She says my name.
But it’s him she’s looking at.
And I feel something rupture.
Not jealousy.
Not rage.
Loss.
Because I can tell—this isn’t her giving in.
This is her surviving.
She’s performing.
Playing submissive.
The way she did the first time I tested her.
She remembers what I want.
And now she’s giving it to him.
Her lips part as he slides down between her thighs, licking like he knows the exact rhythm of her body—because he does.
He watched me do it.
He studied it.
He’s not fucking her.
He’scopyingme.
And she’s letting it happen.
Because she thinks it’ll keep her alive.
Her voice is barely audible over the static.
“I’ll be good. Just don’t hurt me like before.”
My knees hit the floor.
I dig my fingers into the wall beside the screen, blood dripping from where my nails tear skin.
She’s not lost.
She’s pretending.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because now I’ve seen it.
Now I’ve watched her give my name to someone else’s mouth.
And I swear—I will peel the face off his skull while he screams with it still on.
