Chapter 10 Melanie
MELANIE
Something warm pressed against my lips. Wet. Sloppy. Gentle at first, almost sweet. A sleepy smile tugged at my mouth as I leaned into it, still hovering in that hazy space between dream and waking. Then the tongue got more aggressive, smearing slickness across my chin.
What the hell…? Nick?
My eyes flew open, heart thudding, and I met a pair of wide, innocent eyes.
Loco.
He panted, proud of himself, his tail wagging like a flag of triumph.
“Seriously, Loco,” I groaned, dragging my hand across my face to wipe the slobber. “Gross.”
He barked once, spun in a tight circle, then launched off the bed and trotted toward the door, letting me know he needed to go outside.
As I sat up, a moment of disorientation hit me like a wave.
This wasn’t the lakehouse. The sheets beneath me were still tucked at the corners, military-neat.
The only sign I’d even been here was the hollowed impression of my body in the mattress.
Had I passed out the moment I hit the bed?
God, what even happened last night?
My gaze swept the room, trying to gather the scattered pieces of memory.
The place was tidy, masculine, stripped-down but intentional.
Then I saw it—on the desk—a photo. Nick, in uniform, knelt beside a German Shepherd, and one arm was slung over the dog’s neck like they were brothers.
Both were grinning—Nick’s grin was real, kind, and unguarded.
The dog looked like he’d follow him into fire.
It hit me low, in the gut. That kind of bond. That kind of loyalty.
And it was the only photo in the room.
No pictures of family. No friends. Just him and the dog.
I bit down on the emotion rising in my chest. I hadn’t seen a dog around here.
Had something happened to him? War? Age?
Or did Nick just… let him go? The thought felt heavier than it should have. But maybe that’s because I knew something about letting go. About losing parts of yourself and pretending you hadn’t.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and headed downstairs. The house was small—maybe twelve hundred square feet at best—but the layout made it feel open. Lofted bedroom, big windows, clean lines. A quiet that felt intentional, like whoever lived here didn’t mind being alone.
Outside, the crisp morning air slapped against my skin. It smelled like pine and wet earth. Loco waddled to the grass and squatted—not even bothering to lift his leg, as usual. Hence the name. Loco. A little off, just like me.
I wrapped my arms around my waist, the chill creeping into my bones. It was colder and sharper than I was used to, making the air harder to breathe. Abigail said it got worse in January. If I stayed, I’d have to adjust to a lot of things.
Rounding the corner, I spotted Nick’s truck near the mailbox. Blankets and a couple of pillows in the backseat—but no Nick. I scanned the yard and the windows. Nothing. He wasn’t here.
Was he out running? At the gym? Avoiding me?
The thought lodged in my throat, bitter and sharp. Back inside, I climbed the stairs and grabbed my phone. 10:45 a.m. Late. Too late. I needed to get back to the lakehouse. Shower. Reset. Pretend I had control over any part of this day.
Abigail wanted to hang out later—Josh was back in town for Thanksgiving. He was doing exactly what he said he would. Medical school. Becoming a gynecologist. Because, of course. Josh always knew what he wanted.
I was happy for them. I was. But that happiness came with an aftertaste—like swallowing sugar and feeling it rot your teeth from the inside out. They were building futures while I was just… drifting.
I’d lied to myself about last night. Said the drinks were harmless.
Said I needed to let loose. But the truth was, I drank to quiet the buzzing in my head.
The anxiety of not knowing what came next.
The guilt that came from slipping up with my diabetes.
The ache of missing something I couldn’t name—something I’d once had, maybe, before acting chewed me up and spit me out.
I used to dream big. Chase roles. Lights. Lines.
Now I was chasing distractions. And even those weren’t working anymore.
I looked out the window again, hoping to see Nick. Part of me needed him to be here—needed something solid to hold onto. But the driveway stayed empty. Quiet. Distant.
I was getting good at pretending this was fine. But some part of me—buried deep—was screaming for more as the memory of that day came rushing through me, bringing with it a ball of emotions.
I’d been in this office a hundred times before, but today the air felt heavier, like it knew what was coming.
My whole future hung in the balance, strung tight with hope and blind trust. If the director gave me the lead, everything would change.
I’d practiced the lines repeatedly, imagined myself as Dorothy, and even heard my mom’s voice say, “We’ll just have to dye your hair brown, baby. ”
The door creaked open.
Mr. Potter stepped out with his usual grin, all teeth and charm. That smile had never scared me before, but now it made something inside me shrink.
“Hi Melanie, are you ready for your audition?”
I nodded. My heart fluttered too fast, like a bird stuck inside a cage. I didn’t know why I felt nervous. It was just Mr. Potter—my mom’s friend. I knew the lines by heart. I could do this.
“You’ll do great, sweetie. Smile your pretty smile, and you’re bound to win him over.”
My mom’s voice echoed through me, a fragile comfort. The nerves in my stomach began to settle.
“Good luck,” she said, guiding me to his door. Her hand lingered a little longer than usual on my back.
“Please help yourself to the snacks and refreshments downstairs. I will bring her down when we are through.”
We.
Something sharp and small pressed in behind my ribs. Why would he say we? Is he playing the male lead? I looked at my mom. For a second, something flickered across her face—worry? Fear? But then it was gone.
“Great, thank you,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Knock ‘em dead, baby,” were her last words before Mr. Potter took me by the hand, leading me down the hall, backstage, into the office.
The door clicked shut behind us.
“Mr. Potter, are you ready for me to perform now?”
He stood tall behind me, his smile wider than I’d ever seen it. Too wide. “Yes, Melanie, I certainly am.”
He motioned for me to stand in front of his desk as he sat down. I took my place, eager, heart pounding.
“I’ll read the lion’s lines and you read Dorothy’s. Let’s start from the top.”
“Okay.” I was ready. I opened my mouth and the words came easily, like a song I’d sung in my sleep.
But his face changed. That warm smile twisted into something darker, something wrong. A grin that made my skin feel too tight.
“Very good,” he said slowly, “but let’s try it without the dress on. It’s quite distracting.”
My hands froze. The words didn’t make sense.
Without the dress? I’d be in my underwear.
“No one should see those parts except your husband someday,” Mommy’s voice whispered from memory.
But then, another voice: “This could change our lives forever.”
Mom’s voice again. Hopeful. Expectant.
I swallowed hard. “Okay.” My fingers trembled as they reached behind me. The zipper whined as I pulled it down. The dress slid to the floor.
“Very good. Now let’s try it again. I’ll start from the top.”
I couldn’t look at him this time. My eyes locked on the script in my hands, the words blurring.
“Perfect,” he said, his voice slow, coaxing. “But you know what would make it even better?”
“What?” I whispered, trying to smile.
“If you took off your underwear.”
My stomach flipped. “My underwear? But I’ll be cold and naked.”
“That’s okay,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you. We’re thinking of adding a scene where Dorothy runs through the woods naked. This is good practice.”
My fingers twitched. I wanted to run. To scream. But the memory of my mom’s face held me in place.
She was counting on me.
I bent down and slid them off, my legs wobbling.
“Flick them to the side.”
I did. Everything inside me was trembling. But I didn’t move.
“Now I want you to touch yourself,” he said.
“W-what do you mean?”
“Put your hand on your body. Down there.”
My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. My heartbeat was thunder in my ears.
“Relax. Just breathe,” Mr. Potter said, calm, as if reading my mind.
“If you do as you’re told, I promise to make you a big star. Everyone will know your name. Don’t you want that, sweetie? To be famous and rich?”
My head nodded even though I didn’t tell it to. My voice barely existed. “Yes.”
“Okay, good. Now can you touch your pussy for me?”
My mouth opened. I blinked. I didn’t understand.“My pussy? I don’t have a cat.”
“Yes. Your pussy.” He got up and walked toward me. His hand swallowed mine and guided it down to where I wasn’t supposed to let anyone touch.
His finger rubbed a spot that made my legs lock, and a small, frightened noise escaped my throat.
“See? This is the magic spot. It helps you forget your fears. Don’t you want to feel the magic, Melanie?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Then keep rubbing until the magic comes out.”
“How do I know when to stop?”
“You’ll close your eyes and feel it. Feel the magic inside your body.”
He stepped back and sat again. I stayed frozen. My hand moved, barely, not knowing why.
“You’ll be rich and famous. It will all be worth it.”
He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak. Just watched me.
And then—zzzzzzzzzzzzip.The sound tore through the silence, sharp and metallic.