CH.7 - The Shape of Familiar Hands
1846 Words
Chapter Seven – The Shape of Familiar Hands
Olivia’s Point of View
I don't know what i was expecting but this was definitely not it, who knew that being kidnapped would be this boring…damn
The house was quiet…too quiet.
Not the eerie silence of before, not the watchful stillness that pressed against my skin whenever Idris was near—but something softer. Domestic. Almost normal.
I padded barefoot down the hallway, the wooden floors cool beneath my feet, the scent of lavender still clinging faintly to the air like it had seeped into the walls. My pulse was steady for once, my thoughts slower, fogged at the edges.
That should have been my first warning.
Something deep within me stirred as his rich comforts scent filled my system and calmed each and every nerve in my body. I knew that my mind was playing tricks on me because he couldn't possibly be here , why would he be. For some reason I wanted him to be here , I wanted to see him , I wanted to be in his arms again and a part of me wished I could just jump his bones and get him out of my system once and for all.
I turned a corner—
And nearly collided with him…my body immediately relaxed in his presence as I let out a sigh of relief…. maybe he could run away from me or he came here just to save me one more time and those thoughts alone brought me new hope.
“Damien?”
He stood there looking glorious in his tight white button up with sleeves folded up to his elbows and the first few buttons undone to expose his….*no olivia! Focus girl, focus!* I said to myself as I fully took him in as he stood there like he belonged. Like he’d always belonged.
Leaning casually against the wall just outside what I knew was Idris’s study, arms folded, head tilted slightly as those familiar grey eyes swept over me. The same eyes that used to soften when he looked at me. The same mouth I’d memorized in a hundred different smiles.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.
One corner of his mouth lifted. Not amused. Not angry. Just… knowing.
“That’s what I was about to ask you,” he said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “Exactly what do you think you’re doing here, Liv?”
The way he said my name sent a strange warmth curling through my chest.
“I—I don’t know,” I admitted. “I woke up and I was just… here.”
His gaze dropped briefly—to my bare feet, the oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder—before returning to my face. His jaw tightened, something unreadable flickering across his expression.
“This isn’t your place,” he said softly.
“I know.”
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
He closed the remaining distance between us, close enough now that I could smell him—clean, familiar, *real*. My back brushed the wall as he braced one arm beside my head, caging me in with a presence that made my knees weak.
“When you disappeared,” he murmured, “do you have any idea what that did to me?”
My heart stuttered. “Damien—”
He didn’t let me finish.
His lips found mine with a certainty that erased every thought in my head.
The kiss wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t angry. It was deep and consuming, like he was reclaiming something he’d lost, like I was the only solid thing left in a world that had tilted off its axis.
I melted into him without thinking, fingers gripping his shirt, heat rushing through me as if my body recognized him before my mind could catch up. His hand slid to my waist, grounding, possessive, achingly familiar.
God, I’d missed this.
Missed *him*.
A soft moan escaped me as the kiss deepened, my pulse roaring in my ears—
And the world snapped apart.
I gasped sharply, lungs dragging in air as my eyes flew open.
Green eyes stared back at me.
Wide. Curious.
Very much awake.
The moan died in my throat as humiliation and shock crashed over me all at once. Idris was seated at the edge of the bed, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, his gaze fixed on my face like he’d been studying it for some time.
“Well,” he said quietly, “that explains the sound.”
My face burned as I scrambled upright, clutching the blanket to my chest.
“How long have you been there?” I snapped.
“Long enough,” he replied evenly. “To know you weren’t having a nightmare.”
I swallowed hard, my heart still racing—not from fear now, but from the lingering ghost of Damien’s touch.
Idris tilted his head slightly. “Who were you dreaming about, Olivia?”
The question was gentle.
That somehow made it worse.
“I—” I hesitated, the words tangling in my throat. I didn’t want to give him this. Didn’t want to expose something so raw when he had already taken so much from me.
But then anger surged, hot and defiant.
Why should I care?
“My ex,” I blurted. “I was dreaming about my ex.”
The shift in him was immediate.
Not explosive. Not violent.
Just… sharp.
Something dark flickered through his eyes—hurt, maybe, or uncertainty—followed by something colder, heavier. Possessive confusion. Jealousy he hadn’t prepared for.
“Oh,” he said.
That single syllable carried far more weight than any accusation.
His gaze drifted away for a moment, jaw tightening, as if he were forcing himself to accept a reality he didn’t like. When he looked back at me, his expression was carefully controlled—but his eyes gave him away.
I didn’t care.
Not after what he’d done.
“If that bothers you,” I said coldly, “that’s not my problem. You’re the one who kidnapped me.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then, quietly, Idris said, “Dreams don’t come from nowhere.”
I turned away, heart pounding. “Get out.”
He stood, the air shifting with him as always, but his voice was low—almost restrained.
“Rest,” he said. “We’ll talk when you’re ready.”
The door closed softly behind him.
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, Damien’s grey eyes still burned into the backs of my own.
And for the first time since waking in this house, one unsettling thought refused to leave me:
If that had been just a dream…
Why had it felt so real?
And why did the man with green eyes look like he was afraid of losing me to a ghost?
………
The knock came softly.
Not urgent. Not apologetic.
Just… certain.
I was still staring at the ceiling when it happened, Damien’s ghost fading slowly, my chest tight with thoughts I didn’t want to finish. For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined it—another trick of this house, another quiet test.
Then the door opened.
Not Idris.
A woman stepped in first, dressed in muted grey, her posture impeccable, her expression politely blank. Behind her followed three men, all dressed similarly, all moving with the quiet efficiency of people who had done this many times before.
They didn’t look at me.
They looked at the room.
“Careful with that one,” one of them murmured as he carried in a medium-sized box. “Fragile.”
My heart stuttered.
Another box followed. Then another. And another.
They stacked them neatly along the far wall, forming a familiar, awful pattern—my handwriting scrawled in black marker catching my eye like a punch to the throat.
**Kitchen – Glassware**
**Bedroom – Winter Clothes**
**Books (Handle With Care)**
“No,” I whispered.
The woman finally turned to me then, her expression softening just a fraction. She approached the bed and held out a folded piece of cream-colored paper.
“For you,” she said gently.
My fingers felt numb as I took it.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Clean. Controlled. Idris.
**Thank you for making this easier than it could have been.
You were already packed. I simply sent movers.
Loose ends have been handled. Your landlord was informed. Your job was notified. Your phone will remain silent.
No one will look for you.
Rest. This is your home now.
—Idris**
The room seemed to tilt.
I looked up sharply. “You can’t just—just move someone’s life.”
The woman’s lips pressed together sympathetically. “It was… remarkably straightforward,” she said. “Your apartment was mostly packed already.”
Because I’d been planning to leave.
Because I’d been trying to run before everything fell apart.
Because my life had already been collapsing long before Idris stepped into it.
The men finished unloading the last box and filed out without a word. The woman lingered a moment longer, hesitating as if she wanted to say something human.
“I’ll have your clothes unpacked later, if you like,” she offered quietly. “Or you may do it yourself.”
The door closed behind her.
Silence rushed in.
I slid off the bed on unsteady legs and crossed the room slowly, touching the boxes as if they might vanish under my fingers. My books. My sweaters. The chipped mug Damien bought me on our first anniversary. The scarf my mother used to wear before—
I stopped.
There was no one left who would notice I was gone.
No parents.
No siblings.
No best friend who hadn’t already chosen someone else’s bed over my trust.
No boyfriend who hadn’t betrayed me in the same breath he told me he loved me.
I sank down onto the rug, back against the bed, clutching the note in my fist as something hollow opened inside my chest.
Idris hadn’t needed chains.
He hadn’t needed threats.
He hadn’t even needed to lie.
He’d simply stepped into the empty spaces my life had already carved out and claimed them.
Covered the loose ends.
Made sure no one would worry.
No one would ask questions.
No one would call the police.
I let out a shaky breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.
I wasn’t trapped because I couldn’t leave.
I was trapped because there was nowhere left to go.
And sitting there on the floor of his house, surrounded by the pieces of a life that had already abandoned me, I realized something far worse than fear settled into my bones:
I hadn’t once thought about escaping.
Not really.
Because somewhere deep down, a part of me already knew—
Idris hadn’t stolen my life.
He’d just picked it up where everyone else had dropped it.
- Writer
