Twisted Fate (Rewritten)

11

Tyla

I flicked my wrist up once again as the time got closer and closer. The anticipation is gnawing at me like some slow, inevitable force, pulling me towards an experience I wanted to avoid. I sit on the edge of the couch, my fingers twisting nervously around the hem of my shirt. The silence in the room is thick, the kind that presses down on you, making it hard to breathe.

I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears, louder with every passing second. My phone sits on the table, face up, taunting me with the inevitable message that's coming.

They'll be here soon.

I stare at the contract again, crumpled slightly from how many times I've folded and unfolded it. It's still unbelievable. How did I end up here? Signing my life away to someone just so I could... survive? It was either this or watching everything fall apart—my future, my life. They made it sound so simple as if marriage was just another transaction. And I, like an idiot, believed them.

The text comes through. "On my way. Be ready."

My stomach lurches. I'm not ready. I'll never be ready. How can anyone prepare for something like this? I know what it means when they pick me up. It's not just a drive somewhere. It's a reminder that my freedom isn't mine anymore. I'm tied to them because of that stupid piece of paper with our names on it.

I try to steady my breathing, but it's impossible. The walls feel like they're closing in. My thoughts are running wild, picturing the car pulling up outside and the cold, empty look in their eyes when they see me. Every time they look at me, it's like they're seeing something they own. Not a person. Just... an investment. It makes my skin crawl.

I stand up, pacing the room, trying to shake the overwhelming sense of dread.

"We can always call the cops." Mya blurted; she leaned against the corner wall looking at me.

"And risk both my life and yours?"

"Good point," She sighed as she made her way towards me.

Mya's words hang in the air, but they don't provide any comfort. My mind races, a storm of anxiety and fear battling inside me. I stop pacing and meet her eyes, trying to find some kind of reassurance there, but all I see is the same helplessness I feel. She reaches out, gently placing her hand on my arm. Her touch is warm and familiar, but it does nothing to steady the tremors building inside me.

"I don't want to go," I whisper, barely able to get the words out. My throat feels tight like it's closing up. "I don't want to do this."

Mya looks at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Then don't."

I laugh, but it's hollow; the sound is more like a gasp. "You know it's not that simple. If I back out now, everything's over. My future... it's gone."

"There has to be another way," she insists, but even she knows there isn't. We've gone over it a thousand times. Every scenario, every potential escape. And every single one ends the same way—with me trapped, or worse.

The sound of a car engine hums from outside, and I freeze. My heart leaps into my throat, pounding so violently it's almost painful. My body feels like it's shutting down, fear gripping me so tightly I can't move. Mya's hand tightens around my arm, but it's no use.

"They're here," I mutter.

I hear Mya inhale sharply, her grip slipping away. The car door slams shut outside, and I know, without even looking, that it's time. Time to face this, to walk out that door and step into a life I never wanted. The weight of it all feels unbearable, crushing me from every angle. I drag my feet toward the door, barely able to breathe.