It started with a joke. One I didn't find funny.
We were on a video call, working through a freelance project he had looped me into. I was tired, barely holding my head up, but trying to push through the task. He noticed and smirked, then said, "You're lucky I'm still keeping you on this. You girls are all vibes and zero execution."
I blinked.
Not because it was the harshest thing I'd ever heard, but because it was too specific to be random. It felt like a belief he'd been carrying, finally letting it slip under the guise of banter.
I asked, "What do you mean by that?"
He laughed it off. "Relax, Ariah. I'm teasing. You know I rate you."
But that wasn't the first time he'd masked something cutting as a joke. A few days earlier, he would replied to a story I posted, saying, "You should've worn jeans. Now people will think you're single and available."
At the time, I brushed it off. I told myself maybe he was being playful or protective. But in hindsight, that was the start of a pattern. His words often arrived wrapped in sarcasm, but they left marks all the same.
He liked to be in control, subtly, then slowly, more clearly. He wanted access to my time, my ideas, my creativity. But the respect? It was conditional. Dependent on how much I obeyed his unspoken rules.
Still, I didn't confront him. I simply began to retreat. Quietly. I stopped sharing the little details. I answered with fewer words. I started holding back, less from fear, more from instinct.
The change was small at first, just a shift in tone, an edge to his messages, a tension I couldn't place. But something in me already knew: this wasn't healthy.
I hadn't planned on falling for him. Maybe that's why it happened so quickly. He showed me attention when I was raw from heartbreak. He covered my bills, checked on me constantly, made me feel chosen. And for a while, I felt loved.
But now, looking at these small, unsettling moments, I couldn't help but wonder: Was that love? Or just the opening act of something much darker?