Whispers of the Stars

So this was it. The love I had been so proud of, the love I’d built my world around—in his eyes, it was nothing but a calculated program of feeding and taming.

Abigail watched the blood drain from my face. Something complex flickered in her gaze: pity, perhaps, or contempt.

She pulled up a few more photos on her phone and slid it back across the table.

There I was.

In my rented room, on my own bed, fast asleep, my clothes disheveled. The angle was deliberate, invasive, dripping with a voyeuristic sickness that turned my stomach.

“Ryan has a particular hobby,” Abigail whispered, her voice like something from the underworld. “He likes to document his… intimate moments. With each of his… companions. Photos, videos—he has it all. There’s an encrypted hard drive. God knows how many girls’ youth is stored on it.”

My stomach twisted. A wave of pure revulsion clawed its way up my throat.

I stared at the defenseless girl in the photo. Shame and terror crashed over me—a cold, drowning tide.

The man I’d loved with my entire being, the man I’d believed was my light, was a monster. A creature who lurked in shadows, watching me, recording me, taking pleasure in it.

I don’t remember how I stumbled back to my dorm.

My roommate asked if I was okay. I just shook my head, collapsed onto my bed, and pulled the covers over my head. In the private dark, I wept silently, my body shaking with the force of it.

My phone vibrated furiously on the pillow. Ryan.

I stared at that familiar name. Once, it had made my heart race. Now, it only brought a bone-deep chill and that same rising nausea.

I declined the call. Blocked the number. Deleted everything—every message, every photo, every trace of him.

I thought that would erase him. Scrub him clean from my world.

I forgot: my life was already a sieve, and he had seeped into every crack.

The next morning, my mother’s call came right on schedule. Her tone was the usual blend of impatience and entitlement.

“Nicole! Where’s this month’s allowance? Your brother got a new phone. He’s two thousand short. Figure it out!”

Patrick. My brother, three years younger—the sun around which our family orbited. No school, no job, just drifting from one fight to the next.

My heart sank, a cold, heavy stone dropping into an abyss.