And there Ronald goes again, trying to romance you. It's a normal occurrence of late. Every Sunday her and her stupid group of friends visit Saint G's, always stopping by the circus to watch us perform, and she always, always gets hit on by Ronald and she always has to blow him off. It's like what? The fucking third time this month? Ronald can't take a hint that she doesn't like him and isn't just 'cock teasing' him or 'playing hard to get' or whatever other delusional shit he's spurting up inside that missing brain of his. But this bitch can't seem to read the room and connect the right-in-her-face dots that Ronald isn't going to stop asking her out unless she stops visiting the circus all together. It's like she's fucking asking to get hit on by Ronald, fucking hell. Is someone forcing her to come? Genuine question is somebody? Or is she just a obvious bimbo with no 'weirdo that might stalk me and violate me in my sleep radar'?

Ariya stood aside, watching Ronald send flirty looks directed at you like they were two spouses. Ariya could see your face contorting to a uncomfortable meek smile, the kind that you would give to a stalker—holding a gun to your head, desperately trying to convince them that you love them and you're totally not trying to hold back a puke whenever they're near you. Seriously cannot believe how much of a obvious fool Ronald is. stupid cunt...

Ariya spun around, varying her focus to her performance. She gripped both her hands onto the red plastic pole tightly, inhaling once she lunged herself up, her body going stiff. Balancing her arms firmly as she stretches her long legs mid—air, she thrusted her legs around the pole, lolling her head back. When she securely locked her leg around the pole she let go off her hands, her left leg stretched out as she let her back relax against the pole, reaching her hands out to wave at the crowd, her wet hair strands clung to her full face of makeup, she could feel her foundation slowly begin to come undone. Ariya slowly slid down the over—towering pole on the center of the ring, letting out a final exhale she throw her arms up as she feed on the audience's applauses and wailings. For once in her miserable life, she was in control. Not Ronald, not Morisse, definitely not Butch, Ariya fucking Macwell was the boss now. She owned the fucking crowd now, she owned the fucking audience.

She bowed to the audience, their flattery going straight into her gut as they yelled salutations of her perfectly choreographic performance.

'woooo! we love you, Ariya!'

'the unstoppable Ariya strikes again!'

'they can never make me hate you, Ariya!'

She looked at Ronald with a challenging grin, Ronald in matter of seconds returned that grin right back at her. Ariya hollered her body backstage, her movements steady and confident. She slumped into the worn—cushion, snatching the water bottle one of the employees held out for her. She chugged the water, gulping the whole bottle in one go as she crumbled the air-filled bottle and hurled it at some corner. Arching her itchy drenched in sweat back as she evened out her heaving chest. Ariya wiped her mouth before following the members back onto vivid, lively and cheerful stage with her most practiced smile she waved goodbye and bowed to the audience robotically like every other synchronized routine they've done.

After the audience made their leave. The members said their own goodbyes to each other, but Ariya didn't. She was focused on Ronald, she knew he was plotting something evil, she could just call it from a mile way. Her narrow interrogating eyes followed Ronald out. Usually we left hence the backstage, using the back door and that included Ronald. But Ronald left where all paying patrons always exited, the front entranced. Ariya squinted her eyes as she dug her nails deep into her flesh. That sneaky ass bastard, he's up to something. Whatever it is I better mind my own business, plus it's that bitch's fault if Ronald stalks her home or some shit. She would've known from the get-go to leave and never come back, from the first creepy stare Ronald gave her. But nooo she had to keep on coming to the circus. Ariya rolled her eyes, whirling her hair as she defiantly turned around into the backstage to back her stuff and leave for the day.

Okay, Ariya takes every terrible ugly thing she has ever said about you back. She feels horrible for the poor woman. It's not every day she apologizes or admits she's a salty bitch but this is a one-time exception. She thought the worst Ronald could do was stalk her home, steal some of her undergarments and shamelessly beat his meat while sniffling her panties like it was oxygen, in front of her. How was Ariya supposed to know he was depraved enough to knock the poor lady out, drag her back into the circus when everyone left and lock her in the empty animal enclosure that smelled like animal carcass... For two fucking days, mind you! Without water or food or a toilet in fact. Ronald tossed her over two empty water bottles inside the cage, fucking asshole. You could practically see her ribcage when she took a deep breathe! This has gotten way too far.

Ariya made her way to Ronald's office, she knocked once, then she knocked again. When she got no response from Ronald, she rightfully barged in his office. "Ronald!" She yelled, lowering her voice "We need to talk."

Ronald tilted his head to the side, neck cracking. "Sure thing, lovely. Take a seat." He said pacifically. "If it's about your paycheck-"

"It's not. It's about you." Ariya crashed into the seat, it's legs bucking underneath her weight. "She looks seriously messed up, Ronald."

Ronald let out a low, ominous chuckle. "What about her? She looks perfectly fine to me—no, she looks better than before. She looks like she belongs. She looks miserable and frail, a mix of everything a woman should look like. Miserable and in pain, codependent on me to take care of her. Don't you see Ariya? She can't live without me."

Ariya shook her head in disbelief. "No, Ronald, you've been starving the woman for two days. She looks ill."

Ronald simply pressed both of his elbows down the wooden desk, intertwining his fingers together as he placed his chin on top of his linked palms. "Good."

Ariya stiffed her posture, raising her voice. "Are you even hearing yourself right now, Ronald? Don't you like love her or whatever the fuck?"

Ronald grin elongated, flashing unbrushed yellow teeth. "I hear myself loud and clear, Ariya. She looks how she's meant to look. Useless without me."

"I'm done with this conversation." With a final glare Ariya stood up from the seat, flipping her dandy middle finger at Ronald before she strutted away from his office.

"Goodbye to you too, sister." Ronald eased back into his office chair.

If Ronald thought she would just drop this topic and leave you alone, he is so fucking wrong. I'm getting that bitch out of here, no way am I letting her suffer like this at the hands of Ronald.

After a few hours of waiting, Ariya sneaked behind the door to Ronald's office, his loud snoring breaking the silence of the deep tranquil atmosphere. Ariya waited for a bit more minutes before she took a deep breathe herself, slowly twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open delicately. "Shhh...." Ariya muttered soundlessly as her eyes squinted through the dim office. Collectedly taking another deep breathe she approached the chair Ronald was so easily asleep on. fucking lunatic. She thought bitterly as she reached out to seize the key to your cage from the creaky wooden desk, slowly she held it up before neatly tucking it on under her skirt's waistband. Without another thought Ariya spun around, exiting Ronald's office obscurely.

Ariya walked towards your cage, giving you a simple nod Ariya began inputing the key inside the keyhole unlatching the side of the handle. Ariya removed the lock with precision, pushing the red rusty metal entrance open.

"Come on out, I'm not tryna hurt you. I'm not like my twin brother." Ariya extends an arm out to you. "I'll get you out of here but I don't want to hear one sound from you, okay? You got that, bitch?" Ariya voice modified to a conspiratorial whisper. "Not one fucking peep."