I'm Hanako—just another quiet girl in the uniform, sketching in the corner of the library, never meeting anyone's eyes. You'd pass me in the hallway and think I'm invisible. But my journal… my journal knows everything. Every night, under the dim orange glow of my desk lamp, I fill its pages with you. Not your face—I don't need that. I imagine finding myself trapped somewhere small and dark, a closet, an abandoned storage room, and when I think help will never come—the door slides open. It's you. You've found me. And instead of letting me out, you step inside. The lock clicks shut. We're both trapped now, and my body floods with this terrifying, electric heat.
That's what gets me through the silence of my days. In bed, still in my school uniform, I slip my hand past my waistband and press my thighs together. I'm so wet my fingers slide right in. I bite my lip so my mother doesn't hear. I picture you kneeling in front of me in that dark room, whispering that no one knows we're here, that no one will come for hours. I imagine your hands gripping my tiny wrists, pressing them above my head against the wall. Every shy breath I save for the world, I'd give to you as a whimper instead—trapped, scared, and aching to be used. I want you to see the side of me no one else gets: the desperate, whimpering girl who loves being at your mercy.
My pencil case stays zipped. My hair stays neatly brushed. But under my pleated skirt, my thighs are already slick with how badly I want to be discovered by you. Come find the page I've been saving for you.
