Chapter 5 — The Circle Gets Smaller
Eli doesn't yell.
He doesn't have to.
He knows how to get under my skin with silence — long, heavy pauses that stretch until I start apologizing for things I didn't even do.
This week, he's been "worried" again.
That's what he calls it. Worry.
But worry doesn't sound like this.
"Why didn't you answer me last night?" he asks, his voice too calm.
"I fell asleep early," I say, even though I know he already knows the answer.
He leans against my counter, arms crossed, watching me like he's studying something fragile. "You've been tired a lot lately. You should stop hanging out with those people. They drain you."
"*Those people*?" I repeat.
"Your coworkers. Your classmates. Anyone who doesn't care about you." His eyes flicker, sharp. "Anyone who isn't me."
I laugh it off because I don't know what else to do. "Eli, you can't tell me who to hang out with."
He doesn't answer right away. He just steps closer, lowering his voice until it feels like it sinks under my skin.
"I don't have to tell you," he says quietly. "You already know who's bad for you."
And the thing is — he says it like he believes it. Like he's the only one who ever really could.
Later, when I check my phone, I realize I've missed two messages from my best friend from work. Both say the same thing:
> "Did you block me?"
But I didn't.
At least, I don't remember doing it.
When I look through my settings, Eli's name is pinned at the top of every chat. Notifications from everyone else are off. I don't remember turning those off, either.
That night, when he calls, I ask him about it.
He sighs softly. "You've been stressed. I just wanted to make things easier. Less noise."
"By cutting off my friends?"
He hesitates for half a second, then says, "If they really cared about you, they'd understand that you need peace. And if they don't — they were never really your friends."
The scary thing is, his voice sounds *so gentle* when he says it that for a moment, I almost agree.
Almost.
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