His Perfect Lyra

Lyra's POV 

The moment he picked me up, carrying me toward somewhere—

I couldn't stop screaming.

Begging him:

"Put me down! I can walk!"

But then…

My eyes hit the wood floor.

That same scratched-up floor.

My room.

And the first thought slammed into my head:

I can't escape from this room…

The air felt heavier suddenly.

Like the walls themselves were closing in.

He kept carrying me.

His grip steady. Like I weighed nothing.

All the way to my bed.

He set me down carefully.

Slow, almost gentle.

I froze.

Don't move too much… or he might hurt me.

But—

Has he ever hurt me?

That hit me.

He's never laid a hand on me before.

Not once.

And somehow…

That scared me even more.

Will he hurt me now? Or not?

Then—

Rattle…

Again:

Rattle.

I knew that sound.

Chains…

My heart slammed against my ribs.

He's chaining me?

No.

No.

No.

Panic lit up in my chest like a fire.

I took my chance.

Fought back—

Hard as I could.

My nails scratched at his arms.

My fists hit wherever they could.

But he was too strong.

His breath didn't even hitch.

He grabbed my right ankle—

Tight. Unshakable.

I swung my fist, hitting the back of his head where I knew he was injured.

That cut from earlier…

Still there.

Please… just pass out already…

But it didn't work.

Because then—

CLACK.

That single sound.

Like a judges slamming a gavel.

Sealing my fate.

My heart dropped.

My eyes filled with tears.

With that chain…

I'm trapped.

I'm really going to die here… with this sick monster.

I screamed.

"No! No! I don't want to be trapped here! Why are you doing this to me?! Who ARE you?! Let me go!!"

I kept hitting him.

Desperate.

But then—

He grabbed both my wrists.

Held them tight.

His fingers dug into my skin just enough to remind me he was in control.

And he raised one finger.

"One time… and last time."

His voice wasn't calm anymore.

It was cold.

Sharp.

Like a blade across my throat.

I couldn't speak.

His eyes didn't waver.

That cold stare…

Void of warmth.

Void of anything human.

Then his hand shifted.

Three fingers up.

"That's your third time."

Third…?

He counted…

I was frozen.

Helpless.

"I'm setting your distance limit," he said, voice like ice.

"Only specific areas you can reach: your chair. Couch. Washroom. Bed. And…that wall."

His words echoed in my head.

Like a sentence already carried out.

He let go of my wrists slowly.

I didn't fight this time.

He stayed kneeling.

Eyes looking up at me—

While I stared at his shoes.

And the chain on my ankle.

My skin itched where the metal touched.

Cold. Heavy.

Then he said:

"Well… are you hungry?"

"I hope you are. I brought your dinner."

"Wash your hands, then come to the table."

…Dinner?

The one he dropped?

Probably cold.

Messy.

And yet—

He really means to punish me slowly… carefully…