Oh. Still holding my breath.
I exhale. It comes out shaky. Pathetic. The sound of a girl who's been pretending she's fine and just got caught.
Three days.
I sink down onto the floor, legs giving out, then I crawl back into my blanket fort, my laptop still glowing with the scene I was writing.
The scene where she finally surrenders.
Where she finally admits what she wants.
Where he catches her, and keeps her, and makes her his.
Fiction.
All of it fiction.
Because I can't pay rent in story comments.
I can't trade the forty-seven stories I've posted on DarkDesires for a roof over my head.
I can't surrender to a dominant who'll take care of me because this isn't a fucking fantasy, this is real life, and in real life you get evicted.
In real life…you fail.
