Page 4 of Push My Buttons

And still, I don’t let go of the toy.

Not until the very end, when the last wave crests and my muscles go limp.

Only then do I slowly slide it free, glistening in the candlelight. I hold it up for them to see, turning it slowly so the light catches every slick curve. A final tease. A trophy. A parting gift that sends the chat spiraling one last time.

Then I slowly reach forward and click the stream offline.

The light from the screen fades. The quiet returns.

I sit in the chair for a long time after the camera shuts off. One leg draped over the side, hand still resting against my stomach like I’m trying to hold the heat in. Still dressed in lace and shadows. Still bathed in the warm flicker of that candle.

My body hums from the high. Not just from touch—but from power. From control. From knowing that all those eyes were on me, tipping like desperate little simps, and not a single one of them will ever see the truth.

They don’t know the girl who works at the café. The one with chipped nails, too much caffeine in her system, and an eye twitch that flares up every time someone orders a caramel soy matcha with three pumps of something unholy.

They don’t know that she used to be someone else—before everything went up in flames. Before her last name became poison, broadcasted like a goddamn horror headline across every newsfeed from here to oblivion.

I push the wig back and scrub my fingers through the sweaty strands of pink underneath. Hello Kitty pink. Too bright. Too memorable. But something else that's completely different from the girl I used to be.

But in the dark, behind the screen, I get to be anyone I want. A fantasy wrapped in lace, untouchable and utterly uninterested in real-world bullshit.

For now, that’s enough.

I remove the mask and gently place it aside before I rise, drape the robe around my shoulders, and blow out the candle. The scent lingers—black orchid and something smoky. Something that feels like another life.

And just as I step away from the setup, my phone buzzes.

I don’t know the number. And there’s no name. Just a message.

[I saw you tonight. Not through the screen.]

I freeze.

The darkness suddenly feels heavier.

I check my subscribers. The number isn’t connected to any of them.

Then my phone buzzes again.

This time a photo.

Of me.

In my costume.

Taken from the outside of my apartment window.

My stomach drops.

I move slowly, turning to look at the covered glass. The curtain is drawn. It was drawn before I went live. I know it was.

The chill down my spine is sharp enough to make me bleed.

For a moment, I just stand there, listening for anything—movement, breathing, footsteps.

Nothing.

Just the hum of electronics winding down.