6
110words
Screams echoed,blending with moans.Viewers caught it.
“Sounds like two women,not one.”
“Poor CampusScoop,suffering through this every day.”
Someone got my pain.
I sold the video to a gossip account for$1,000,throwing in Sarah’s bruise photos.No profit posting myself.
Sarah’s mental harm from my past life?I’d cash it out now.
She’d become a source of easy money of mine.
As the video spread,I called 911,reporting assault.
This time,the cops caught Jamal in the act—not for prostitution,but for battery.
They found Sarah,battered,barely breathing.
The ambulance arrived.Blood pooled outside,just like my past-life death,when I begged Sarah to open the door,and she left me to die.
She deserved this.
