Cry Louder, His Viewers Paid To Watch You Break," She Whispered Into The Smartphone Camera Lens...
The bedroom air smelled of stale coffee and carpet cleaner. Elena sat on the edge of the metal-framed chair, her hands resting on the swell of her grey t-shirt. Across from her, Julian stood with his black t-shirt pulled taut over his shoulders, the smartphone angled downward. The red recording dot blinked steadily on the screen. Beside him, Margaret straightened the cuffs of her dark blue dress, the pearls at her throat catching the dim light of the floor lamp. Margaret leaned down, her fingers cold against Elena’s jaw. "Cry louder, his viewers paid to watch you break," Margaret whispered, her voice entirely flat. Elena stared past the lens, feeling the steady thrum of her own pulse against her ribs. She was twenty-four weeks pregnant with a child Julian had already sold to the highest bidder on an encrypted livestream network. Julian shifted his weight, his thumb twitching over the screen. Margaret pulled away, her expression hardening as she turned toward a small plastic pouch resting on the dresser. The room felt suffocatingly small, yet the digital void outside seemed infinitely vast. Every breath Elena took felt measured, timed to the demands of an invisible audience waiting for her collapse.
