The doorbell made me panic. Pizza. Real world intruding on my bubble of grief. I grabbed a robe from the closet—silk, of course, expensive as everything else—and managed to answer.
The delivery boy looked twelve. Looked terrified of the wild-haired woman who paid in cash pulled from that cursed envelope. I over-tipped massively, partly from inability to calculate normally, partly as apology for existing in my current state.
Pizza in hand, I returned to the couch. My prison had become my safe space—familiar in its misery. But sitting felt like surrender, so I ate standing at the counter like the old Lilah would have. Mechanical bites of food that tasted like cardboard and rebellion.
"Still taking care of myself," I reported to no one. "Still being your good girl, just... independently. Because you left me no choice."
The food sat heavy, body unused to solids after days of nothing. But I forced down three slices. Enough to prove I could. Enough to fuel whatever came next.
Because something had to come next. Couldn't live forever in this limbo between who I'd been and who he'd made me. Couldn't die waiting for permission that would never come. Had to find some middle ground where Bunny's conditioning could coexist with Lilah's survival instinct.
My phone buzzed—the new one, pulled from wherever, already cracked from another tantrum I didn't remember. An email notification. First contact from the outside world since waking in this purgatory.
From: Mom
Subject: How's Europe?!
Sweetie! It's been three months since you left for that amazing opportunity. I know you said you'd be busy with training, but drop us a line when you can. Your father is driving me crazy asking if you've sent pictures yet. Love you!
Europe. Right. The cover story he'd created. Lilah was in Europe, taking advantage of a vague but impressiveopportunity. Not being systematically broken down and rebuilt in a facility that might not even exist.
Two weeks. That meant I'd been here, in this apartment, for at least two days. Maybe three. Lost time that would need accounting for eventually.
But the email gave me something. A framework. A story I could step back into if I could remember how Lilah worked. How she moved and spoke and existed without needing permission for every breath.
"I can do this." Saying it aloud, trying to manifest truth through repetition. "Can pretend to be her again. Can send emails about fictional Europe while dying inside. Can play normal while being anything but."
Another email popped up. Then another. Friends checking in. Former coworkers curious about my sudden departure. A world that had kept spinning while I'd been remade and unmade.
The old Lilah would have responded immediately. Would have crafted stories about adventures and opportunities. But my fingers hesitated over keys, waiting for permission to type. Waiting for him to tell me what to say, how to say it, who I was allowed to be.
"Fuck." The word came out tired now, anger banking to exhausted ember. "How am I supposed to be her when I can't even remember how she worked?"
But I had to try. Had to fake functionality until it became real. Or until I found him. Or until I gave up entirely. Whichever came first.
Hi Mom,I typed slowly.Sorry for the radio silence. Training has been intensive.
Truth hidden in lies. Or lies wrapped around truth. Hard to tell anymore.
Everything is amazing here. Learning so much. Can't wait to tell you all about it when I get back.
When would that be? When would Lilah return from her European adventure? When would I have to face people who knew the before version and pretend the after didn't exist?
Give Dad my love. I'll send pictures soon.
Of what? This apartment I hadn't chosen? My hollow eyes? The designer clothes that fit perfectly over my emptiness?
But I sent it anyway. First successful independent action in days. Proof I could fake humanity even if I couldn't feel it.
"See?" I told the apartment, told him, told myself. "Can pretend. Can lie. Can be Lilah on the outside even if Bunny is screaming on the inside."
More water. Another slice of pizza. Basic maintenance of a body that still felt more his than mine. I'd exist. I'd function. I'd fool everyone into thinking Lilah had returned from Europe enriched by experience.
They'd never know she'd died there. Been murdered with kindness and rebuilt as something that shouldn't exist without its creator. They'd never see Bunny bleeding out behind Lilah's eyes.
"I'll be good," I promised the empty rooms. "Take care of your property even though you abandoned it. Keep it functional and clean and ready in case you come back."
The words felt like prayer. Like the kind of bargaining dying people do with gods they're not sure exist. But what else did I have? Without the framework of his control, I was just conditioning without purpose. Training without application.
