|Grace|
The following days were a blur of carefully crafted messages and waiting for Keith’s reactions. Each new threat was a step closer to breaking him, each response a measure of our success.
Every day, without fail, I send Keith the threat he needs. It’s almost a ritual now: waking up, sitting on the plushie, then tapo out a few words for Keith, hitting send, and waiting. Some days, there’s no reply, but I imagine him sweating bullets, wondering what I’ll do next. And for some reason, there's a twisted satisfaction in knowing that even without a reply, my message lands like a stone in his calm waters, causing ripples that disturb his facade of serenity. He thinks he can ignore me, that he can outlast me. But I know him better than he knows himself. I know how to make his life a livi
