I didn’t sleep. At 6:40am the sky turned grey and I was still sitting on the bathroom floor with my phone, the collar on the counter, and 6 drafts staring back at me.

All sent from a burner email I made at 19.

miriam.hidden@gmail.com

I opened the first one.

Date: March 12th, 4 years ago.

To:

Subject: If you’re serious [redacted]

"I don’t want to be asked. I want to be told. Then I want to choose to obey. Can you do that without making me feel small afterwards?"

I read it twice. My hands went cold.

That was Darius’ exact tone. Low. Certain. No pleading.

Second draft.

"Don’t convince...