I thought he was a man. Turned out he was my light.
Liana
I woke up screaming.
But I didn't know I was screaming until the man who looked like a bear stormed into the room.
I was choking in my dream... or should I say memory?
I could still feel his palms squeezing every inch of air out of my lungs.
Just for fun.
The room was dark and quiet.
No chains. No cold concrete floor.
I tried moving—and I could.
But in my dream, I was still there. Still gagged.
Still waiting for the next pair of footsteps that meant pain.
I couldn't breathe.
My chest was tight, my body soaked in sweat.
I gripped the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing keeping me from falling back into that nightmare.
Then the door burst open.
He stood there.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Eyes wide, alert.
He didn't even bother turning on the light.
He scanned the room for threats first, like a soldier.
Then he looked at me.
"It's okay. You're safe. It was just a dream," he said, voice low but steady.
The way he spoke—like how you'd talk to a baby. Soft. Careful.
Or at least, he tried to be.
I could tell.
He didn't move closer.
He didn't shout.
He didn't reach for me.
He kept a safe distance—for me.
Just stood in the doorway, like a wall, breathing like he'd run up a flight of stairs.
Watching me.
I didn't say anything.
I just nodded slowly.
He waited a few more seconds, then said, "If you need anything, I'm right outside."
And then he left.
The next morning, I opened my eyes to sunlight streaming through the window.
I woke up to silence.
No chains.
No shouting.
No footsteps coming.
The air smelled clean.
Too clean.
I didn't trust it.
My eyes darted around the room.
The ceiling was white. The walls, too.
There were no cracks. No stains. No shadows hiding in corners.
Where am I?
And then it hit me.
I wasn't there anymore.
I was in his home.
The man who saved me.
Elias.
I sat up slowly.
My body still ached.
Every movement pulled at something—bruises, muscle, memory.
I waited for the door to slam open.
It didn't.
After what felt like forever, I stepped outside.
The hallway was bright, the wooden floor warm under my feet.
Every sound made me flinch—the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock, the soft scrape of metal against ceramic.
He was in the kitchen.
He looked... different in daylight.
Less like a guardian angel.
More like a military-grade bear.
His back muscles shifted under a tight black T-shirt as he bent to get something from the fridge.
He looked like he could crush someone with one hand.
He could snap my neck, I thought for a second.
He's scary.
Should I run?
He didn't look at me right away.
He was pouring something into a mug.
His movements were steady. Quiet. Controlled.
I didn't move.
He turned, slowly, as if he'd been waiting.
"Morning," he said, voice low and calm.
But that still scared me.
I didn't answer.
I was still thinking about running.
Even though I had nowhere to go.
And I was pretty sure I couldn't outrun him anyway.
He nodded toward the small table.
"There's breakfast, if you want."
I looked.
A plate with a slice of bread.
A boiled egg.
A cup of warm milk.
Nothing else.
No hands forcing it down my throat.
No eyes watching me chew.
I stayed at the edge of the room.
He didn't come closer.
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't say "sit" or "eat" or "hurry up."
He just pulled out a chair and sat down—across the room, facing slightly away.
Like he was giving me a way out if I needed one.
"I'll just sit here," he said, as if we were talking about the weather.
"You can do whatever you want."
I didn't move.
Five minutes passed.
Maybe more.
My stomach twisted.
I wasn't sure if it was hunger or fear.
Eventually, I took one step forward.
Okay. He didn't yell.
Then another.
Okay. He didn't try to grab me.
Then another.
I sat.
The chair was soft.
The table didn't creak.
I stared at the bread.
He didn't say anything.
I picked it up with both hands.
It shook.
So did I.
I brought it close to my mouth.
Paused.
Still watching him.
He wasn't looking.
He was sipping from his mug, scrolling through something on his phone.
I took a bite.
Small.
Dry.
But mine.
He didn't say anything.
Didn't even look at me.
Just kept sipping.