Page 25 of Shy Girl

I haven’t officially accepted the offer yet, though my mind is already consumed by the details. Every time Nathan asks—four times now since our date—I give the same answer:Maybe. I have more questions.

And I do. The questions churn in my head, relentless and specific, each one growing sharper the longer I think about it.The first one came late at night, the thought too urgent to ignore:Can I use the bathroom?

MIA BALLARD85

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His response was quick, firm:Yes, you can use the bathroom. I am not cleaning up your shit.

The bluntness of it startled me, the words cutting through the vague, almost playful tone of his earlier texts. I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling as I typed my next question.

What if I cough or sneeze? Does that count as breaking character?

He replied almost immediately:Yes. Unless it’s unavoidable, I expect you to stay in character. Any slip will be punished.

The wordpunishedlingered in my mind long after I read it. My heart raced as I typed back:What kind of punishment?

His reply came slowly this time, the three dots lingering far too long.That depends on how serious the infraction is. You’ll learn.

I stare at the words, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. I didn’t press further, but my mind raced with scenarios, each one spiraling into the next.

The next question surfaces like a wave, impossible to hold back:Will I be able to leave when I want?

This time, there is no immediate reply. The silence stretched, unbearable. My thumb hovered over the screen, refreshing my texts. My mind spirals.

Finally, after what felt like hours, his answer appeared:

Yes.

What about water? Will I be able to drink from a glass, or do I need to use a bowl?

Bowl,he responds, without hesitation.You’ll eat and drink from the floor, like a dog. You can only stand if I allow it.

The finality of his tone is unshakable. Each rule he laid out felt like a wall closing in, limiting my movement, my options, my autonomy. And yet, the boundaries are also oddly reassuring. They gave structure to the chaos of my thoughts, parameters I could follow.

SHY GIRL86

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I ask another:What about leaving the room? Do I need permission?

Always,he replies.You don’t move without my say-so.

I pause, staring at the screen, the collar I’d worn at his house flashing in my mind. My breathing quickened as I typed another question, the most important one yet:What if I mess up? What if I’m not good at this?

His response is fast, cutting off my spiraling thoughts:You won’t mess up. You’ll learn. Quickly.

I stare at the text for a long time, my fingers brushing against the edges of my phone. The firmness of his answers both terrified and intrigued me. Each message cemented the role he wanted me to play, stripping away any room for doubt or misinterpretation.

Deep down, I know I’ll say yes. I always knew. But the finality of it still looms, the decision sitting heavy on my chest as I close the message thread and stare at the ceiling, imagining what it will feel like to fully step into the role.

ELEVEN

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Kennedy’s backyard ispristine, curated like an Instagram feed with the saturation turned up—symmetry in every corner, perfection draped over the mundane. The lawn is shaved into uniformity, its green so bright it feels artificial. The patio furniture is arranged like a showroom, all sharp lines and coordinated cushions, and even the bounce house, riotous in its colors and its cacophony of children, feels intentional, a controlled chaos to complement the order. It is Liam’s third birthday, and his parents are making a show of it.

I sit stiffly on the edge of a wicker chair, my iced tea sweating onto the glass side table. The condensation pools into tiny circles that refuse to stay contained, slipping into one another until they form a jagged mess of moisture. I swipe at them with my finger, but the smear it leaves behind is worse, a half-erased mistake that only draws more attention to itself.

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