When The Puppet Falls For The Puppeteer

The Promise of the Night

Myra

The morning light spilled weak and pale through the half-drawn blinds. The air was thick and heavy, pressing down before the day had even begun. I stirred awake, tucked against Marcus's chest, his arm heavy across my waist. For a moment, everything was quiet—our breathing, the warmth, the safety. Then his voice broke the silence.

"What was it, last night?" His tone wasn't harsh, but it was edged. His hand smoothed down to my side, steady, though his words pressed like weights. 

"What were you thinking about when you drifted? Tell me."

I stiffened. The memory of Jess's smirk, the sting of her words, rose unbidden. I hesitated, then whispered, "Jess said... you're not going to prom."

His chest rose against my back in a sigh. He shifted, making me look at him. "That's what had you gone cold on me?"

My eyes darted down, shame burning my cheeks. "I just... I want to go, Marcus. And I know you won't let me go with anyone else."

He cupped my chin, forcing my gaze up. "You're right about that. No one else touches you, no one else takes you. Don't ever doubt it."

His words landed like iron—unchallengeable, final. He searched my face, and I covered up my disappointed with a smile and nodded.

He let me go, brushed a hand through hair almost absently, and stood. "Get ready for school," he muttered, his tone back to that casual authority, as if his decision had closed the matter entirely. Then he left, the sound of his footsteps fading.

But once the door shut, the sadness spread through me fully, unguarded. My lips trembled as I pressed my face into the pillow, willing the ache in my chest to quiet. I hated how much I wanted prom, how childish it sounded in the grander scheme of Marcus's world. To him, prom was small, silly, beneath the weight of politics and control. But to me—it was a night I had imagined long before he had claimed me, long before the walls of his house had became my cage.

I told myself not to cry. I busied myself with getting ready for school. Fuck  I cursed as my mascara again got smudged because I just can't stop crying on it. I cleaned it up and exhaled and re-applied it.

I picked up my maroon scarf to pair it with my black off shoulder top and maroon palazzo. I wrapped the scarf around my neck to hide the bite marks, though sometimes I feel like showing off the hickeys to Jess just for fun.

Ugghh Jess again my mind drifted to Marcus not going to prom. I told herself I could accept it, that I had already learned how to accept so many things. But the image of everyone else at school—laughing, dancing, living their fleeting youth—gnawed at me until my throat choked up again.

I went downstairs and got started with breakfast and then school. I decided not to bring it up again. Marcus has already decided there is no point. I laughed when he teased, leaning into his touch when he demanded closeness. I tried to forget about prom. But the sadness lingered, no matter how hard I smothered it.

The next afternoon, Ash cornered me by the lockers, arms folded and eyes sharp.

"So... has Marcus asked you yet?"

I shifted uncomfortably, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "He's not going. Jess was right" I shrugged.

Ash blinked. "Not going? To prom?"

She held my arms "Myra-bear" her voice is laced with sympathy. She knew how much I wanted to go. We planned it since we started high school. "Then you should go with someone else. Anyone else." she added

My laugh was brittle, too quick. "You know that's not possible."

Ash scowled. "Myra, it's one night. He can't chain you—"