Chapter XI: Fractured Clarity
*A continuation of Evan's demise in a parallel universe*
Evan's fingers trembled as he clutched the armrests of his chair, his breath shallow, uneven. His body felt like it was made of lead--heavy, sluggish, craving something he didn't want to name.
The snow should've settled him by now.
But it didn't.
Instead, it left him hollow, restless, the high burning out faster than before, leaving a deeper ache in its wake. He had come to rely on that feeling--the blissful, numbing warmth that spread through his veins, the way it silenced his thoughts, made everything simpler, made her words sink even deeper into his brain.
But now, the gaps between the highs were growing unbearable.
His jaw clenched, his fingers drumming against the desk, a nervous, needy rhythm. His pupils were blown wide, his skin clammy, his mouth dry. He felt wrong--wired and desperate, like a machine running on fumes, moments from shutting down unless it got exactly what it needed.
And only she could give it to him.
Anna controlled everything. The powder. The release. The rules. She had structured his entire existence around her, replacing every pleasure he once had with her approved substitutes. His body no longer responded to anything that wasn't her.
His cock--once his pride, once a source of confidence--was now nothing but an aching, useless decoration between his legs, trapped and shrinking, responding only to the pain of denial rather than any form of pleasure.
And the snow? The snow was his escape. His salvation. His punishment.
He thought back to the first time she had given it to him, how easily she had framed it as a gift, a reward for his submission.
"Just a little taste, love. Just enough to help you focus on what really matters--on me."
At first, he had been hesitant. It had felt like a line he wasn't meant to cross. But then, she had guided him through it, watched him with those knowing, dark eyes as he inhaled, as the rush filled his lungs, his blood, his brain.
And just like that--everything had made sense.
The worries, the shame, the doubts--gone.
There had only been her voice.
It had made submission easier. It had made him softer, more compliant, more willing to let go of the things that had once tethered him to his old self.
And then, little by little, she had started withholding it.
"You don't need to think about that right now, Evan. Just breathe. Wait. Be good for me."
He would wait. He would ache. He would watch her, need her, beg her for another hit, beg her for a taste of the only thing that made him feel whole.
