The War.

Chapted 34: Letters.

TW: MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL AND EMOTION ABUSE !!

btw guys for anyone of my friends on tiktok i have been logged out of my acc and i may not be able to get it back, i'll try tmr and if it doesn't work i'll js cry. and make another one !! shivianmentionedd will notify you guys if i do make another acc !!

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Deep down, Roger was afraid of Mia. He wouldn't admit it, but the fear gnawed at him, clawing its way to the surface with every second that passed. He was terrified of what she would do if he didn't write the letters. But he wasn't sorry—not even a little. Was writing a fake apology really so hard, though?

He glanced at the blank paper, his mind swirling with frustration and reluctant obedience. As he picked up the pen, he paused, looking around the room. His eyes scanned for any possible escape route, but there was none. He sighed, realizing he had underestimated them—underestimated their strength and resolve.

As he reluctantly began to write Reece's letter, a smug grin crept onto his face. They wanted an apology? Fine. He could give them that. But it wouldn't mean anything, just like every other manipulative move he'd made in his life. The thought amused him—why were they even bothering with fake apologies? What did they expect from this?

Little did he know, it wasn't about the apology. They knew he wasn't sorry; he'd made that clear. But that wasn't the point. What they craved was the power—the control. Forcing him to bend to their will, making him write meaningless apologies, knowing full well he despised them, gave them a rush, a thrill. It fueled their adrenaline, the sense that for once, they had the upper hand, and he had no choice but to follow.

He felt so relieved they had left him alone, and the fact that Charlotte had healed him only added to that brief moment of peace. But Roger knew it wouldn't last. The comfort he felt was temporary, a fleeting illusion that would soon dissolve as quickly as it had come. The physical wounds were gone, but now he faced something worse—the slow, suffocating dread of writing apology letters, forced to fake remorse he didn't feel. That, in itself, was a new kind of torture. The psychological weight pressed on him, knowing that even though the letters were meaningless to him, they were a weapon in their hands, giving them the power they craved. Each stroke of the pen felt like another link in the chain that kept him bound to their control.

"Reece"

Reece,

I suppose I owe you an Apology, though we both know it's just words meant to placate you. I'm sorry for always taking my anger out on you; you were my favorite punching bag, after all. It's amusing how you thought you could stand up to me, thinking you had some power in this twisted game. Your pain was just a byproduct of my amusement, and I've enjoyed every moment of our sick Little dance. If given the chance, I'd do it all over again Without hesitation.

I know my drinking exacerbated the situation, And that's just that's simply my way of coping with the world. I'd say I'm sorry for ruining Your life, but let's be honest—I found it downright entertaining. Watching you Squirm and struggle to navigate the chaos I Created was a highlight Of my days. You always seemed so desperate to please, but that only Made it Easier for me to pull your strings.

So, here's your so-called "apology." But we Both know it's just Another performance in my long list of manipulations. You were just so easy to Control, a little Kid, after all. I'm just playing my part, and you're still just a pawn in my game.