When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

The Puppet's Claim

Myra

I walked the hallways of school, clean and dry, hair loose again. Untied. Back to normal.

I waited at the edge of the classroom like I was told. He texted me after the last period to wait here. Tone of the text says he is angry. But I couldn't figure out why. Nothing happened that could have triggered him, atleast I am not able to figure out. I couldn't hear my heartbeat, but I could feel it — hot and fast — like a silent alarm pulsing under my skin.

Marcus stepped in, shutting the door behind him with a click. That sound alone made me straighten.

He didn't say anything at first. Just tossed his bag on the teacher's desk. He circled behind me slowly, letting the silence stretch.

Then—

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself with Cho today. Are you planning another date?"

A chill spread through my limbs. I kept my eyes down.

"Was his joke really that funny?" he asked, voice light. "Or were you just performing for attention?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. There wasn't a right answer. There never was, when he was like this.

"It wasn't like that," I whispered. "We were just doing a project together. The professor assigned us, you were there I didn't choose him. It was a light—"

"You were laughing." He cut in. "And leaning a little too close, weren't you?" He walked around to face me, and smiled — but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You're not subtle, Red."

He pointed at a desk near the window.

"Sit."

I did. My hands trembled.

He pulled out my notebook from my bag and flipped to a blank page. Laid it in front of me, then slid a pen across the desk.

"I do not belong to myself. I belong to Marcus. In cursive. No cross-outs. Fill out the page"
He paused. "Start."

My throat closed. I stared at the page.

One line in, he pulled a chair beside me, turned it around, and straddled it — arms folded over the backrest, watching.

My hand moved like it wasn't mine. Pen scratching awkwardly across the paper.
I do not belong to myself.  I belong to Marcus. I do not belong to myself.  I belong to Marcus. I do not belong...

He watched over my shoulder in silence. I could smell his cologne, feel his breath near my ear.

When the page was almost full, he took the notebook from me, eyes flicking over the lines with a flicker of amusement. He handed me the notebook again "Read it aloud" he commanded

"I-I do-" "Stop stuttering and fucking read it like you believe, because you better do Myra" he said grabbing my hair in his fist, and I nodded. 

"I do not belong to myself. I belong to Marcus...." I read the whole page, all fifty five times.

"You know why I'm doing this?" he asked softly, like he was teaching me.

I didn't answer.

"Because I like you quiet. And I like you mine. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

He leaned in, brushing my hair back.
"You forget that sometimes. But I'm here to remind you."

My throat tightened. "I'm sorry."

"I know," he said simply. Then tucked the notebook back into my bag like nothing had happened. "You can go now."

Then he turned, walked off like nothing happened — leaving me standing there, shaking slightly, clutching a bag that now held a page that didn't feel like it came from me.