Between the lines

Two weeks had slipped by, during which the noose around my daily life tightened with surgical precision. The daily runs tracked by the glowing ring of my Apple Watch, the meticulously weighed portions of food, and the relentless clamp of the resin cage had hardened into a fixed, grinding routine. Every step on the asphalt was a raw reminder that my body was no longer my own.

It was a Thursday afternoon. Loona was meeting someone downtown for another half hour, leaving me on my knees by the hallway shoe rack, sorting her heels by color and polishing the leather.

The shrill buzz of the doorbell cut right through my work.

Freezing for half a beat, I scrambled to my feet. The rigid base ring ground roughly against my thighs from the sudden movement. Looking through the peephole, I saw a young woman I had never laid eyes on before. I cracked the door open a cautious fraction.

“Hi! You must be John.”

Standing in front of me was a girl with wavy, chestnut-brown hair that tumbled loosely over her shoulders. Her doe-brown eyes took me in with a warmth that felt disarming at first glance. She was wearing a fitted leather jacket over an understated white tee, jeans hugging her silhouette, and trailed a subtle, powdery scent of vanilla.

“Uh… yeah. Hi,” I stammered. “Loona isn't back yet. She said she’d need another twenty minutes or so.”

“I know, she texted me,” she replied with an easy smile, slipping smoothly past me into the foyer and casually sliding off her sneakers. “I’m Nadja. We study together at university. And rather than freezing out there, you wouldn't mind keeping me company for a bit, right?”

I pulled the door shut, my heart hammering in my throat. Nadja. That name had surfaced again and again over the past few weeks—the nights at the bar, the club escapades.

“Sure. Do you… would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Water would be wonderful, thanks,” she said, ambling into the living room with light, buoyant strides.

When I entered the room a moment later with the glass in hand, Nadja had already made herself comfortable on the sofa. One leg was tucked beneath her while the other hung loose over the edge. Her eyes swept with interest across the bookshelves, the spotless glass coffee table, before settling squarely on me. A faint, amused smile curved her lips.

Setting the glass down in front of her, I took an involuntary step back, folding my hands low over my body to cover the front of my dark sweatpants on pure instinct.

“Thanks.” She took a sip, set the glass down, and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. Those doe eyes locked onto me, unblinking, practically dissecting me. “Do you keep everything around here this spotless? You could eat right off the floor.”

“We… we have a cleaner,” I hedged, feeling heat creep up into my cheeks. It was barely half true: the cleaning lady almost exclusively handled my parents' wing, whereas Loona’s room, the corridor, and my own space had long become my daily, meticulous handiwork.

“Oh, a cleaner, is it?” Nadja drawled out slowly. Her voice sounded entirely innocent, yet the tone carried a razor-thin edge. “How convenient. Though you don't strike me as a lazy couch potato, John. Quite the poster boy, actually. Disciplined, athletic build…”

Her gaze dragged with deliberate slowness down from my shoulders, across my chest, trailing past my waist before lingering for a palpable beat over my hips.

“You do seem a little… on edge, though, John.”

I swallowed dryly. “Exam stress. School's pretty demanding right now.”

“Oh, school?” She let out a soft laugh—a bright, warm sound that clashed sharply with the cold dread tingling at the back of my neck. “It certainly gets exhausting when everyone thinks they can pile expectations on you. But maybe it’s not just about the books. Some things just sit… a little too tight, don’t they? When you never get the chance to let off some real steam.”

My breath hitched for a split second. The words were phrased in a way that could easily be read as ordinary sympathy about schoolwork and lack of balance. But the way her head tilted, the way her eyelashes lowered—it sent a jolt of sheer panic straight through my veins. Did she know? Had Loona shared details I knew nothing about?

Underneath the sweatpants, my body answered the sheer threat with an involuntary swell.

*Snap.*

Flesh rammed hard against the unyielding shell. A sharp spike of pain shot through my groin, forcing me to subtly shift my weight to keep from flinching outright.

Nadja didn't miss the micro-movement. Her smile deepened by a millimeter, harmless and vicious all at once.

“Come sit down, John,” she said softly, patting the cushion beside her with an open palm. “You don't need to stand in the corner like a servant waiting for the lady of the house to return.”

Before I could stutter an excuse, the key turned in the front door lock.