Chapter 4
Another year passed like this.
In my junior year, at the campus health center, the doctor looked at me with concern: "These medications have side effects. Are you sure you want to continue taking them?"
"My periods have always been irregular," I stared at the birth control pills in my hand, smiling bitterly. "These help regulate them."
"But..." the doctor frowned, "if it's just for menstrual regulation, there are gentler medications available."
"I don't have a choice." I repeated those words, my voice tinged with despair.
Yes, I had no choice whatsoever. It had been two years since Caelius and I maintained this shameful relationship. During the day, he was my cold guardian; at night, he would slip into my apartment and possess my body in the most primal way.
The nausea and headaches after each pill, my body growing increasingly frail—I endured it all in silence. Because I knew that an unplanned pregnancy would only lead to an even crueler reality.
Back at my apartment, I looked at myself in the mirror: dark circles under my eyes, pale complexion, an emaciated body.
How had I become this?
But when night fell and I heard those familiar footsteps outside my door, my heart would still race wildly.
I hated this version of myself.
I hated him, but I hated myself without him even more.
Late that night, when everything fell silent, I wrote in my diary: I need to leave this place.
Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was spring of my senior year. After art history class, I was discussing my thesis with my professor in the hallway.
"Your ideas are quite unique," the professor's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "With deeper research, you could easily apply for graduate programs. I could write you a recommendation letter..."
Suddenly, the professor's words cut off abruptly.
I followed his gaze to see Caelius standing at the end of the corridor, his silver-gray eyes sharp as a hawk's.
The professor's expression changed instantly: "I... I just remembered I have something urgent to attend to. Let's talk another time." He hurried away.
I chased after him: "Professor!"
But he had already disappeared around the corner.
Even my academic future had to be controlled?
I turned around furiously and walked toward Caelius. Each step felt like walking on knife blades, but I was beyond caring.
"What did you do?" I demanded through gritted teeth.
"I'm protecting you from being exploited by people with ulterior motives," Caelius replied calmly. "That professor's interest in you isn't pure."
"You've destroyed everything I have!" I couldn't control myself anymore, tears streaming down my face. "My studies, friendships, future! You've ruined my life!"
"I've given you the best of everything," Caelius's voice remained calm, as if stating an indisputable fact. "The best school, the best life. What more could you want?"
"I want freedom!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the empty corridor.
I want freedom!
A flicker of something crossed Caelius's eyes, but it quickly returned to coldness: "Freedom? You're still too young to understand what true freedom is."
"I'm not young anymore!" I trembled. "I'm 22 years old! I have the right to choose my own life!"
"Is that so?" Caelius stepped closer, his voice dangerously low. "Then don't wait for me tonight."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the empty hallway.
After dragging my heavy steps back to the dorm, I lay in bed late at night, staring intensely at the ceiling. I told myself not to care, not to expect anything, but every time footsteps echoed in the hallway, my heart would pound.
One hour... two hours... three hours...
He didn't come.
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder, making it hard to breathe. I kept checking my phone, kept listening for sounds outside the door, like a pathetic fool.
It wasn't until dawn that I realized a terrifying truth:
I could no longer live without him.
Even though I hated him, even though he controlled me, even though I had lost my freedom... I still needed his attention, needed that feeling of being "loved," even if that love was so sick and twisted.
I was truly addicted...
I took out my diary and wrote the last line with trembling hands:
God, please save me.
The next morning, I stumbled through Columbia University's library carrying a stack of heavy art history materials. I was like a walking corpse, mechanically completing my daily academic tasks.
When I woke up that morning, I didn't even dare look in the mirror because I knew my face would be deathly pale, with dark circles betraying days of insomnia.
Last night's despair still churned in my chest, and that self-awareness of being "addicted" made me both sick and terrified. The side effects of the medication combined with mental torture caused my hands to shake uncontrollably.
"Damn it..."
I stumbled, and the heavy "European Medieval Art History" scattered across the floor with a loud crash. Several studying students looked up at me with annoyance in their eyes.
I crouched down, frantically trying to collect the scattered books, but my hands wouldn't stop shaking. Last night's "please save me" still echoed in my mind, and I began to wonder if God could really hear my pleas.
"Are you okay?"
A gentle male voice spoke above me. I looked up to see a sunny, healthy Latino boy crouching in front of me, his warm brown eyes full of concern. His slightly curly black hair gleamed healthy in the sunlight, and he carried a fresh citrus scent.
This was the first time since I'd written that desperate prayer that I'd heard genuinely concerned inquiry without any ulterior motive.
Maybe... maybe God really had heard my call?
"Why... why are you helping me?" I asked warily, instinctively backing away.
The boy looked surprised, then smiled, revealing charming dimples: "Because you need help. Do I need another reason?"
Those words struck my heart like lightning. For three years, everyone's help around me had carried Caelius's shadow, all with clear purposes and exchanges of interest. But this stranger's smile was as clean as morning sunlight.
"I'm Leo Martinez, computer science major. And you?" He helped me collect the books while introducing himself.
"Evelyn... Reed." I hesitated before giving my name.
"Nice to meet you, Evelyn." Leo handed me the last book. "You look tired. Do you need help? I mean, really need help, not just being polite."
At that moment, I almost cried.
The next day, Leo appeared in the library again. He handed me a pen: "You dropped this yesterday."
I knew it wasn't my pen, but his kind lie was too gentle for me to bear exposing.
"Want to sit together?" His invitation carried no pressure.
And so began our silent companionship. On the third day, he brought coffee—a latte, no sugar.
"How did you know my preference?" I asked in surprise.
"Observation." Leo shrugged. "You always look at the latte ads when you pass the coffee shop, but never buy one. And you always start nodding off at three in the afternoon."
This feeling of being carefully observed made me both warm and panicked. For three years, aside from Caelius's sick attention, no one had truly "seen" me.
"Why are you so kind to me?"
Leo looked at me seriously: "Because you look lonely. Lonely people should be treated gently."
A week later, Leo began sharing his life, telling me about his Latino family in Los Angeles, his mother's Mexican corn tortillas, the little tunes his father hummed while fixing cars.
"If you'd like, I can share my family's warmth with you." His voice was as soft as a feather. "My mom always says warmth can be passed along."
Two weeks later, Leo brought a homemade sandwich: "My mom's secret recipe. She says this can heal any wounded soul."
I took a bite, and tears suddenly burst forth. It had been too long since anyone had personally prepared food for me; I'd almost forgotten that food could contain love.
"Doesn't it taste good?" Leo asked nervously.
"No... it's delicious. It's just... thank you."
That night, when Caelius arrived as usual, I felt strong resistance for the first time. His touch made me think of Leo's warm smile, and in comparison, Caelius's possession seemed particularly cold.
Three weeks later, Leo invited me to a campus art exhibition: "If you change your mind, I'll be waiting on the first floor of the art building."
I stood at the entrance of the art building, torn between conflicting emotions. I knew Tom's car was nearby, monitoring, but when I saw Leo's anxious figure looking around, I still took that step.
That afternoon, I experienced normal campus life for the first time. We looked at paintings together, discussed art together.
"You know what?" Leo pointed at a landscape painting. "The most beautiful thing about art is that it can make people forget their troubles. Like now—I see you smiling. That's the most beautiful artwork I've ever seen."
My face instantly turned red. This feeling of being appreciated and praised was completely different from Caelius's possession. Leo made me feel like someone worthy of love, not a collectible item.
That night, facing Caelius's questioning, I felt anger instead of fear for the first time.
"Where did you go?"
"The school art exhibition."
"With whom?"
"A friend."
Because I finally understood what friendship was, what warmth was, what normal care was.
