She Might Be Dead
Lyra
Okay folks. Camilla has officially gone cray cray.
Like, I’ve seen some wild s**t in my life. Girls fighting in the bathroom over lip gloss. Two boys pissing in the
same urinal like they were holding hands spiritually.
A girl in my class once pretended to faint during a test just to get out of answering a math question. But this? This right here? This was next–level. Like, I’m talking full–blown Netflix series, season finale drama with
extra cocaine and desperation sprinkled on top.
You know, honestly, I always thought stuff like this only happened in movies. Like, the kind of scene where the ex–girlfriend shows up wearing smeared eyeliner and trauma and begs the rich older man to pick her while the new girl stands in the corner looking all innocent and untouched.
But no. Nope. This was real life. This was me, standing half–dressed, n****e still out, body still shaking from the way Damon had just been whispering into my skin–and there she was.
Camilla.
Fully naked now.
Like, full–on titties out, no shame, coochie one sneeze away from saying hello kind of naked.
And I just stood there. Watching. Blinking. Trying to process the absolute chaos of the moment while Damon didn’t move a muscle behind me. His hand was still on my tit. Still cupping me like I was sacred. Still holding
me like Camilla wasn’t even breathing the same air.
And I’ll be real with you.
The doctor did a really good job on her boobs.
Like, no lie, I was standing there watching this grown woman sob and spiral and beg for s*x, and I still had
the mental capacity to think, Damn. Those are symmetrical. Not jiggly in a weird way. No side dents. Just two full, bouncy, silicone–packed offerings right there in the room.
But still.
What the actual f**k.
She was pacing in circles, muttering to herself, sniffling like she was trying to inhale the walls, crying and swearing and throwing out words like slap me, choke me, f**k me anywhere while her hands kept twitching
like she wanted to touch herself or stáb someone–I honestly wasn’t sure which.
I was still riding the high of him saying I’m going to suck your t**s until you cry, and now there was a drugged–up ex standing ten feet away shaking her fake t**s at him and begging to be used like a doormat.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
Scream?
Run?
Clap?
She Might Be Dead
“I’ll do anything.” Camilla sobbed, her voice all shaky and dripping in shame now. “I’ll get on all fours. I’ll let you call me whatever you want. You want a c*m rag? I’ll f*****g be one.”
“I’ll let you f**k me anywhere,” she sobbed, stepping closer, body still trembling and glossy with sweat. “In your office. In the hallway. In the damn garden. I’ll let you slap me. Spit on me. Call me nothing. I’ll let her watch. I’ll let her laugh. I’ll let you ruin me as long as you don’t pick her. Don’t choose her, Damon
I blinked again.
I felt his c**k hardening against my thigh.
I felt my p***y clench so hard I nearly cried.
Then I glanced up at Damon.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even twitch.
His jaw was tight. His chest wasn’t rising like it should’ve been. He looked like a wolf about to snap
someone’s neck just for breathing wrong. And the only thing he touched was me.
Me.
The one who was standing here watching this naked, coke–dusted woman beg for what I already had.
But honestly I’ve had enough. Okay. That’s it. I can’t take this anymore. I really tried. I stood there. I kept my mouth shut. I watched. I let her have her little dramatic monologue, t**s out and dignity in the toilet, but I am
at my limit.
Because this b***h?
This actual naked, powder–sniffing, breakdown–having, tit–jiggling, p***y–offering woman just looked me dead in the eye and told Damon she’d let him spit on her and f**k her in front of me like that was supposed to
scare me.
No, ma’am.
I don’t scare easy.
I moan when he growls, cry when he bites, and c*m when he calls me his. You think your t**s are going to
make him blink when his hand is still squeezing mine?
I laughed.
Like actually laughed.
Out loud.
Not a little snort or a fake, petty giggle. No. I laughed like I had just witnessed the most insan life and my only defense mechanism was losing my s**t entirely. I could feel it bubbling up in champagne fizz and madness, and I just let it rip.
ene of my hest like
“Oh my God,” I said, breathless from laughing, one hand covering my mouth while the other clutched Damon’s shirt for balance. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious. This isn’t a prank or a bet or a hidden camera show. You really just said all of that out loud. Like, on purpose. With full chest.”
She Might Be Dead
Camilla twitched.
Literally twitched like she wanted to lunge at me but forgot she was naked, high, and emotionally collapsed.
“No, no, go ahead,” I said, stepping forward just slightly, still in Damon’s arms but no longer hiding behind him. “You’ve already offered him your stitched–up p***y and your spit–filled mouth. You might as well throw in your credit score while you’re at it. Or a kidney. Want to carve his name into your tit next? Because honey- newsflash–he’s not touching you. At all. Not now. Not ever.”
Her eyes widened.
Her lips trembled.
Good.
Because I wasn’t done.
“You wanna know what I have that you don’t?” I asked, tilting my head like I was about to give her skincare advice. “I have his hands on my body. I have his scent on my skin. I have his voice in my ear when he calls me his kitten and tells me to open wider. I have the bruises on my hips from the last time he knotted me so deep I sobbed into the pillow and begged him not to stop.”
I could feel Damon breathing behind me.
And still?
He didn’t let go.
“I didn’t need to beg,” I said, softer now, slower, like I was explaining something to a child who couldn’t quite grasp the reality of the situation. “I didn’t need to cry or plead or sniff a f*****g drug off my palm like it was my only hope. He wanted me. Just like this. Crying. Needy. In heat and dripping for him. And he hasn’t looked away once.”
Camilla’s mouth opened.
But nothing came out.
Because what could she possibly say?
She was standing there naked, shaking, drugged, sobbing, t**s bouncing, offering to be slut while I stood there wet and claimed. And she couldn’t compete.
Not even a little bit.
“Now take every f*****g dignity you have left and leave!”
“You f*****g w***e!!”
That was the last thing she screamed before everything exploded into something that felt like a nightmare someone forgot to wake me from.
One second, Camilla was across the room, still naked, still sweaty, still shaking like a Hallow that had been left out in the rain,
decoration
She was standing there like a rejected porn star with no self–control and a pocket full of powdered decisions.
I didn’t even flinch when she screamed it. I was already holding Damon’s shirt, already smirking like I had won, because I had.
She Might Be Dead
But then?
She moved.
And it happened too fast.
One second she wa
crying and sniffling, and the next she was rushing me with her hand out and this tiny
little bag clutched between her fingers.
I didn’t even see it clearly until it was too late. I thought she was going to slap me or scream in my face or maybe try to pull my hair like we were in some sad girl–fight outside a club, but no. Oh no. What she did?
She shoved the powder into my
y nose.
She slammed it against my face so hard I stumbled back with a gasp that I couldn’t control.
And the moment that bag hit my nostril, I inhaled it. I didn’t mean to. My body just reacted. I gasped. I breathed in. And whatever the f**k she pushed into me–it hit my brain like fire.
It was like something sliced into my skull from the inside. Like all the light in the room exploded behind my
eyes.
My vision went white, then black, then spinning. I couldn’t feel my fingers. My mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t speak.
My lungs were trying to pull air in, but nothing felt right. My entire face felt like it was vibrating and my heart started pounding like it was trying to escape.
My knees buckled.
My head tilted back.
And I heard it.
“Camilla..”
That was the last thing I said.
My brain was short–circuiting. My limbs were buzzing. My chest was hot. I couldn’t focus on anything but the heat crawling up my neck and the sharp, metallic taste that filled my mouth.
And then Damon moved.
So fast.
Too fast.
I didn’t even see him leave me.
I didn’t even see the moment he shifted. I just felt it in the air.
And then I heard the sound.
Crack.
It was awful.
It was loud.
It sounded like bones snapping in half.
She Might Be Dead
I couldn’t even scream.
My eyes were half–open, and I saw her–Camilla–on the floor, still naked, still twitching, then not twitching at
all.
Her legs were twisted the wrong way. Her body was bent in angles that didn’t make sense. Her arms were limp. Her chest wasn’t moving. And her eyes?
Her eyes were open.
They were looking right at me.
But she wasn’t blinking.
She wasn’t breathing.
She wasn’t screaming anymore.
She wasn’t anything.
I wanted to step back.
I wanted to say something.
I wanted to scream or cry or throw up or ask Damon what just happened or even try to reach for him, but my body wasn’t listening to me anymore. My vision was shaking. My ears were ringing. My chest was tight. My legs gave out and the floor tilted and I couldn’t keep up with it anymore.
Everything went quiet.
And then?
Black.
Royalty Writes
#Vote# Thank you all for your massive support@
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