Boys Like Him

The walls were too white, and the hum of the fluorescent light pressed into the back of my skull like a headache that wouldn't leave. I kept my eyes on the clock above the door, watching the second hand jerk forward, anything to avoid looking at her.

The therapist sat across from me, leg crossed over the other. Her pen hovered, motionless above a yellow notepad.

"Start wherever you can," she broke the silence. "There's no wrong place to begin."

I stared at the faint grooves where her wedding band had worn into her skin. And the slight tremor when she flexed her fingers.

And still, I couldn't speak.

The words were there, but my throat had other ideas. It locked up, and I could hear my own pulse pounding in my ears. I tried anyway, opening my mouth once, twice... nothing. Just a soundless exhale that made the corner of her mouth lift in understanding.

I wanted to laugh. Really, I did.

What she had in front of her wasn't a girl, not really. Just fragments glued together by habit. I tugged on the sleeve of my hoodie, twisting the fabric until my knuckles turned white.

"I don't..." My voice cracked. I coughed. Tried again. "I don't know where to begin."

She nodded like she'd heard that a hundred times before.

Silence stretched out again. I wanted her to say something... anything, but she just watched. In that silence, the memories rushed in.

And when the words finally came, they tore their way free.

It began the way everyone swears it always does.

With a warning.

They always warn you about boys like him.

With voices that drip smoke and eyes that cut through your skin like they've known you in every lifetime before this one.

Society slaps labels on them, "dangerous," "toxic," "bad news," and wraps the warnings in well-meaning smiles.

"Stay away," they say. "Protect your innocence! Don't play with fire if you're not ready to burn."

But what they don't tell you...is how intoxicating the fire can be or how it doesn't come at you like a roaring blaze.

No.

It flickers in shadows, finds you in your loneliness, boredom, and hunger to feel something real. It curls around your ankles like smoke under a locked door. And by the time you realize the room is on fire, it's too late.

Boys like him don't storm in and tear down walls. They don't announce themselves with alarms or warnings. They slide into your DMs around 2:07 a.m. with something borderline stupid enough to make you roll your eyes. You should ignore it and go to bed.

But you don't.

You stare at the message longer than you mean to. Type. Delete. Type again. Pretend you're annoyed, but your heart's already racing like it knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

And slowly, you become a moth to a flame that looks like comfort. Sounds like late-night phone calls that stretch into sunrise. It feels like someone is finally seeing you and speaking to the parts of you no one else ever bothered to reach.

He wasn't just a boy....he was an eclipse.

The kind that blocks out every last sliver of light, until all you can see is him.

His grin that dared you to destroy yourself, hands that felt like both salvation and shackles, and his words, carved so carefully they made you question if you'd ever existed before him.

The first time I saw Lloyd, I didn't think oh no, danger.

There weren't any sirens, and gut instincts screaming run. My thoughts unfolded like this.

Don't be stupid.

Then, Jesus, he's hot. Look away before he catches you staring.

But he noticed.

That was the thing about Lloyd.

He noticed everything, and once his eyes found mine, that was it, game over.

He wasn't just attractive. That would've been easy to dodge.

He was gravitational.

The kind of person who pulled you in without trying. He had a calm, effortless swagger, like the world would bend if he asked it to.

Six foot three, Light-skinned. Hoodie sleeves pushed up to reveal veined forearms. Built like he lived in the gym, but never made it his personality. And that face, pretty-boy features with a dirty mouth. Brown eyes like molasses when calm, and whiskey when they weren't.

And trust me, they weren't always.

He was a walking contradiction.

Soft voice. Hard stare.

Easy laugh. Impossible past.

A computer genius with fingers made for keys and a mind that never stopped. A basketball player with a shot so clean it made people go quiet, but he never cared who was watching. He was all of these things, and somehow, none of them. Like he kept the real pieces of himself locked behind glass.

I fell in fascination, like watching something beautiful, you know, you shouldn't touch. Then it morphed into obsession and hunger. Not just physical, though there was that too. It was deeper. A craving for his attention and the way he made me forget I hated small talk, and how to breathe when he said my name like it meant something.

I thought I could handle him, flirt with the devil, and walk away with my halo slightly bent, nothing more.

But he was a storm in disguise, and I was the fool who danced in the eye of it, thinking I was safe. I told myself I was smarter than the others, stronger, and more self-aware. That he ruined other girls, but not me.

I was dead wrong!

I didn't notice myself slipping until I started seeing the world through his eyes. He rewrote my reality, slowly and carefully, until the girl I used to be became a ghost I couldn't summon.

Every time I tried to leave, he gave me just enough to make me stay. A gentle touch after a cruel word, a promise dressed up in pain, and a kiss that felt like drowning in honey and lava all at once.

Every time he cheated, I told myself it was the last time. I'd sit on the floor, phone in my lap, staring at screenshots I never asked to see. Trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. Still, I found ways to blame myself.

Maybe I wasn't enough.

Maybe I was too clingy, emotional. Too... something.

Every time he gaslit me, I believed I was the problem.

And every time he pulled me back in with soft words, hard sex, and promises that tasted like hope... I stayed.

He became the center of my world, and I became the shadows around him.

Until one day, I woke up on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by shattered plates I didn't remember throwing. Neighbors whispering through the door, afraid to knock. I couldn't stop shaking and screaming. Everything hurt, and nothing made sense.

They called it a psychotic episode.

I call it what it truly was.

Possession.

Because someone like Lloyd doesn't fall in love. He invades, infiltrates, and infects.

And now?

Now I sit behind padded walls, staring at the ceiling, wondering how love, or whatever that was, could end like this.

The box dug into my palms, its corners biting through cheap cardboard as I hauled it up the narrow flight of stairs. My arms trembled with the effort, but it wasn't just the weight, it was the exhaustion of the whole day, the whole move, and the whole new beginning I wasn't sure I was ready for.

"Almost there," Mariah puffed behind me, her voice was half encouraging, half mocking. She was balancing a stack of kitchen pans like a circus act. Her braids stuck to her forehead with sweat, and her T-shirt was darkened with damp patches.

I laughed under my breath, more out of habit than humor. My own T-shirt was clinging to me like a second skin, the August heat squeezing the last ounce of energy from my body.

The hallway smelled faintly of paint and stale pizza, the kind of mix that clung to student housing like an unshakable curse. My new apartment, tiny, overpriced, off-campus, sat at the very end. It wasn't much, but it was mine. No more dorms with girls crying through walls at three in the morning, no more pretending to be okay with constant company, and no more strangers walking in without knocking.

At least, that was the hope.

We dropped the boxes in the living room with twin groans. The place was still half-empty, echoing with every step. Beige carpet. Off-white walls. A little balcony with a view of the parking lot. It wasn't glamorous, but for the first time in years, the silence belonged to me.

Mariah flopped onto the sagging couch I'd rescued from Facebook Marketplace and fanned herself with a takeout menu, then threw me a look. "You happy now, hermit? No one around to bother you."

I rolled my eyes. "Exactly how I like it," and I meant it. The idea of solitude had been the carrot dangling in front of me all summer.

Mariah tilted her head. "You'll be crawling back to the noise in two weeks. Calling me, whining that it's too quiet, lonely, and too much space for your overthinking brain."

I smirked, crouching to tear the tape off another box. "I'll be fine."

Mariah didn't argue. She just shook her head with a smile. I grabbed the last box and pushed back out into the stairwell. My arms were already shaking, but I told myself it was the final trip. One last climb and I'd be settled.

I paused.

Halfway down the hall was a shirtless man leaning against a doorframe with earbuds in and his phone in one hand, he was impossible to miss. Sweat glistened across his chest, and his basketball shorts hung low on his hips. His head was tilted slightly, lips moving like he was rapping under his breath.

I just... froze.

Not because I hadn't seen hot guys before. Campus was full of them, protein shakes and egos, the whole lot. But something about him felt different... Effortless even. Like he wasn't trying to be seen, but the universe made sure you noticed anyway.

I turned too fast, nearly losing my grip on the box. My pulse tripped over itself, loud and useless. The cardboard scraped my forearm, and I hissed under my breath, stumbling the last few steps to my door.

I didn't dare look back.

Didn't need to. I could feel his eyes, or maybe I just wanted to believe he'd noticed me too.

I dropped the box inside, pressing my palm to my chest as I'd just sprinted.

Mariah peeked up from the couch, brow arched. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," I said too fast. "Just... last box."

She smirked, clearly unconvinced. "You look like you saw a ghost- or.... a dick. Which was it?"

"Neither," I muttered, crouching to open the box.

I busied myself with slicing the tape off the box, stacking cookbooks into neat piles I didn't have a shelf for yet.

Mariah let out an exaggerated groan and fanned herself with the menu again. "It's too damn hot in here. My soul is melting." She kicked off her sneakers, legs dangling over the arm of the couch. "And I'm starving. If I don't eat soon, I'm going to chew through one of your precious cookbooks."

I laughed, despite myself, and shook my head. "Go shower. I'll order us something."

Her eyes lit up like I'd offered her a spa weekend. "Darling! I knew I kept you around for a reason." She hopped up, already stripping off her T-shirt as she padded toward the bathroom.

I watched her go, rolling my eyes at her dramatics but smiling all the same. Mariah was... one of a kind. The kind of person who could make a room feel lighter just by stepping inside. She was loud where I was quiet, reckless where I was careful, but she understood me in a way most people never tried to. She got that my social battery ran out fast, and sometimes I disappeared into myself without warning. She didn't judge me for it. She just... let me be. That was the gift of Mariah.

The shower sputtered to life a moment later. I sighed and peeled off my sweat-soaked T-shirt, dropping it on the couch. The air conditioner was still dead, the landlord promising it would be fixed before the week was out. Until then, I'd be living in a sauna.

Down to my lace bra and shorts, I knelt in front of the last open box, pulling out the neat stack of cookware I couldn't survive without. The metal clinked softly as I lined everything up, arranging and rearranging until it felt right.

I grabbed my phone and queued up BTS songs, turning the volume just high enough to drown out the muffled singing drifting from the shower. The beat filled the space, giving me something to move with as I worked.

I placed the last stack of books on the bedside table when I remembered the takeout. If I didn't order now, Mariah would kill me. A few taps later, confirmation blinked on my phone screen, and I tucked it away, satisfied. One less thing spinning in my head.

I was so absorbed in folding sweaters into neat, color-coded rows that I almost didn't hear Mariah's footsteps padding out of the bathroom. She hummed, towel-drying her hair, when a sudden knock rattled the door.

Mariah's head snapped up, eyes sparkling like trouble. "Ooo, your neighbors are so nice. Did they bring the pies already?" She cackled before I could answer, padding straight for the knob.

"Mariah, wait..." I started suddenly feeling a pit in my stomach, though I couldn't name why. It wasn't dread exactly, but it was enough to make my pulse trip over itself as I turned toward the door. She pulled it open, grin first.

Mariah's cackle died mid-breath, and her grin curved into something positively wicked. "Oh! My! God!" Her cackle rang through the apartment as she swung the door open wider. "Ohhh, Nyelle," she sang, drawing out my name as if she'd just won the lottery. "Your neighbors are hot."

I whipped around, my heart leaping to my throat. That sinking feeling slammed into me again, harder this time, because there he was.

The guy from earlier. He was still shirtless, but his earbuds were gone now. Standing in the doorway with a plastic takeout bag dangling from one hand.

And me? Standing in the middle of the living room in nothing but a Lacey bra and my old running shorts, skin still flushed from unpacking in the sweltering heat. My first instinct was to dive behind the nearest stack of boxes, but it was too late, his eyes had already flicked over, pausing long enough to heat my skin from the inside out before sliding away again. Indifferent. Like I was nothing more than a blurry background object.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

I pulled the blanket off the couch so fast it nearly knocked over the lamp, clutching it around me like some desperate toga.

"Well, hello there, neighbor," Mariah teased loudly, leaning on the frame like she was auditioning for a rom-com. "You here to welcome us with pie, or are abs your housewarming gift?"

"Mariah," I hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at her, but it only made her grin widen.

"I think your food's here." He finally spoke.

Sure enough, he held up a plastic bag with the logo of the Thai place down the street printed across it. He extended the bag toward me with an unreadable expression. "The delivery guy left it with me, and the receipt had your apartment number. Thought I'd bring it over."

His voice was deeper than I expected. Controlled too, no fumbling like mine always did when strangers were involved.

I reached out with trembling fingers, yanking the bag from him like it was some kind of lifeline. "Th-thank you," I muttered, clutching it to my chest.

Mariah's grin was wide enough to swallow the moon. "What's your name, neighbor?"

His gaze flicked from her to me, then back again. If he noticed the blanket and the frantic way I wouldn't meet his eyes, he didn't let on.

"Lloyd." And with that, he turned, walking back down the hall without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

Mariah shut the door with exaggerated slowness, then spun toward me like she was winding up for a performance. "Lloyd," she repeated in a dreamy sigh. "Even his name sounds illegal."

I groaned into the blanket. "Can we not?"

"Not? Babe, that man was a walking thirst trap."

"Please stop talking."

She ignored me completely, fanning herself. "I swear, if I die of heatstroke, it won't be the AC. It'll be him. Tall, quiet, and oh so sinful!"

I peeked out from under the blanket, glaring. "You are insufferable."

She grinned. "And you're blushing."

I wasn't... I totally was. My cheeks burned so hot it felt like my skin could light up the whole room. The image of him, the casual confidence, and the way his eyes had lingered a moment too long replayed on a loop I couldn't stop.

I groaned into the blanket, wishing I could smother myself in it.

She only laughed, kicking her legs up on the coffee table. " The man could open jars for me any day. Hell, forget jars, he could crack me open."

"Mariah!" My voice cracked with mortification, clinging to every syllable.

"What? I'm just appreciating fine art." She let out a dreamy sigh. "If I weren't already drowning in finals and didn't have an amazing boyfriend, I'd make it my part-time job to climb that man like a tree."

I peeked out from the folds of the blanket just enough to glare at her.

"You're ridiculous," I muttered, though my voice was muffled against the fabric.

She smirked, unbothered. "You're welcome. Someone has to say what you're too busy pretending not to think."

My cheeks burned hotter, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

She stretched out on the couch like a queen, sipping from her soda and watching me with a mischievous smirk. "Let me be real for a sec..." Her tone shifted into a serious one, enough to make me open my eyes. "Guys like him? They don't commit. That cold, unbothered energy? He screams heartbreak waiting to happen."

My stomach sank. She wasn't wrong. There had been something about him, his detachment, and the way he barely acknowledged us... I didn't know why, but that stung more than it should have.

She wagged her finger at me. "If you ever, ever, find yourself tangled up with him, promise me you'll be careful. I like you too much to scrape you off the floor."

"I'm not..." I started too quickly, and immediately regretted how defensive it sounded. "I'm not planning to get tangled with anyone."

She grinned. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

The greasy white bags passed between us, and the smell of fried rice and dumplings filled the apartment.

Mariah tore into hers immediately, cross-legged on the floor between a pile of unopened boxes, chopsticks clicking as she hummed her approval. "Mmm, nothing says 'new apartment' like MSG and poor life choices."

I smiled, nibbling slower, trying to keep the sauce from dripping on my only clean blanket. "You'd eat takeout for every meal if you could."

"And die happy," she shot back, waving her chopsticks.

Her ridiculousness made me laugh, the kind that slipped out before my brain could catch it. For a few minutes, it felt like the heat, mess, and even the awkwardness of earlier blurred behind the simple act of eating together.

Once the cartons were empty and stacked like trophies, Mariah clapped her hands. "Alright, back to labor."

"Slave driver," I muttered, pushing myself up.

"Slave driver who brought soda and helped haul your ass up two flights of stairs. You're welcome."

The heat made everything sluggish, and sweat clung to my skin no matter how many times I wiped at it. Still, we pushed through, unpacking box after box, rearranging furniture, trying to wrestle some semblance of order out of the chaos.

With her tossing out commentary the entire time. It was background noise I didn't know I needed. Piece by piece, the apartment began to look less like a stranger's storage unit and more like mine.

By the time night fell, a much-needed breeze snuck through the curtains, carrying with it the sound of distant traffic and the faint hum of a summer night. For the first time since morning, I exhaled.

Mariah plopped down, hair damp from sweating, eyeliner smudged but still somehow making her look effortlessly put together. "Alright, my good deed is done for the day. I'll see you Monday at school, okay? Tomorrow I'm booked solid at work."

"Thanks, Mar. For everything."

She gave me a blatant look. "Don't thank me yet. Just remember what I said about Mr. Tall, hot, and Unbothered."

We walked down the creaky stairs together, the evening air finally forgiving after the day's heat. The breeze carried a faint smell of fried food from somewhere down the block, and I thought, okay, maybe this place isn't so bad after all.

Mariah jingled her car keys, unlocking the battered little sedan she treated like royalty, and gave me a side hug.

"Goodnight, babe. Text me if you start losing your mind in all that quiet."

"Goodnight," I murmured, pulling back with a small smile.

She leaned in again, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her breath tickling my ear. "Don't turn around, but Lloyd is looking at you from the balcony."

Every nerve in my body froze.

She winked, slid into her car, and drove off, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with my heart battering itself against my ribs. I didn't have to look to feel that prickle of eyes somewhere above me.

I should've walked inside, closed the door, and pretended it didn't matter.

But curiosity betrayed me. I flicked my gaze up, and he was leaning on the balcony railing, with an unreadable expression, half-shadowed by the dim porch light.

The air between us thickened until I could barely breathe.

I bolted.

More like a frantic penguin shuffle back up the steps, nearly tripping over my own feet, fumbling with the door until it finally gave way.

Once inside, I slammed it shut and pressed my back against the wood, chest heaving.