“Don’t screw this up for me,” his breath is hot and close on my neck. His hand moves me forward like the puppet I have become.
Clothes I don’t own drape precariously on a body which is no longer just mine, a passport with my face and someone else’s name weighs heavy in my hand.
My familiar friend Fear grips me; I am not sure what I am most afraid of anymore. Being found out or not being found.
I can feel every single plastic wrapped pellet in my body, daring me to make a scene, threatening to burst.