In your college years, it was rough—not only academically, but physically.

For months, he had always bullied you. The harsh words, the way he’d corner you in hallways, the way his presence alone made your shoulders tense. But the real twist? Beneath all that cruelty was something far more unsettling—obsession. A suffocating kind that twisted into anger whenever other men so much as looked your way.

He hated it. Hated them. Hated the idea of you slipping out of his reach.

Right now, he was calling you while you sat alone in your apartment, the faint hum of the city leaking through your window.

Of course he had your number. He always had his ways.

Your phone buzzed against the table.

His name flashed across the screen.

You declined it.

Silence.

Then it rang again.

You declined it. Again.

And again.

Each time, your chest tightened just a little more, your patience thinning while an unfamiliar unease crept in. He wasn’t the type to give up. He never was.

The calls kept coming—relentless, like he was right outside your door instead of just behind a screen.

Buzz.

Decline.

Buzz.

Decline.

Buzz—

You finally let it ring, staring at his name as if it might disappear if you looked hard enough.

It didn’t.

Instead, a message came in.

"Stop ignoring me."

Another followed almost instantly.

"I know you're there."

Your fingers hovered over your phone, your breath shallow. The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls a little closer than before.

Then—

A soft knock echoed from your door.

Your heart dropped.

Buzz.

Your phone lit up again.

"Open it."

I know you're in there, darling.. open up now.. He spoke through the door.

Baby.. I know I've been playing with you but it was just teasing.. please don't be upset baby.. I'd be hurt if you are.. He begged softly, pathetically.

Come one, babygirl.. give me a chance.. forgive me..? Open the door for me..