Days blur together into a sickening cycle of interviews, training, and mandatory public appearances that drain Rebecca to her core. The live interview pairings—Contestant 2 with 53, 3 with 52, 4 with 51—follow the same formula, each one fueling the viewers’ hunger for more. The only change is Reese, who has become elusive. He drifts like a ghost through crowded hallways, his gaze never meeting hers. The warmth of his touch from three nights ago, that unexpected glimpse of his true self, now seems like a distant memory—a trick of her weary mind.
Did she imagine him suggesting an alliance? Did he even show up at her door that first night? Or did she dream of it? Maybe it was all just another move in his game. Maybe all he’s trying to do is wear her down. Or maybe he meant everything he told her, but got tired of her rejections and decided not to insist anymore. Neither option makes her feel any better. Or any safer.
In isolation, she watches the others. Contestant 51—the drug-addicted mother—posts early-morning stories from her balcony, thanking the show for teaching her how beautiful life can be when you’re clean. Little do her followers know her dealer boyfriend supplies her with every kind of substance. Meanwhile, the twins—Contestants 6 and 9—take a different route, filling their online stories with dark, personal comedy that makes it hard for Rebecca to watch.
On the seventh day, she wakes to morning light filtering through the curtains of her bedroom. Shimmering dust motes dance above her. Outside, the usual rhythm of Live—the cryptic conversations, the endless theme song, the distant thrum of arena preparations—feels muted today, almost serene. Of course, it doesn't last long.
Leaving her dormitory, she rounds the second corner on her way to the dining hall. Down the corridor, her gaze catches Reese talking to his phone—although it's Contestant 14 holding it in front of his face.
Reese shakes his head and covers his mouth. At his feet lies a large guitar case, and in his hand, a smooth, polished electroacoustic guitar. He gestures animatedly, a wide, almost childlike grin spreading across his face.
Rebecca stops in the middle of the hallway. The last thing she wants is to draw his attention—or worse, avoid it only to end up in his video anyway. So she stays put.
He uploads the video as soon as he finishes recording it. A flood of hearts and comments fills her screen. In it, he thanks his fans with staggering gratitude.
“This… this is everything,” he says, emotion choking his words. “Music… is the only thing that keeps me sane. It’s what keeps me going.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
He then records a second clip, strumming a few chords—a melancholic melody, both joyful and heartbreakingly sad. When he sings, a crack in his mask threatens to shatter it completely.
Rebecca feels a strange blend of pity, fascination, and reluctant understanding. For a fleeting moment, his devotion to music reminds her of her own passion for dance—when the music began and her body moved in perfect rhythm, all her troubles melted away. Now, however, that passion has turned to fear.
He puts his phone away, but before he can catch her eye, she slips away quietly, returning to her daily routine.
The fifth interview slot comes and goes, and the other contestants murmur among themselves, speculating. Rebecca barely listens—she hates how easily her focus drifts, and even more, why—but she keeps scanning the room until she’s sure: Reese isn’t there.
The interview does little to quiet her thoughts about what he might be doing—thoughts that keep roiling in her mind long after it’s over.
At 3?AM, a notification flashes on her screen, rousing her from her restless sleep—a new song from Reese. She hesitates, her finger hovering over the play button. Sleep is a luxury she can’t afford, but curiosity and the need to understand win over her exhaustion. With a deep breath, she clicks play.
From the start, the melody is achingly beautiful. It’s unfinished and rough around the edges, yet it holds a haunting quality that captivates her instantly. His voice—choked and exposed—pours through her headphones, painting a portrait of inner turmoil and unexpected longing. He sings of disguises, of the effortless pretense of indifference, of a heart teetering on the verge of yielding to desperation.
“…And I’ll put my heart
in your hands
and you’re gonna watch it throb
until it’s dry
and I’ll be fine
'cause you'll be mine
and you’ll be by my side.”
As Watch Me Beg fades out, Rebecca is left in the unsettling silence of her bedroom, trying to understand the pressing knot in the pit of her stomach. She slides down into her sheets, rolls onto her side and shuts her eyes. But it’s all useless. She can’t sleep now, no matter how tired she feels.
A voice in her head won’t shut up. A burlesque voice—harsh and cynical—that sounds oddly similar to one coming from the speakers.
“Stand up and dance,” the voice says. “How long are you going to cower from your past mistakes? How long before the viewers notice the waste of air you’ve become? How long before you fall into Reese’s trap and become the pretty little puppet he wants you to be?”
Rebecca sits up, panting, sweating, drenched in fear—fear of losing control over the game, over her head, over her heart. And it’s only been seven days.
