Chapter 6 — The Rules I Never Agreed To
It's strange how easily habits form when someone else is setting them for you.
Eli doesn't call them rules, but that's what they are.
He texts me every morning before my alarm:
> *Good morning. Don't forget breakfast.*
At first, it felt caring.
Now it feels like a test.
If I don't answer fast enough, the second message comes.
> *Are you okay?*
> Then a third.
> *You're scaring me when you don't reply.*
The guilt hits before I even finish reading.
So I answer.
Every time.
He's started showing up at work now. Says he's "just grabbing coffee," but he waits until my shift ends, sitting where he can see me through the window. The manager thinks it's sweet — that I've got a boyfriend who looks out for me.
I don't correct her. It's easier that way.
Last night, he noticed a new book on my shelf — one a friend had lent me.
"Who gave you that?" he asked.
When I told him, he smiled, but his jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't keep it," he said. "You never know what people expect in return."
When I didn't answer, he just reached over and took it from the shelf.
"I'll hold onto it for you."
I didn't stop him.
I don't even know why.
Sometimes I catch myself checking the door before bed, making sure it's locked — not because I'm scared of anyone outside, but because I don't want him walking in. And then the guilt follows, because he's Eli. He's *my best friend*. He wouldn't hurt me.
Right?
But every day, it feels like my life is shrinking, pulled tighter and tighter around him — until the only air left to breathe is his.
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