Only Him.

゚・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・ ゚

Madds Buckley - The Red Means I Love You.

𐔌՞꜆.  ̫.꜀՞𐦯

Warnings: kidnapping, captivity, obsession, manipulation, psychological abuse, violence, threats, murder, drugging, and psychiatric hospitalization.

☆ ゚・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・ ゚★

It is no secret that you don't have to be a philosopher to understand that a person can never be known completely, even if you know their history and have personally watched them for years. There was no reason to think about it constantly, nor was there any reason to waste years of your life on hatred. At least, not until you met HIM.

At first glance, there was nothing particularly remarkable about him. A red-haired man with long hair tied back in a ponytail and a neat, short beard. His dark, most likely brown, eyes were hidden behind round glasses with frames only along the upper edges of the lenses.

He wasn't particularly unusual in conversation either — calm, unremarkable, almost ordinary. And yet, you could never have imagined that this handsome man, whose thoughts were sometimes almost impossible to understand, would one day become your worst nightmare.

Because it all began with a single day, a single moment, and one careless mistake that eventually led to what was happening now.

To put it plainly, he kidnapped you. He staged an accident and then justified his actions as concern — excessive, unhealthy concern that gradually became more and more frightening. The more the truth came to light, the clearer his true nature became.

He took away your right to choose, locking you between four walls. He gave you sedatives, leaving you without enough strength even to perform the simplest tasks on your own. He was obsessed with you. Completely fixated.

Before all of this, he had casually let it slip that he had killed the owners of the house. Once, he had simply been an ordinary worker who happened to be around them, but at some point, his obsession had crossed every boundary. Before killing them, he had told you about his intentions as casually as if he were discussing something completely ordinary.

In his mind, everything was simple: you deserved more. Much more than your former owners and your former life could ever give you. At least, that was how he saw the situation through the lens of his twisted fantasy.

To him, it wasn't a crime — merely another step toward the future he had already planned for you. And, naturally, there was no room for your own choices in that future.

He worshipped every part of you, every word, every gesture — even the curses you threw at him. And for the sake of that unhealthy attachment, he stopped at nothing: he could hurt you, manipulate you, threaten other people, and cross every possible boundary.

In his own twisted understanding, all of it was simply his way of proving how much he needed you.

You were completely powerless against him — far too weak to seriously resist him or cause him any real harm. It went on for a long time. So long that, despite your hatred and stubborn contempt for him, you gradually, against your own will, grew accustomed to that life. To its rules, restrictions, and constant fear. No matter how disgusting it was.

But one day, on an especially quiet and bleak day, fate finally left you a tiny opening.

Taking advantage of the moment when he was distracted, you found a powerful medication in the kitchen that he had kept for emergencies. And, before you had even fully realized what you were doing, you decided to take the risk. While he was occupied, you slipped the medication into his drink.

You didn't care much about the consequences. At that moment, it didn't matter to you what happened to him afterward. All you could do was hope it would be enough.

And as though the world had finally decided to take your side after all that time, you soon saw him — barely conscious, strangely helpless, and almost pitiful.

For the first time in all that time, the man standing before you no longer seemed invincible.

Even though you had never been inclined toward such things before, you felt a strange, almost frightening sense of satisfaction. The fear, anger, and disgust that had been building inside you for so long finally found an outlet — albeit in the worst possible way.

You were still weak from the prolonged effects of the medication, but the surge of adrenaline seemed to temporarily restore your ability to act. Only moments later did you truly realize what you were doing.

It became especially clear when you noticed traces of blood on his face.

That same face which, despite everything that was happening, was still adorned with an almost disturbingly calm smile.

Afterward, he was taken away — roughly speaking, to a psychiatric hospital. Only then did you finally allow yourself to breathe.

You soon discovered that adjusting to freedom was much harder than you had imagined. You had lived for so long in a world where he was the only person in your life: his voice, his presence, his rules, his constant shadow hanging over you. So now, even having an ordinary conversation with someone else felt strange and almost foreign.

But you didn't have to spend long adjusting to your new life.

All thanks to your dear "lover."

Even while staying in the psychiatric hospital, he somehow managed to have the case reopened. His words forced the investigators to pay attention not only to what had happened, but also to your mental state.

He didn't even deny his own responsibility. On the contrary, he calmly admitted that his actions had driven you to that point. But then he raised a question that turned everything upside down: if you had already attacked him after being locked away for so long, what would stop you from doing the same thing again?

Unfortunately for you, that was enough for the case to be reconsidered.

And soon, you found yourself in the same place as him.

In the same psychiatric hospital.

In the same institution as your "lover" — Elijah.

Almost on your very first day, you were met with hostility from the other patients. Someone even attempted to attack you, while the others — your neighbors and the people who had ended up here as well — either kept their distance or simply refused to talk to you.

You did everything you could to avoid him. The mere sight of red hair made you tense and flinch instinctively. You begged them not to leave you near him, hoping that someone would finally listen, but your pleas remained nothing more than pleas.

Eventually, out of everyone there, he was the only person you could actually talk to.

The silence of the hospital corridor felt too thick, almost tangible. The smell of bleach, disinfectant, and old, long-unrenewed paint had seeped into the walls, creating a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere. Time moved slowly here, turning every day into an endless repetition of the same cycle.

You sat on a bench in the corner of the recreation area, drawing your legs close and deliberately ignoring the wary glances of the other patients. The attack on your first day had left behind not only fresh scratches, but also a painfully clear realization: you were alone here. The staff seemed to care little about your fears, while to everyone else, you were simply another strange target for their aggression.

A light, barely audible step sounded nearby.

Before you could raise your head, you caught sight of a familiar silhouette from the corner of your eye — one that made your heart clench into a cold knot.

A white hospital uniform with black straps and a numbered badge reading "012."

Elijah stopped a few steps away from you. His red hair was still neatly tied back into a ponytail, and dark brown eyes watched you through his glasses with their upper-only frames — far too calm, far too attentive.

There wasn't even a trace of anger or resentment on his face over what had happened in that house. Instead, there was something resembling gentle, sympathetic warmth in his gaze — the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

He didn't approach too quickly, giving you time to grow accustomed to his presence. Then he slowly sat down at the opposite end of the bench.

— You barely eat anything, he said softly, almost in a whisper.

His voice sounded just as calm and measured as it had back then, when he had locked the doors of that mountain house. Somehow, that calmness only made things more unsettling.

— The food here is terrible, I know. But if you lose all your strength, it'll only become harder for you.

Elijah tilted his head slightly, examining the fresh scratch on your cheek. For a brief moment, something sharp flashed in his eyes — a dull irritation directed clearly not at you, but at whoever had dared to hurt you.

But just as quickly, he regained his composure and smiled calmly again.

— They don't understand you. They're all... stupid. Limited by their own little fears and cruelty, he continued in a quiet, almost confidential tone. — But I warned you, didn't I? No one outside could take care of you the way I could. You see that now, don't you?

He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on his knees. The black straps on his white uniform pulled taut with a quiet rustle.

— You know... when you slipped those pills into my drink, I was actually surprised at first, Elijah said with a quiet chuckle, though there wasn't a trace of mockery in it. — You were so brave. So desperate. It was magnificent. You proved that you were willing to fight for yourself. And even though it ended here... I'm glad we're together again. Now only these walls separate us, rather than the entire outside world.

He paused for a moment, studying your face carefully, catching every emotion and every quickened breath.

— You're scared. I can feel it, he said more quietly, making the slightest movement with his hand as though he wanted to touch your shoulder, but stopping himself in time and respecting your space. — But you don't have to be afraid of them anymore. I'm here. You know I can take care of any problem for you... even here.

Elijah lowered his voice slightly, then continued with the lively confidence and flawless logic characteristic of his sharp mind:

— Tell me... what do you want right now? Just talk to me. Take that step. There's no one else here who will listen to you.