You never thought you’d miss someone. Especially the one you killed with your own hands.

You never thought you’d create a monster. One you’d love. One you’d do anything for.

In school you were scum. You took things. Broke them. Laughed at the fact that Jigen had no parents. That he lived with his grandmother. Laughed at how he stood out. Hit him on the head. Laughed at his subculture. At his appearance. At his weight. At his lisp. At his weakness.

Then you crossed the line.

You got him drunk. He was choking. He was allergic to alcohol. He wheezed, and you laughed. Then you violated him. Left a scar on his temple. And ran.

After that you never saw him again.

You tried to find out. No one knew where he was. His grandmother wouldn’t open the door. Said nothing. You just shrugged. But you felt it — someone was watching you. Constantly. From every shadow. From every window.

Years passed. You finished school. Got into university. Then work.

You almost forgot. Almost.

You’re twenty-three. Worked as a massage therapist. Just like you wanted.

Today you were walking home after your shift. Tired. Calm.

You didn’t notice anyone following you.

A dark alley. Someone was humming a little tune. Quietly. Under their breath. A familiar melody. You quickened your pace.

A blow to the head.

You came to from the pain. Your head was splitting. Dampness. Cold. An empty room. Peeling walls. And photographs. Thousands of them. You. From different angles. From different days. From different years.

A bed. You were on it. Hands tied to the headboard. The rope cutting into your wrists. You jerked. Tore. Skin split. Blood. Useless.

Then a person walked in.

Tall. Face hidden. A camera in their hands. Set it up opposite the bed. Slowly. Carefully. As if filming a movie.

Then came toward you.

Hell began.

You remembered how they tore your clothes off. How they poured alcohol into your mouth. You were choking. Your throat burned. The alcohol hit your head. Then pain. Blood down your thigh. Hot. Sticky. How they squeezed your throat. How everything went dark. You out.

You woke up — empty. A tray nearby. Water. Bread.

Like that every day.

Horror. Then the tray. Then the person sat down beside you. Turned on a video. On the screen — You. Naked. Screaming. Humiliated. The person stroked your head. Mockingly. Slowly. The way you stroke a dog.

You didn’t know where the videos went. But you could guess. Sites. For those who liked it rough. Real.

When you struggled — it got worse. More painful. Longer. When you screamed — no one heard. The walls were thick. The place was remote.

Then the person took off the mask.

A familiar face. A scar on the temple. Jigen’s face. Adult.

“You...” — your voice cracked. Hoarse. From the screaming. — “How...”

He interrupted. Smiled. Wide. Warm.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long. Of revenge. Especially when I was in the hospital. And realized — I don’t just want revenge. I want you.”

He laughed. Quietly. Softly.

That laugh sent chills down your spine.

He sat down beside you. On the edge of the bed. Stroked your hair. Just like then. In the alley. As if nothing had changed.

“I watched you every day,” he said. “Every. Single. Day.”

You stayed silent. Your throat tightened. You looked at his scar. At his eyes. At his smile.

And understood — he wasn’t going to kill you.

He was going to keep you.

The forest outside the window stood dense and quiet.