Prologue
Vera
He is the first person who sees the real me.
Sees what’s hidden inside.
Not the darkness, not the light, but the gray in between.
I was the first person to see past his affliction, and that’s what started our twisted journey. We were both broken by the life given to us, and in order to survive, we needed each other.
I spent my life falling in love with the stories my nanny read to me. The fairy tales that spoke of princes and castles. And since I lived in a castle—well, a house so big it could be considered a castle—myself, I always thought I would find my prince.
I lost my mother when I was young. And when I fell into the darkness of my depression, I found solace in the depravity that came with addiction. I didn’t waste away on drugs, and I certainly didn’t drink myself into a coma.
No.
My need came from something far dirtier and unmentionable. A desire that grabbed hold of me and didn’t let go.
Until him.
My life was always filled with light, until my mother was no longer around, and I was left to my own devices. Children shouldn’t be left to fend for themselves, especially children like me—privileged. I admit I’m broken, that I should never have found myself on the website I had become addicted to.
But that same lapse in judgment brought him to me.
Each night, I would wait and watch the screen as it illuminated my old bedroom, and I would watch for him. My heart would kick wildly in my chest when I saw his name light up, and his message appear.
I don’t have anyone else but him.
I’m the possession of someone who ran away from me when I first met him. The memory is still clear of that day, and I recall his disdain for me so clearly. But now I find myself in the dark in a bedroom, which is homely, warm, and cozy. I’ve fought, screamed, and cried, but my owner only ignores me when I act like this. He may have shown me his face, but I’ve yet to see his soul.
For now, I wait. I know he’s there, watching.
I don’t know how long it’s been.
Only that he visits me every day.
I know his name. He was the first person I ever came to love and to crave. And even now, I know he will be the only one who understands my desires.
He makes me feel things.
I shiver again when I think about him. Rolling onto my back, I sigh loudly, and it echoes in the vast bedroom. It’s different from the one I had while I was growing up.
I no longer have teddy bears on my bed. There are no longer pink and pastel blue furnishings and curtains. This bedroom is filled with deep shades of cobalt and charcoal hues that offer more warmth than what I’d envisioned.
Each night, in the dark, my visitor comes to me. He talks to me in that deep, gravelly tone, which only turns the spark inside me into a raging inferno. He tells me he’s ill and that he doesn’t understand why he is broken.
I want to tell him I am too. My heart, my mind, it’s not the same, and there’s nothing I can do about it but tamp it down and ignore it. I want to ask him so many questions that plague me daily, but I don’t. Perhaps the less I know, the better.
The sun streams through the window, informing me of a new day. He told me I’ll be able to go outside soon. And I can’t wait to run through the forest. I’ve sat in the window seat every day since I woke up in this bedroom, and I’ve watched the birds flit about and the flowers bloom as spring nears.
Last night, he came to me and sat for a long while, just talking. I want to see him, to ask him why he’s taken me, brought me to this place that doesn’t seem like a prison, but sort of is. It’s a cabin, hidden amongst tall trees and green grass.
I’m thankful he’s been kind to me, not hurting me in any way. I imagine other girls who’ve been in similar situations, may not have been as lucky as I am.
My body trembles when I hear the lock of the bedroom door clicking, and I realize he’s bringing in the tray with food for me to devour. He feeds me, keeps me hydrated, allows me all those normal comforts; the only thing he doesn’t give me is his truth. But soon, I know he will.
The spicy scent of his cologne still hangs heavily in the room from last night, and I’m filled with want for him to stay here with me. He makes me crave the nearness of him. I watch as he sets the tray on the vanity before he disappears again.
How can I want him when he hides from me?
How can I need him when he won’t let me in?
1
Logan
One week ago
I click on the profile, reading the name Sleeping Beauty before scanning her bio. It’s short and sweet, just like I imagine her to be. I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t stop myself. I found out how broken I was when I turned seventeen and found myself needing release while I watched my girlfriend at the time asleep beside me. We had been studying late into the night, and while she slept, I found more pleasure than I ever had.
The moment I came all over my hand, I rushed to the bathroom, cleaned up, and left. I never once went back to her house. Fear held me hostage, keeping me from even talking to her, telling her what I did.
I spent my nights searching for reasons why. But nothing could stop it, I was broken. My desires ran deep into my veins. And I couldn’t tell anyone about it. The secret was mine to bear, and I had to do it alone.
For the first time in years after that incident, I met someone else. She was kinky, she would let me tie her up, blindfold her, and for a while, it worked. But happiness doesn’t last forever.
I realized I was never going to be with anyone long-term when I woke my ex-fiancée while I was jerking off over her sleeping form. She looked so beautiful, peaceful and unaware of my perversions. I hid it from her for two long years. But the moment she opened her eyes and felt the hot mess I’d made all over her chest, I knew I needed to leave.
To run so far away, nobody would ever be subject to my sick desires.
I couldn’t explain it away, and telling someone on the first date that you can’t get hard unless she’s asleep isn’t something you want them to know. And that’s why I find myself here, on the dark web, where I can find those who are broken—just like me.
I open her photo, which is blurry at best, but I can make out her bra, a soft-pink color, and the panties she’s wearing match. I open the messenger app and type out my first contact with her.
Logan: Are you looking for a Prince or just another bad boy who can fulfill your fantasies?
I don’t know why I’m doing this, but it’s the safest way to find release. It’s the only way. I glance outside. The moon hangs in the sky, heavy and bright. The cabin I bought is secluded, away from prying eyes, because the moment I’m surrounded by people, I feel my anxiety twisting inside my gut, hammering against my chest. Reminding me that I’m nothing more than a monster.
Her reply dings from the speakers of my computer, and I’m too afraid to open it. This is ridiculous. It’s not like she’s here. And if she were, I doubt she’d stick around long enough to know who I am.
SB: I learned a while ago that princes aren’t as charming as they claim to be. At least a bad boy doesn’t apologize for his behavior.