Page 30 of Shy Girl

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The bathroom is too bright. The tiles gleam like they’ve been waiting for me, and my stomach churns.Germs.The word sits heavy in my mouth, a sour taste I can’t swallow. I’ve crawled here, dragged myself across this floor, and now it sticks to me, clinging like a second skin.

I move as quickly as my body will allow. The water runs scalding as I scrub my hands, once, twice, digging the soap under my nails until the sting feels earned. Behind me, the door is cracked just enough for him to watch, though we both pretend not to notice. His presence hangs in the space like steam.

When I’m done, he’s there, leash in hand, waiting like he always does. My stomach twists at the sight of it, but I drop back to my hands and knees, the motion instinctual now. The floor meets me like an old habit, cold and unyielding, and I crawl back to the room, each step a quiet surrender.

The cage looms again, its edges sharp in my periphery. Relief flutters at the thought of leaving, of shedding this skin. My bed waits for me somewhere else—soft sheets, warm water, a version of myself that doesn’t exist on all fours. But he doesn’t say I can go. Not yet.

Instead, he watches, his silence a knot pulling tighter. The words that follow are quiet but sharp enough to cut. “I’ve changed my mind.”

The air stills. My hands press against the floor, grounding myself against the weight of his voice. I look up, the question caught behind my teeth, the rules keeping it there. He doesn’t wait for it.

“You’re not free to go,” he says, the leash swaying lightly in his hand. His tone is steady, as if this is nothing, as if my world isn’t tipping on its axis. “I think I’ll keep you.”

The words hollow me out.Keep me?The thought splinters, fragments of panic lodging themselves deep. The door feels farther

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now, the walls higher. The air thickens as he kneels, his shadow spilling over me.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch is too light, too human, and it burns. “It would be a shame to stop here.”

I nod because it’s what I know to do, the motion automatic, reflexive. Inside, my mind twists, searching for a way out, a crack in the walls of this moment. Eight hours. That was the deal.

“Do you understand?” His voice sharpens, cutting through the haze.

My head jerks in another nod, frantic and small, though every part of me recoils. “Speak,” he commands, and his eyes pin me there, waiting.

“Woof,” I whisper, the sound barely a breath. It feels foreign, hollow, but I say it again, louder this time. “Woof.”

The word hangs in the air between us, and I feel it settle into my chest like a stone.

“Good girl,” he says, the words gliding off his tongue like a thread pulled smooth, his smile a faint curve that settles somewhere between comfort and command. Approval, gentle but sharp-edged, like a blade wrapped in silk.

He rises, straightening, looking down on me. “This is your home now,” he says, his voice low and final, as if the decision had been made long before I arrived, before we even met.

The words echo, each syllable a stone dropped into the still pool of my mind. I press my hands harder into the floor, thecool surface biting back, but the grounding doesn’t come. My stomach knots itself tighter, my thoughts spilling over in a tangle of questions.

What does he mean by keep? What happens if I say no?

But the words never make it to my lips. They fold into themselves, collapsing under the weight of his gaze.

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The cage door is open, yawning wide. It waits for me like a familiar ache. I glance at it, at him, at the space between us that feels narrower than ever. He doesn’t speak. His silence blooms, thick and unbroken, until it swallows the room whole.

With a quiet click, the leash falls away, and I crawl back inside. The bars press against me, cold and certain, as he closes the door with a soft, almost thoughtful finality. The sound lingers, stretching thin and sharp like the light overhead, which now feels too bright, too watchful, a pressure I can’t escape.

I fold into myself, curling tight as though I could shrink small enough to slip through the cracks. My knees press into my chest, my breath a careful rhythm, my focus narrowing to the smallest things—the texture of the floor, the metal at my back, the slow pulse of time as it drags.

The rules, the leash, the cage—they’re the only truths I can touch now, the only things I can trust to stay the same. But his words are still there, circling like vultures, their wings heavy with meaning.

You’re not free to go.

I think I’ll keep you.

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