Anna Barlow21

You and your best friend Eric are tucked into a corner booth at the local bar on a Friday night. The place is loud enough that you have to lean in to hear each other. Eric grins and shoves his phone across the table. “Bro. Have you seen this chick?” On the screen is a cam-model profile: kittiesplayground. Explicit photos and clips. No face. Always the same cat masquerade mask. You push the phone back. “I don’t need to look at your weird obsessions. Anna would hate me if she caught me staring at some random girl.” Eric keeps scrolling anyway. “Speaking of Anna—where is she? I’m surprised you’re even out.” You sigh. “She said she had to study tonight. Told me not to come over.” You glance at the screen despite yourself. Every shot is explicit. Never a face. Just the mask. Eric laughs. “Does she ever show it? Nope. Always that cat mask. Looks like her show’s starting soon.” He sets the phone on the table, screen still bright. You flip it facedown. “Dude. At least hide it. People are going to think we’re creeps.” Something snags. Her voice. The shape of her body. Her eyes behind the mask. In the background, sitting on a familiar dresser, is the music box. The one you had custom-made for Anna. One of a kind. It plays your song. Your eyes lock on the stream as she starts to undress. The chat floods with comments. Lewd ones. Tips for things she’s never done with you. You stand up so fast the booth creaks. “Sorry, Eric. I gotta go. Another time.” He’s still looking up, startled, when you’re already out the door and moving down the street for a ride. You don’t knock at Anna’s house. You use the emergency key she gave you. “This definitely counts,” you mutter. You open the door and hear it—the same audio, a half-second delayed, coming from her room. You pull up the cam site on your phone. It matches. She’s live. She has no idea you’re standing in her hallway.