"You finally woke up."
The voice was soft, almost affectionate, and yet it was enough to pull me out of the darkness. My vision took a few seconds to adjust; everything seemed blurred, as if the world were wrapped in a thick fog. Even so, I recognized that voice. Over the years of my life, I had heard it change, gain firmness, mature. Knowing exactly who it belonged to made my body stiffen even more when I became fully aware of the situation I was in. Tied to a chair, completely immobilized, like a hostage. A single question hammered in my mind, over and over again: why?
The figure that had remained in the shadows outside the door took a few steps into the room. Her still-damp hair gave away that she had just stepped out of the shower. A pleasant scent of soap and shampoo spread through the air, contrasting almost cruelly with the knot forming in my stomach. She was wearing light clothes, a pink pajama made of thin fabric, far too simple for that absurd scene. Throughout my entire life, I had never imagined I would see her like that—not just because of her appearance, but because of the presence she emanated.
"Sofia…"The name slipped from my mouth before I could stop it.
"Well, that's my name," she replied casually.
Sofia displayed a beautiful smile, the kind that draws attention without effort: straight, natural teeth, capable of stirring envy in many women. At first glance, her expression seemed cheerful, almost satisfied. But her eyes… those green eyes carried something I had never seen before. Behind them was a deep, dense darkness that ran through my body like a shiver from head to toe. My mind tried to keep up with what was happening, but it was hard to think. Questions piled up, suffocating. How did I get here? Why am I tied up? Why are there so many photos of me scattered around the room? And, above all: who, in fact, was the woman in front of me?
Physically, it was Sofia. The face, the body, the features I had known for years. But the aura was different. Something in her posture, in her gaze, in the way she occupied the space, made it seem as though I was facing someone completely different from the person I had lived with for so long.
"You're a bad guy, Luke."
Her voice pulled me back to reality, breaking the whirlwind of thoughts. Sofia approached slowly. My legs were bound to the feet of the chair, and my arms were tied behind my body. When she sat sideways on my lap, I felt the light weight of her body against mine—a closeness that, under any other circumstances, would have been intimate; there, it was suffocating. She wrapped her arms around my neck naturally, as if it were an everyday gesture. I tried to move by reflex, but the knot was far too tight. I was completely at her mercy.
"You've become popular with women… that irritates me," she whispered in my ear, before breathing deeply against my neck. "Ah… your scent. I love it."
"Sofia… please," I said, feeling the confusion grow inside me. "Explain to me what's happening."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her expression shifting to something more serious.
"This is your fault, Luke… you made me accept a very dark side of myself."
"I don't understand."
"It's love. Can't you see? I love you so much."
Far from clarifying anything, those words only amplified the chaos in my head. Sofia had never shown feelings for me. It had always been obvious to everyone that she and Ethan had something.
"What are you saying?" I shot back, my voice heavy with disbelief. "You pushed me away, remember?"
She looked away for a moment, as if revisiting old memories.
"I pushed you away because, if I stayed close to you, I wouldn't be able to control myself," she said after a brief pause. "I was afraid of scaring you, of you thinking I was strange, of not accepting my true nature. So I fought against my heart and locked that voice that whispered in my ear away with seven keys."
I remained silent. None of it made sense to me.
"But you brought that voice back…" she continued, her eyes fixing on mine. "And, for the first time, I accepted it."
"Accepted who?" I asked, almost in a whisper.
"My true self."
........
(Sofia's POV)
My father is a judge. My mother is a senator. Since I learned how to walk, I also learned how to smile. Not just any smile, but a trained, calculated, impeccable one—the kind of expression that pleases, that doesn't disturb, that doesn't reveal too much. The daughter of a senator and a renowned judge needed to be perfect in the public eye: polite, elegant, restrained. I learned early how to behave at events, how to measure my words, how to cross my legs properly, how to laugh at exactly the right moment. Over time, this posture stopped being a conscious effort and became a second skin. My lips curved automatically, to the point that, at some stage, I lost track of when I had last smiled for real. The social mask didn't just exist—it defined me.
I was eight years old when I truly met Luke and Ethan. We already studied at the same school, but we were just familiar faces in crowded hallways. The meeting happened at a party my parents were invited to—one of those filled with important adults, empty speeches, and bored children. That was where our parents ended up growing closer, and our lives intertwined without me realizing it. When I saw Luke for the first time, he didn't stand out. He was just an ordinary boy, nothing that caught attention. I did what I always did: I offered my best social smile, polite, rehearsed, exactly as my parents had taught me. I was kind, distant, impeccable.
But they were different. Luke and Ethan completely ignored any formality. They didn't care about my posture, my last name, or the image I had to uphold. They simply grabbed my hand and started running through the hall, laughing loudly, shattering the suffocating order around me. For the first time, I played like a child at a party where my parents were present. I laughed without controlling the sound, ran without worrying about dresses or stares. When I got home, I was scolded. But something had already changed. From that day on, the three of us became friends. Our parents also grew closer, and we began seeing each other not only at school, but at one another's houses. With them, my smile stopped being a mask—it simply happened.
For a long time, I considered Luke and Ethan equally important. They were my refuge, my safe space away from crushing expectations. Until, on an afternoon far too ordinary to mark an entire life, everything changed. It was the last day of elementary school. I was ten years old and had left early. Outside the school, I was cornered against a wall. A dog charged toward me, barking, its mouth open, foam dripping. I froze. Fear stole my voice, my body, my breath. I couldn't scream. I couldn't run.
Then, suddenly, someone placed themselves in front of me. Small, firm, determined shoulders. Luke. He shouted, tried to scare the dog away, but it was useless. The animal lunged, and Luke was bitten on the leg. His scream drew the attention of an adult passing by, who ran to help. When it was over, there was blood and the clear mark of the bite on his leg. I approached, trembling, certain he would blame me, that he would yell at me. But Luke turned to me, completely ignoring his own pain, and smiled. A simple, sincere smile.
"I'm glad you're okay."
In that instant, something was born inside me. It was love—I knew that, even without understanding what that word truly meant at that age. But it wasn't a gentle love, nor innocent, nor comfortable. It was a feeling accompanied by something deeper, heavier, like a shadow cast behind the light, always present, even when no one else saw it. I didn't know how to name it, explain it, or contain it. I just felt it. And, unlike everything I had ever felt before, it didn't fade. It didn't weaken with time, it didn't dissolve into childhood memories. It stayed. It created silent roots inside me.
I tried to hide it. To convince myself it was just gratitude, affection, childish attachment. I repeated that so many times that I almost believed it. But the years passed, and the feeling not only endured—it grew. We moved on to the same school, stayed close, sharing laughter, routines, simple moments that, to me, carried a disproportionate weight. I had to put my social mask on again: the polite smile, the impeccable behavior, the posture that pleased everyone. On the outside, I was everything they expected of me. On the inside, the darkness expanded slowly, like a stain spreading without haste, but never retreating. Every time I saw Luke talking to another girl, something inside me tightened. A squeeze in my chest, an almost physical discomfort, as if something were being torn away from me without my being able to stop it.
"You're going to lose him."
"Look… he's talking to someone who isn't you."
"She doesn't deserve to be there."
"Take him for yourself."
"Let me take control."
The voice emerged like that: low, persistent, insinuating. At first, it was just a whisper I pretended not to hear. Then it became impossible to ignore. I tried to deny it, rationalize it, push it to the back of my mind. But deep down, I knew exactly what it was. Not a delusion. Not madness. It was my love speaking to me. My true self, stripped of the mask, demanding space. An intense, irrational, possessive love. A love that accepted no competition, allowed no substitutions, and didn't understand the idea of "sharing." It controlled me through fear—fear of Luke not accepting what I felt, fear of being rejected, fear of being seen as something broken, wrong, monstrous. Even so, the more I resisted, the stronger the voice became, as if my denial only fed it.
In high school, I made a decision. I knew, with terrifying clarity, that if I got too close to Luke, I would lose control. Just hearing his voice made my heart race, my hands sweat, my body react before my mind did. I was always on the edge of something irreversible—of touching him in a way that couldn't be undone, of crossing boundaries with no return. There was a constant tension inside me, a thin line I forced myself not to cross. To make things worse, Ethan always seemed to be around me. The school treated us like idols, and they created the convenient narrative that we were the perfect couple. The mere idea made me nauseous. Thinking about being with someone other than Luke made my stomach churn, my skin burn with repulsion. I felt disgust. I lived much of high school imprisoned in this conflict, divided between who I needed to be to survive and who I truly was when no one was watching.
So I used my greatest talent—that which I had learned since childhood. I became someone I am not. I created a mask specifically for Luke, carefully molded, precise, efficient. A mask that hid my sick love, the one I was even afraid to fully acknowledge. A love capable of anything. An absolute love. A love that, if he asked, would make me die without hesitation—and smile while doing so. I locked that feeling away with seven keys, silenced the voice that pulsed inside my heart, suffocated my true self until I could barely recognize it anymore.
I just didn't expect that lock to be broken in college.
...
Hello readers.
I know there are still few of us, but I would appreciate it if you could give me some feedback on the story. I'd like to hear your opinions.