46

Alice slumped into the chair at her desk, the old wood creaking beneath her. She tugged at the edges of the ugly beanie she wore, a last line of defense against the world outside her room. Finally alone, she pulled it off, revealing the faint, but unmistakable, red letters on her forehead.

“BITCH.”

She swallowed hard, her reflection in the computer screen mocking her. She’d scrubbed until her skin was raw, but the ghost of the hateful word lingered, as stubborn as the memory of how it got there.

Her English homework loomed in front of her, a poem she couldn’t bring herself to analyze. How could she find meaning in verse when she couldn’t even make sense of her own life?

Alice opened her laptop, telling herself she’d start on the assignment as soon as she could focus. But the truth was, she couldn’t think of anything but Adam.

Every time she tried to concentrate, his face flashed in her mind: the smile that used to make her heart flutter, now twisted into a sneer; the boy who had once been kind to her, now her tormentor. Her stomach churned, and she clicked away from the homework file, opening her social media instead.

She scrolled mindlessly through her feed, the cheerful pictures of her friends feeling like tiny daggers. Each smiling face reminded her of how far away she was from happiness. Then her thumb froze on a picture.

It was her brother.

Not the picture she cared about, though. She clicked through his uploads, scanning the background of each shot, hoping for a glimpse of Adam.

Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, and a bitter thought crept in: What am I even doing?

The answer was painfully clear. She was desperate. Desperate to see him, even now, even after everything.

“I’m officially pathetic,” Alice muttered to herself, her voice hollow.

Tears prickled at her eyes, hot and stinging. She pressed the heels of her palms against them, willing the tears to stop. They didn’t listen, and soon they were sliding down her cheeks. Her skin already felt raw, not just from scrubbing her forehead but from the endless crying.

The computer chimed: One new message.

Alice blinked, wiping her face. She figured it was Joseph or Lori, maybe asking for help with the homework. But when she saw the sender’s name, her blood ran cold.

Adam.

Her hand trembled as she clicked the notification. It was a picture message.

The image opened slowly, and Alice’s breath hitched. It was her—tearful, naked, wearing nothing but the dog collar around her neck, and with the word “BITCH” scrawled across her forehead.

Her stomach twisted into knots. The sight was like a slap to the face, dragging her back into that awful moment. She looked pathetic in the photo. No, worse than pathetic. Humiliated.

The memory of that day rose in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. She had told herself again and again that she should never have gone along with his suggestion. But she had. And now, this.

The message attached to the photo was chilling in its simplicity: “Be a shame if this ended up online.”

Alice stared at the screen, her mind reeling. The moment she’d feared was finally here.

Why am I surprised? she thought bitterly. She’d known this was coming. She’d known Adam wasn’t the person she thought he was. And yet, she’d let herself believe he wouldn’t cross this line.

Her fingers moved hesitantly across the keyboard. She needed to say something, to try to reason with him.

“You promised you wouldn’t do that,” she typed slowly.

The reply was immediate. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

Alice’s throat tightened as fresh tears blurred her vision. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes. The screen looked distorted, almost surreal, through the watery haze, as if this nightmare wasn’t really happening.

Her thoughts raced. If he wanted to ruin her, he could have already done it. So why send the message now?

He wants to see me squirm, she realized. He wants me to beg.

She swallowed her pride. If it meant saving herself, she’d do it.

“Please, will you just talk to me about this? In person, I mean. Please, Adam?” she typed.

There was a long pause. The three little dots of his typing indicator appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. Finally, his response came: “Talk about what?”

Alice hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keys. How could she explain something she barely understood herself?

“About why you decided to hate me,” she wrote. “I don’t understand. You’re nice to me one minute and horrible the next. I only want to know what I did wrong. Please, will you just talk to me?”

She hit send and waited. And waited. Each passing second felt like an eternity, and her anxiety grew with every moment of silence.

When the next message finally came, it wasn’t what she’d hoped for. “Adam is blocking you.”

The words stared back at her, cold and final.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the walls of her room closing in. What now? she thought, panic clawing at her throat.

There was only one thing she could do.

I’ll have to go to his house. I’ll convince him to stop. I have to.