DAKOTA
“You were always meant to be mine. Perfect, poised, polished. For me.” Mathew’s voice carried the weight of years of delusion. “But now you’re flaunting your flaws and calling it bravery?”
He held out a piece of paper in front of me, covered in scribbled writing. In his other hand, he twisted the knife handle like a nervous habit.
I jerked against my restraints, trying to break free, but that’s when I realized my legs were bound to the chair too. The binds scratched against my ankles. With my arms bound behind me, legs trapped, there was no escape.
Think, Dakota. There has to be a way out of this.
I started wiggling my wrists, trying to work them free from what felt like zip ties that bit deeper into my flesh with every movement. The plastic edges drew blood, warm and sticky against my skin.
“Read this.”
“Screw you.”
“Read this.”
The blade kissed my throat, cold as winter, my pulse hammering against the sharp edge.
“I lied to all of?—”
“Louder!” Mathew barked.
“I lied to you all. I’m not brave. I’m a fraud. I need the filters. I’m nothing without your approval.”
He lowered the paper and, to my immense relief, set the knife on the floor. But then he retrieved something else: a cloth and a small bottle full of liquid.
Oh, hell no.
I began squirming and thrashing, trying to kick, trying to knock myself over, anything to prevent another round of chemicals, and as I did, the chair creaked ominously under my struggles.
“Stop,” Mathew said, dripping liquid onto the cloth and drawing it closer to my face.
I tried to jerk away.What if it’s acid? What if he’s done playing games and this time, this chemical will kill me?
“No!” I cried, pulling away from the cloth every chance I got, but within seconds, he had it pressed against my cheek.
He wasn’t holding it over my mouth or nose though, and it didn’t burn.
When he continued wiping my face, the cloth coming back tinted tan and pink, understanding hit me like a slap.
Makeup remover.
“Stop moving.” He grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks as he scrubbed the cloth so harshly against my skin, it burned. The makeup remover stung my eyes, making tears stream down my face as he methodically removed every trace of foundation, mascara, lipstick. The cloth grew darker with each swipe.
He’s deconstructing me.Taking apart the perfect image piece by piece. He wanted to strip away the fantasy girl and showeveryone what was underneath. Show them that I was just … human.
I’d already done that on my own, but this was different.
He wanted to degrade me. Humiliate me in front of however many people were watching.
I stared into the cameras, wondering how many feeds might still be live. Surely, the major social media platforms would’ve flagged this content by now and shut it down, but he had multiple cameras, some I could only assume were connected to darker corners of the internet.
He needs his stage. His audience.
Which gave me an opportunity, didn’t it? I needed to get a message to anyone who was watching. I needed to tell them where I was before it was too late. It was a long shot, but maybe someone could save me before Mathew did something there was no coming back from.
“Please help me. I’m at 41?—”
