The world before me isn’t real—and I know that. But it feels real.
A little girl, maybe five or six, giggles as she tuns barefoot through the tall grass, her wild hair bouncing behind her. She’s chasing a small white rabbit, her tiny hands reaching out with determination. The rabbit darts left, then right, and she squeals in delight before–thud–she trips and falls hard on her knees.
“Ow!” she cries, her small hands scraping the ground as tears fill her wide eyes.
“M!” a boy’s voice calls out. A boy, not much older than her, rushes over, his brows pinched in concern. “Stop crying. I promise I’ll protect you, okay?”
She sniffs and glares at him through her tears. “How are you gonna protect me? You’re just a kid.”
He puffs out his chest like a soldier and says proudly. “Have you forgotten? I’m gonna be a warrior. Your personal bodyguard.”
“You can’t protect me if you can’t even catch a rabbit”
Before he can answer, the same rabbit dashes between his legs, and he yelps, stumbling and falling flat on his face.
The girl bursts out laughing, clutching her belly. “See? You can’t even protect yourself, dummy!”
He groans, rubbing his nose.
“I don’t need protecting anyway,” she says with a grin. “I’ll protect you, too–you big baby.”
The boy starts crying, turning his head away like he doesn’t want her to see him cry. But she just sighs and holds out her hand. “C’mon, stop being a baby. Let’s build a sandcastle.”
Together, they begin shaping a castle from the sand, their small hands forming rooms and walls. The girl hums softly as she works. “One room for me, one for you… and one for my mate.”
They both giggle. It’s innocent. Sweet. Peaceful.
Until–crunch.
A heavy boot slams down, crushing their creation.
The girl gasps and looks up, trying to see who it is–but the man’s face is lost in the sunlight, tall and shrouded in shadow. Her small hands cling to the broken sandcastle.
Then-“M!”
A woman’s panicked voice. Her face is a blur as she rushes in and grabs the little girl’s wrist, yanking her up.
“Go. Run back to the castle. Hide under your bed. Now!”
“But moth-”
“GO! Don’t come out until I come for you.”
The little girl sobs, stumbling back toward a castle in the distance, running barefoot, blood on her knees. She disappears behind a door.
And then everything fades. The light. The sounds. All of it–gone.
I shoot upright, gasping.
My heart’s racing, my chest chest rising and falling too fast. My eyes sting, and when I reach up, my fingers come away wet.
was crying
“Why the hell am I crying…whisper to mysell, swallowing hard.
Sweat clings to my skin, soaking the sheets. I wipe my face and glance around, confused.
Where the hell am I?
This isn’t the bathroom. I was in the bath–1 remember the water, the steam… Jack’s hands around my throat, his lips brushing my ear.
Suddenly, heat floods my body like someone turned the temperature up from the inside. The memories come rushing back–his grip, his mouth, his voice-

Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Submission is Not My Style