Owned by violence

The First Strike

Something felt wrong before I even stepped inside.

I couldn’t explain it. Nothing had changed on the outside, the same quiet hallway, the same dim light creeping through the windows, but the moment I reached the door, my chest tightened like I was walking into something I wasn’t ready for.

Still, I pushed it open.

“Cory?” I called softly, stepping in.

No answer.

The room was darker than usual, shadows stretching across the walls like they were trying to swallow the space whole. I hesitated near the door, my fingers brushing against the wood as if I might need to leave quickly.

Then,

“Where were you?”

I froze.

The voice came from the corner.

Low.

Sharp.

I turned slowly, my eyes adjusting to the darkness until I saw him.

Cory sat there, elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together. His head was slightly tilted down, but his eyes,

They were locked on me.

Like he had been waiting.

Watching.

“I told you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I stepped further into the room. “I had extra lessons.”

“With who?”

“My teacher.”

A short laugh left him, but there was nothing amused about it. It sounded dry. Hollow. “You think I’m stupid?”

My chest tightened. “No. Cory, I’m serious”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

The words came out firmer this time, but instead of easing the tension, they seemed to make it worse.

He stood.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Each step he took toward me felt heavier than the last, like the space between us was shrinking too fast, closing in before I could catch my breath.

“I saw you,” he said quietly.

My stomach dropped. “Saw me doing what?”

“Talking. Laughing. Smiling like everything is okay.”

“I was just talking to someone,” I said, my voice softer now. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

Something in the way he said it made my heart beat faster.

Not in the way it used to.

Not warm.

Not safe.

Different.

“Cory” I started, trying to find the right words. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I don’t overthink,” he snapped. “I notice.”

The sharpness in his tone made me take a small step back without meaning to.

His gaze dropped to the movement immediately.

And that’s when I realized

He noticed everything.

“Who was he?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“He was just asking about class.”

“And you needed to laugh with him for that?”

The question hit harder than it should have.

“I didn’t think it was a problem,” I said quietly.

“You didn’t think?” His jaw tightened slightly. “That’s the problem.”

The room felt smaller.

Like the walls were inching closer.

“Cory, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why does it feel like you did?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

Because I didn’t know how to answer that.

Because I didn’t understand why it felt like I was being accused of something I hadn’t done.

He stepped closer.

Too close.

“Look at me,” he said.

I already was.

But somehow, it didn’t feel like enough.

“I am,” I whispered.

“Then say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re mine.”

The words settled heavily between us.

Familiar.

But different this time.

Not soft.

Not comforting.

Demanding.

My chest tightened. “Cory”

“Say it.”

There was no anger in his voice now.

That was the worst part.

It was calm.

Controlled.

Like he wasn’t asking.

Like he already expected the answer.

My heart was racing, my thoughts tangled together in a way I couldn’t sort through.

This wasn’t how it usually felt.

This wasn’t the same.

But

It was still Cory.

The same Cory who sat with me when no one else did.

The same Cory who made sure I ate.

The same Cory who promised I’d never be alone.

Right?

“I’m yours,” I said quietly.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then his shoulders relaxed slightly, like something inside him had settled.

“Good.”

The word was soft.

Almost gentle.

And just like that

The tension shifted.

But it didn’t disappear.

His hand moved suddenly, wrapping around my arm.

Tight.

Too tight.

A sharp sting shot through me, andI couldn’t stop the small flinch that followed.

His grip tightened for just a second longer.

“Don’t do that again,” he said.

My breath caught. “Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m losing you.”

“I wasn’t”

“Just don’t.”

The words cut me off before I could finish.

Before I could explain.

Before I could fix something I didn’t even understand.

I nodded quickly. “Okay.”

Another second passed.

Then

His grip loosened.

And he let go.

Just like that.

Like nothing had happened.

Like I wasn’t still standing there, trying to steady my breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, frustration flashing briefly across his face. “I just, I don’t like the way people look at you.”

I rubbed my arm slightly, the spot still tingling.

“It’s okay,” I said automatically.

The words came too easily.

Too naturally.

Because what else was I supposed to say?

He stepped closer again, but this time slower.

Careful.

Like he was trying to undo what had just happened.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he said, his voice softer now.

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the familiar features.

The same eyes that had once made me feel safe.

The same person who had been there from the beginning.

And yet,

Something felt different.

Not enough to break.

Not enough to run.

But enough to notice.

“I know,” I said.

Because I needed to believe it.

He exhaled quietly, like my answer mattered more than it should have.

“Good,” he said again, softer this time.

The room fell into silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

Not like before.

This silence felt heavier.

Uncertain.

Like something had shifted, even if neither of us said it out loud.

After a moment, he reached for my hand.

Gentler this time.

Careful.

I hesitated for half a second

Then let him take it.

Because pulling away would mean something.

And I wasn’t ready to figure out what that something was.

Not yet.

So I stayed.

Right there.

With him.

Telling myself it was just a bad moment.

Just a bad day.

That things would go back to normal.

That Cory was still Cory.

Because he had to be.

He was the reason I wasn’t alone.

The reason I felt safe.

The reason I stayed.

And maybe that was why,

Even with the tight feeling still sitting in my chest…

Even with the faint sting still lingering on my arm…

I didn’t question it.

I didn’t push back.

I didn’t leave.

I just held on to the version of him I knew.

And hoped,

It was still there.