The speaker crackles again. A breath. Then?—
“I built this for you, you know.”
His voice is smooth now. Steady. No distortion.
He wants me to hear him.
He wants me toknowhim.
“While you were pretending to be whole.
While he touched you, you felt like you weren’t already broken.
While you called someone else’s name in your sleep?—
I was here.
Waiting.
Finishing what I started.”
The light flickers again. Brighter this time.
Revealing more of the walls.
More drawings.
Not just of me.
Ofus.
Hand in hand. Mouth to mouth.
Red string connecting our wrists.
Red ink smeared across our throats like matching cuts.
And in the centre of the far wall?—
A mural.
Painted like blood.
Me. In a hospital gown. Eyes gouged out. Mouth sewn shut.
And above it, written in dripping black letters:
I TOOK HER BACK.
I press my hands to my ears. Shut my eyes. Rock.
But I can still hear him.
Still feel the camera clicking.
Still hear the sound of fabric sliding behind the wall—like someone stepping closer.
And then, beneath it all…
