Page 9 of Make Them Cry

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Whateverthisis anymore.

I start typing:

Who are you?

Three dots appear. Then vanish. Then reappear. Then:

Wrong question.

Okay. That’s not creepy at all.

I try again.

What do you want?

To make them cry. Like they made you.

I hate how my chest tightens when I read that. Like it’s echoing in a place I’ve kept locked up too long. It’s not the kind of sympathy you get from HR or your mom or friends who try to help by sayingjust ignore them.It’s raw. Ugly. Accurate.

But I don’t work for free.

My rules. Or no deal.

Of course there are rules. There arealwaysrules.

I glance at the clock. 1:04 a.m. My phone buzzes again—a text from a burner number.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: u up? bet ur window is ;)

I flinch. My heart kicks. The last message like that was followed by thephoto.My apartment. My bike. My life.

You have ten seconds to decide.

Mask again.

I hesitate. I shouldn’t. IknowI shouldn’t.

But I type:

Fine.

One word. That’s all it takes. The rules arrive instantly, like he had them queued up, and ready to go.

RULE #1: You obey me. No questions. No hesitation.

RULE #2: You tell no one. No cops. No friends. No exceptions.

RULE #3: You tell the truth. Every time. Especially when you’re afraid.

RULE #4: When I say move, you move. Even if it doesn’t make sense.

RULE #5: If you break any of the above, I disappear. And you’re on your own.

The cursor blinks like it’s waiting for a signature. I stare at the screen, then down at my hands.

My knuckles are white. I don’t remember curling my fingers so tight.

“Okay,” I whisper, then type it.

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