Page 25 of Owned In Misty Mountain

Eleven

Mike

She doesn’t slam the door.

That’s the worst part.

She just closes it. Quiet. Final.

And walks.

No real yelling. No tears.

Just her walking away from me like I didn’t just ruin the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.

I should let her go.

Give her space.

But I can’t.

So I grab my jacket and follow.

—-

Shanay’s already halfway down the street when I catch up withher—close enough to hear the crunch of her boots on gravel.

She doesn’t turn around.

“Go home,” she calls over her shoulder. Voice tight. Sharp.

I stay silent.

A few more steps. Her pace quickens. Mine stays steady.

“I’m fine, Mike.”

Still, I don’t answer.

“Seriously.” She whirls around, eyes blazing. “You can’t control every part of my life. You don’t get to follow me home like some… overprotective caveman.”

I stop. Keeping my hands at my sides. Letting her breathe.

She huffs, frustrated, then turns back around and keeps walking.

I follow from a distance.

It’s not about dominance.

It’s about the fact that I need to know she makes it inside safe.

She reaches her porch. Fumbles for the keys. Glances back once.

“I’m inside now,” she snaps. “Happy?”

I nod.

She slams the door in my face this time.

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