UNWILLINGLY HIS

Popcorn, anyone?

The cold air outside the warehouse hits me like a shock to my system, but it doesn’t really reach me. My feet move, almost of their own accord, following Advait. But my mind? It’s still back there, replaying the events I just witnessed. It’s in turmoil, a storm of confusion, fear, and... something else. Something I can’t even label yet.

I used to joke that Advait was a demon. But now, in the cold light of reality, I realize I was underselling him. A demon? I was so far off the mark. He’s something darker, something I never imagined.

And then, for no reason at all, my mind starts running a mock script. It’s like I’m the lead in one of those ridiculous movies where the wife finds out her husband is secretly a mafia don or a serial killer. You know the type—when she finds out he’s been lying to her, living in the shadows, murdering people in cold blood.

In those movies, she has the big breakdown. The audience watches her scream, cry, and finally slap him across the face before walking out dramatically, demanding answers, threatening to leave. The camera zooms in on her teary eyes as she faces an impossible choice—stay and fight for her marriage or walk away and find herself.

But me? I’m the lead alright, but in a much more twisted, much more complicated version. In the movies, the wife has a clear path ahead of her. She gets her grand speech, she gets the catharsis of standing up for herself. Not me. I don’t get to scream at him, I don’t get to throw my hands in the air and demand an explanation.

I think about it, and suddenly, I’m not even sure I’d know how to scream at him anymore. I mean, I could yell, but what would it accomplish? If I shouted at him, would it really change anything? His eyes would just remain cold and empty.

And besides, I can’t shout at him. It’s not because I fear him—though, honestly, after tonight, maybe I do, just a little. But it’s more than that. I was not entirely unbeknownst to his world considering the things which happened a few days ago, but surely I wasn't expecting this. This, this was unexpected or maybe be expected, I don't know what to think about it.

It’s the fact that I don’t really know where this road leads. I don’t know if he even has a reason for what he’s doing. Or if he has some twisted plan for me in the future that I can’t even begin to understand.

God knows what’s going on inside his mind. He might love me, considering how he’s been acting these past few days, but honestly, who knows? One moment he says he loves me, the next moment he’s killing people without batting an eyelash. What twisted plans are brewing in that mind of his? He could tell me he’s a vampire next, and I’d believe it at this point. Maybe that’s his next bombshell: "Oh, by the way, I’m a vampire."

I can't allow myself to feel too much. Because the more I let myself feel, the more I lose control, and I can't afford that. It's better to just keep my sanity intact for now, keep my emotions locked away, because the truth is, I’m not sure what else he’s hiding from me. The deeper I dig, the more I realize I’m in over my head.

And as I follow him, the image of those wives in their films pops back into my mind—those women who always say things like, “Oh honey, he’s doing this to protect you. He loves you, you know. It’s all for you.”

I can almost hear them, sitting in their living rooms, wearing pearls and smiling knowingly. If I could, I’d roll my eyes. They don’t know what I know. If they did, they’d be eating their popcorn a lot slower.

"Oh, honey, he’s doing this to protect you," I mutter under my breath, mimicking one of those wives from a movie. The words are bitter, almost sarcastic, but they also sting with a deep, deep truth.

Because the last time I thought someone was doing something to protect me, Advait left me broken on the altar. He abandoned me. "You think he’s doing this to protect me?" I can’t help but scoff. But then I stop, catching myself. The pain from that moment hits again, fresh and raw, and I swallow hard to suppress the emotion that threatens to break free.

And the thing is, I don’t even feel the fury I once felt when I think of that moment. It’s like I’ve been watching this story unfold in slow motion for so long now, I’ve become numb to it. At this point, it feels like it was all part of the plan—to make my life a movie. A twisted, complicated movie with no clear ending.

"I bet someone’s out there watching this unfold, eating popcorn." My voice is low, the bitterness in it almost too much to bear. "Someone’s sitting there, enjoying the show, and making money off of it." I almost laugh at the absurdity, though the humor doesn't reach my eyes. If anything, it feels like I’m just barely holding it all together.

I should hate him. I should be furious. I should demand answers. But I’m too far gone now. Too deep in this web. What’s the point in asking for answers when I know they’ll only make me feel more lost? His world—his life—is built on shadows, secrets, and power. There’s no room for truth in that.

I don’t even know if I hate him anymore. He’s not just my husband. He’s the star of a twisted movie that’s way more complicated than I ever could have imagined.

And as we approach the car, I hear the creak of the door opening, dragging me out of my thoughts. Advait’s already by the driver’s side, waiting for me. His face is unreadable, but I catch a glimmer in his eyes. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to say something.

But what do I say? How do I even start? "So, mafia king, huh?" The words are there, sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them. There’s nothing left to say.

Instead, I slide into the car, my body moving on autopilot. My mind is too full, too overwhelmed to even begin processing what just happened. Advait gets in, and the car pulls away, the sound of the engine starting like the closing of a door on my old life.

I don’t even know what to think anymore.