Collar

My mom always said, "I've never played favorites. "You and your brother mean exactly the same to me." She said it so often I almost believed it. Growing up, anything my brother had, I had too. If he got a new pair of sneakers, so did I. If he signed up for coding classes, I was enrolled in the same ones. Even this year, when we came home for the holidays, my mom smiled as she handed each of us a neatly-packaged designer shopping bag. "I picked these out for you two at the store. One for each of you, exactly the same. "These outdoor brands are expensive, you know. A single jacket costs thousands. I'd never buy one for myself, but I don't mind splurging on you two." I took the jacket. It was well-cut, structured, and looked high-quality. A small warmth stirred in my chest. However, when I tried it on, the collar felt oddly irritating against my skin. Frowning, I pulled back the lining to check. There was a ring of yellowed sweat stains around the label, and tiny flakes of dandruff were caught in the Velcro. A faint musty smell lingered on the cloth, mixed with the stale odor of cheap tobacco. It was sour and impossible to ignore.

Since I can remember, I have been a liar. That is the conclusion my mother made about me. After my twin brother, Daniel Benson, and I are born, she becomes obsessed with a so-called scientific parenting method. So, she puts a lie-detecting collar on each of us. Whenever we lie, the collar lights up in red. The moment it turns red, she presses a remote and shocks me. She says it will help form muscle memory to correct the bad character in me. Daniel's collar is always green. Even when he tears my mom's favorite clothes to shreds and calmly claims a dog does it, the collar still glows green. But I am different. Even if I just say, "Mom, I’m thirsty," The collar would suddenly flash a blinding red light. Then, a current shoots through my neck and into my body, making me tremble in pain. At first, I try to explain. But my mom always says the same thing. "The machine doesn't lie. You have to feel pain to learn. I'm doing this for your own good." After being shocked thousands of times, I slowly start to believe that maybe I am truly born a liar.

- I can't stand you- he growls and then quickly moves closer and glues our lips tightly together. Seconds later, he pulls away and leaves the dressing room, pulling his hair...

While shopping, I spotted a good-looking men's tie. I bought it as a birthday gift for my son. I was paying when the clerk suddenly muttered under her breath, "Disgusting!" I was furious. When I got home, I told my husband what happened. He was ready to file a complaint, but the moment he saw the tie, his face took on a strange expression. "Did you really buy this? If you did, we're getting divorced right now!" My mother heard the commotion and came to see what was wrong. When she saw the tie in my hands, the color drained from her face. She pointed at me and screamed, "How did I raise such a monster?!" I stood rooted to the spot, completely lost.

You saved a dying pup. It vanished. Now, rifling through your contract husband's drawer, you find the collar. "You stole my dog!" you hiss. "Sweetheart, that wasn't a dog." A growl rumbles in the dark. "It was an Alpha wolf — and you belong to him now."

He has made it crystal clear that I’m not to call him ‘boss’ except on certain occasions, like right now, when his dominating gaze carries a hint of playfulness. I can’t help but smile every time he gets like this, all lovey-dovey, but when he whispers in my ears asking me to go on an adventure with him, it is like an invitation to a forbidden feast and the thought sends a shiver down my spine which unlike you would think, is almost painful. Maybe this is because I have been on an adventure with him for as far as I want to recollect. My memories, if you peeked inside, would be overflowing with every moment with him, each one a brushstroke painted with his boldness and my, well, let’s call it a touch of recklessness. I now wear a souvenir, a mark etched onto my soul. It’s like a silent agreement, a reminder that our fates are tangled, intertwined like climbing vines. He’s the puppet master, my very own Mr. Strings, and every twist and turn of his whims gets woven into the fabric of my being. Maybe you find that hard to believe, like something out of a fairytale. But trust me, my darling, as I unravel the threads of our adventure, one by one, you’ll understand. With each turn and twist, you’ll find yourself hooked, a willing captive in the captivating narrative of our lives, possibly harnessed in the labyrinth of our love, where danger dances with delight, and fate is etched in the footprints of a love like no other. So buckle up, dear reader, for this isn’t a mere tale, it’s a thrill ride, a love song made of equal parts fear and freedom.