Chapter 8 – The Confession
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It was after midnight when I broke.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Elena was asleep beside me, or pretending to be. We hadn’t touched. Not since the night Milan told me to keep my distance. She hadn’t asked why. And I hadn’t told her. I reached for my phone. Typed. Erased. Typed again. And hit send.
Jonas [00:41] – I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. But I think I need you to tell me.
The dots appeared almost immediately.
Milan [00:42] – You finally admit it.
Milan [00:42] – Good. Come see me. Just you. Tomorrow night. 9. Wear something simple. And bring your honesty.
I barely slept. The next day crawled by. I couldn’t focus on work. I couldn’t eat. Elena texted once, a casual message about dinner. I told her I had plans and left it at that. She didn’t question it. Maybe she knew. Maybe she didn’t need to.
Milan lived in a clean, quiet loft on the edge of the city. The kind of place with too little furniture and too much presence. When I arrived, the door was already open. He stood in the center of the room, hands in his pockets, barefoot. A glass of wine waited for me on the table. I stepped inside.
“You came,” he said simply. I nodded. “You look nervous.” – “I am.” – “Good.” He walked to the couch and sat. Not inviting me, not needing to. I followed. Stood in front of him. He looked me over. Slowly. Deliberately. “Why did you come?” – “I… I don’t know. I just…” – “Try again.” I swallowed. “I need you to tell me what to do.”
He leaned back. Satisfied. “That’s the beginning of obedience. Not just doing what you're told. But needing to.” I felt something uncoil in my chest. I hated it. I craved it.
He stood and stepped closer. Not touching. But close enough that I could feel the heat of him. “You think this is about her,” he said. “But it never was.” I said nothing. “It’s about you,” he continued. “Wanting someone to see you. Strip the noise out. Tell you who you are when you can’t decide anymore.”
He raised one hand. Let his knuckles graze my cheek. “You think I’m stealing something. But I’m not. I’m giving it to her. Through you.” I shuddered. And I didn’t step away. He leaned forward. Not for a kiss. But to speak into my ear. “Next time I touch her, you’ll help me. You’ll make it easier.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. He already knew.
As I turned to leave, he pressed something into my hand. A note. Scrawled in tight black ink:
“You obey beautifully when you’re afraid. Let’s see how you do when you’re desperate.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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