Page 8 of A Smile Full of Lies
Knox stepped outside onto the front porch. His hand lingered on the doorframe for a beat before his gaze hardened.
“Lock up behind me,” he said, voice low and gruff. “You’re living here alone now. I need to know you’re safe.”
My chest tightened painfully. Slowly, I stood and crossed the room, closing the door between us. I twisted the lock, the metallic click sharp in the quiet that stretched between us.
Knox’s gaze caught mine through the sidelight and held — just for a second, but it felt like forever.
“If you need anything,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear through the closed door, “I’m just a phone call away.”
Then he turned and walked down the steps, disappearing into the golden afternoon light.
I pressed my forehead to the cool wood of the door, my pulse hammering in my ears like a woodpecker on an oak tree.
Knox was steady, always steady, and that damned steadiness was breaking me down, piece by piece.
I wasn’t supposed to want him… not like this. But damn if I didn’t. I hated that I needed him, hated that I wanted more than comfort.
Chapter
Three
OCTOBER 11, 2:45 AM
ROS
Much later that night,I sat alone on the couch with my laptop, the only light in the room coming from the soft glow of the screen. My fingers hovered over the trackpad, my pulse throbbing at my throat and temples as I opened the private browser I only ever used when I couldn’t sleep. The kind that didn’t remember passwords and didn’t leave a history behind.
I pulled up a forum I’d stumbled across a few months ago — one of those off-the-beaten-path spaces where anonymity still meant something. It wasn’t flashy. Just text on a dark background. Threads layered in endless replies. Users hidden behind throwaway names and profile blanks. No photos, no location tags, no social ties. Just random usernames and confessions. They were all raw, unfiltered, and often unsettlingly honest. It felt private in a way bigger platforms didn’t, like whispering secrets in a crowded room where no one could see your face.
I hesitated for a long moment, my thumb brushing the edge of the trackpad. I’d made a throwaway account weeks ago under a burner email, but I’d never posted. Mostly, I just lurked and read what other people posted. Watching strangers crack open theirdarkest thoughts and spill them into the void like blood into water was strangely alluring.
My fingers moved before I could second-guess myself, logging in under the nameGraveyardGirl93.
My profile was blank. No bio. No post history. Just a username I picked half as a joke and half because I was spiraling that night and didn’t care if it sounded cringe.
A thread title near the top of the page snagged my attention:
[Serious] What’s a fantasy you’d never say out loud?
There were thousands of comments already. Its thumbs-up numbers were still climbing. The top replies were bold, broken, some barely coherent. People talking about being used, owned, watched, and more. Some of it would definitely be classified as sick by polite society, especially in a small town like Stonewood, Alabama.
I stared at the cursor blinking in the reply box for a long time, my stomach twisting.
Even anonymously, saying what I was thinking after Knox’s visit this afternoon felt like a line I shouldn’t cross. Some part of me felt like saying it — posting it — would drag something out of me I wasn’t sure I could ever put back into Pandora’s Box.
But it was all anonymous. It wasn’t like anyone would know it was me.
I wasn’t signed in under my real name. My VPN was on. There was no profile picture and there were no identifying details in my bio. Even if someone replied, it wasn’t like they could everfindme.
My breath came fast and shallow as I typed, the keys loud in the quiet room.
GraveyardGirl93: I think I want to be chased.
I hit post before I could stop myself. My heart immediately lodged in my throat.
It sat there for maybe thirty seconds — long enough for me to regret everything — before someone DMed me in response to what I’d posted.
StrayDog777
