I didn’t want to look. My feet didn’t want to move. My breath didn’t want to leave my chest. But something pulled me anyway-something silent and steady and awful. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was me. Maybe there was no difference anymore.
The mirror waited across the room, tall and dark and cold. I had avoided it all night. I wasn’t ready to see what I’d become in his hands, even if he’d never touched me.
But now.. now the red threads dug into my skin like a promise.
Like a reminder. Look.
Own it. Or let him own it for you.
My legs felt weak, but they carried me. Each step was too slow, too light, like I was walking through someone else’s dream or their trap. The air shifted around me with every movement.
I could feel it on my thighs. Across my stomach. Between my br**st. Everywhere
