I should have refused outright when Ethan suggested inviting his friends over. I never hid my dislike for them—loud, rude, and nothing like Ethan. Yet, he insisted on having them over to watch a basketball game. I was adamant: no way.

But that night, as Ethan chatted away about the game, I reluctantly went to fetch a six-pack from the basement fridge. Just as I reached the stairs, the basement door slammed shut behind me.

“Ethan?” I called, trying the handle. Locked. The muffled sounds of laughter and basketball commentary drifted through the door. He’d locked me in, clearly to avoid my disapproval.

Hours passed. My shouts and pounding went unnoticed. Ethan’s friends were here, enjoying the game while I was trapped in the dark.

Finally, the door opened. Ethan stood there with a fake casual grin. “Oh, Dani, didn’t realize you were down here. Must have locked it by mistake.”

Fuming, I brushed past him, refusing to interact with his friends or him.

A few nights later, after Ethan fell asleep, I enacted my revenge. I’d borrowed two small snakes from my brother, knowing Ethan’s fear. I released them into our bedroom and locked the door from outside.

When I called Ethan, his terrified screams were music to my ears. After two hours of his begging, I unlocked the door, finding him on the bed, panicked.

“Try this again,” I said, “and you’ll be out of my life.”