No Way Out
673 Words
Krystal
I couldn’t f*****g breathe.
Ryland’s proximity caught in my throat, his scent lingering in my lungs like a goddamn drug. His touch—it was barely anything, just the graze of his fingers against my lip—but it sent a violent shiver down my spine.
Stay.
Not a request. A command.
And then he walked away like he didn’t just completely short-circuit my brain. Like he didn’t just ruin me in a matter of seconds.
I was losing my f*****g mind.
---
The next morning, the breakfast table was f*****g weird. Not a single word. Not even Travis’s usual half-assed attempt at morning small talk. Mrs. Johansson sat at the head of the table, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
Shit.
I walked in, forcing a casual greeting. “Morning.”
No one answered. Just the sound of clinking silverware and coffee cups being set down a little too hard.
Double s**t.
I slid into the chair next to Travis, nudging him under the table. He didn’t look at me, just barely tilted his head before mouthing two words: *You’re doomed.*
Triple f*****g s**t.
Mrs. Johansson cleared her throat, slicing through the silence like a goddamn guillotine. “Krystal.”
My stomach clenched. “Yeah?”
Her eyes pinned me in place. “Are you planning on moving out?”
My mouth went dry. f**k. I fumbled for words, stuttering like a goddamn i***t. “I—uh—well, I was just thinking—”
“No one’s moving out.”
My head snapped toward Ryland before I even realized he’d spoken. His voice was even, calm, but there was no mistaking the authority in it.
Mrs. Johansson nodded like that settled it. “Good. Then it’s final. No one is moving out.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. No room for argument. No f*****g chance to protest.
I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears. “Fine. I won’t move out.”
A smirk danced across Ryland’s lips.
Motherfucker.
I knew it.
He did this. He made sure everyone knew exactly where he stood, made sure I had no f*****g choice but to stay.
Breakfast was a blur after that, my body running on autopilot while my brain spiraled into pure frustration. The second we were done eating, I shoved my chair back and stalked after him. He was halfway down the hall when I caught up, grabbing his arm and yanking him to a stop.
“What the f**k, Ryland?”
He barely had time to turn before I shoved him against the wall, my palm flat against his chest.
His stupidly solid f*****g chest.
His lips quirked. “Well, good morning to you too, Firecracker.”
I scowled, pressing harder, like I actually had a chance of holding him there. “You don’t get to make my decisions for me.”
His hands came up, slow and deliberate, fingers wrapping around my wrists. “I didn’t make your decision. I just made sure you didn’t make a dumb one.”
I grit my teeth, my body practically vibrating with frustration. “That’s not how this works, Ryland.”
He pushed off the wall, moving forward just enough to close the distance between us, our bodies nearly flush.
My knees f*****g wobbled.
Goddamn it.
His fingers tightened around my wrists, not rough, but firm. Enough to remind me that he could turn the tables in a f*****g second. His breath was warm against my cheek as he murmured, “You’re staying here. End of discussion.”
My heart slammed against my ribs, my throat tightening, but I forced my expression to stay neutral. “You can’t always get what you want, you know.”
His lips brushed against my ear, just barely. “We’ll see about that.”
Then, just to f*****g prove a point, he let me go first.
And walked away.
Leaving me standing there, breathless and shaking, wondering just how deep I’d fallen into whatever the f**k this was.
- Writer
