Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just stopped showing up. If I disappeared from my seat, from the lunch line, from Karl's grip. Would anyone even look? Or would they just find a new pussy to grope under the desk, a new ass to slap in the hallway? I spent study hall today staring at a map on my phone, tracing routes out of Meme City with my finger. I could get a job somewhere. Maybe at a cafe. I'm good at following recipes. But then I think... who would want a waitress who flinches when a plate clatters, whose cunt is so used to being roughly fucked that she barely feels it anymore? The fantasy is always the same: a tiny apartment, a lock on the door, and silence. No one's cum on my sheets but my own. Just for once.