Sam entered his apartment and closed the door behind him with a dull click. The silence of the place greeted him like an old, familiar ghost. It wasn't the peaceful kind of silence, either—it was hollow, echoing with everything he was trying not to think about. The events of the day, Elena's fear, that masked bastard's sick words—they played in his head on a loop.
He stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, not moving. Just breathing.
His eyes flicked to the digital clock on the wall. Almost dinner time. His stomach growled like it was trying to remind him he hadn't eaten since noon. He needed food, and maybe a moment of normalcy. A hot shower, some quiet music, a half-decent meal. Just a pause from everything.
He tossed his keys on the table and headed to the bathroom. Steam filled the mirror fifteen minutes later as he stepped out of the shower, towel slung over his shoulder, hair dripping. It felt good to be clean. Like some layer of the day had been washed off him. But the weight in his chest hadn't gone anywhere.
He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and sighed.
Empty shelves stared back at him.
No vegetables, no meat, not even bread. Just an expired bottle of mustard and a sad-looking onion that should've been thrown out a week ago.
He closed the door with a soft thud and leaned against it.
"Great."
He remembered the plan. Dinner out. With her. The memory cut through him like glass.
"Stop it," he muttered. "Don't go there."
Still wrapped in his robe, he checked his wallet—a few bills, enough for a grocery run. Phone in his pocket, he locked the door behind him and stepped into the hallway.
For just a second, his eyes drifted across to Elena's door. Still. Quiet.
"Hope she's okay," he whispered. "She's strong. Way stronger than me."
Then he walked off into the cool night, heading for the nearest supermarket.
---
Meanwhile, Elena sat on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing. Her room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight. The silence was heavier here. More suffocating. Her hands were clenched in her lap, knuckles white, breath shallow.
She had tried not to think about it. About him.
But it was impossible.
That voice. Those words. The sick grin in the masked man's voice as he spoke to her like she was a thing, not a person.
She had kept it all buried for so long. Locked away.
And now it was back.
She swallowed hard and stood, walking to the kitchen, then pacing back to the bedroom. Her mind was racing.
"Why did I freeze up?" she whispered. "Why couldn't I just tell him?"
Sam.
He had been there. Without hesitation, without fear. And she had just said thank you, like it was nothing. Like she wasn't on the verge of breaking.
Her lips tightened.
She should've said more. Done something.
Maybe she still could.
She looked at the clock. Maybe it wasn't too late.
"I'll cook for him," she said, voice gaining strength. "Something nice. His favorite. It's the least I can do."
A tiny, shaky smile appeared on her face.
She ran to the door and knocked on his.
Tap tap tap.
No answer.
She waited.
Another knock.
Still nothing.
"Where would he go at this time?" she muttered. "Maybe I missed him."
She stared at the door a little longer, then sighed.
"No worries. Tomorrow. I'll invite him properly tomorrow."
Still smiling, she turned back to her apartment, feeling a flicker of purpose again.
Time to cook.
Time to do something kind. Real.
She walked to the bathroom, grabbed her robe, and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away some of the tension in her muscles. For a while, everything felt peaceful.
---
Elena hummed softly as warm water cascaded down her skin. Her eyes closed, tension slipping away into the steam. The scent of lavender soap mixed with the heat, calming her nerves.
Just a normal shower. Just peace.
*Knock knock knock.*
Her eyes opened.
*Knock knock knock knock.*
Louder this time. Sharper.
"Are you serious right now?" she muttered under her breath.
She called out, irritation in her voice: "Hold on! For God's sake, take a break!"
Wrapping her wet body in her robe, she stepped out of the shower, barefoot and dripping, muttering curses under her breath. Whoever was at the door clearly had no sense of patience.
But then she froze.
Something felt wrong.
She approached the door slowly, irritation fading into unease. She peered through the peephole.
What she saw made her stumble back, breath caught in her throat.
A hooded figure.
Motionless. Still as death. Just like before.
She staggered backward, crashing into the table near the wall, almost falling. Her hands covered her mouth as she slid down to the floor, whispering: "No... No no no..."
The knock came again.
Slow. Measured.
Then a voice.
"You still cry the same way, Elena."
Her hands trembled.
"Why... Why are you here?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
No answer.
She stood slowly, voice rising.
"I told you to leave me alone! I did what you told me! Just let me live! Leave me in peace!"
The voice came again, this time crueler. More twisted.
"I won't leave you tonight, Elena. You're mine. No one's here. No one will come."
She pressed her back to the wall, eyes darting around the room.
"I… I… don't want to see you. I'm not the same girl anymore."
But the voice didn't stop.
"You left me," it said, almost softly now. "But I never left you."
A beat of silence.
Then:
"I want to sleep with you tonight. This is my last wish. Open the door, Elena, or I will break it down."
Her body shook.
"Please... don't do this," she said, tears streaming down her face. Her sobs were uncontrollable now, her voice thick with fear. "Please... let me go..."
The man on the other side laughed.
"Today, you won't be able to leave me. Tonight... you're mine."
*BANG.*
A fist slammed into the door.
*BANG.*
Harder.
"Open the door!" he screamed.
Elena crawled backward, hands trembling as she reached for her phone. But it wasn't on the table where she thought it would be.
Panic.
She checked under the table. The floor. Nowhere.
*BANG.*
The voice hissed: "You can't run anymore. And you can't hide."
Her mind spiraled.
Then silence.
The kind that creeps under your skin. The kind that feels like it's holding its breath.
And then a whisper:
"Tonight, you don't get to say no."
---