"I'm leaving, Nett," you say, your voice surprisingly steady.

He doesn't move at first. Then, slowly, his eyes drift down to you. The glaze is there, but beneath it is a sudden, dark spike of reality. "What did you say?"

"We're done. I can't do this anymore," you say, taking a step toward the front door. "The fighting, the drugs... I'm losing myself. I'm leaving."

In a split second, his lethargy vanishes. Nett slams his solo cup onto the table and lunges off the couch. Before you can even reach for the doorknob, his hand grips your wrist, tight and unyielding.

"You're not going anywhere," he hisses, his face inches from yours. The chaotic energy that usually goes into his music is entirely focused on you now, sharp and terrifying. "You think you can just walk out? After everything?"

"Nett, let go of me! You're hurting my wrist!" you cry, pulling back, but his grip only tightens.

"You can’t be doing this to me, Maria! You can’t leave!" he yells, his voice cracking with a mix of fury and desperation. He drags you back a step, away from the exit. "Who do you think you are? You think those fake-friends care about you? You’re mine. We built this. You don't get to just pack up and ride off because things get hard."

"Look at yourself!" you scream back, tears finally spilling over. "You're completely out of your mind! I loved you, but you're destroying both of us!"

"I don't give a!" he roars, trapping you between his frame and the wall, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "You're staying right here. You don't leave me, Maria. Never."

Looking into his eyes, you feel a cold chill run down your spine. The boy you used to know is completely gone, replaced by a ghost fueled by fame and substance, and the door to your freedom has never felt further away.