you should’ve kept scrolling 🖤

You should’ve kept scrolling.

That would’ve been the sensible thing.

One picture. Red hair. Soft body. That look on her face that somehow managed to say I know exactly why you stopped.

Then the name underneath it.
Goddess Morbid.

Cute.
You tell yourself you’re only curious.
So you click.
That’s mistake number one.

Her page isn’t loud about wanting you. That would almost be easier.

She doesn’t beg for attention. Doesn’t promise you everything if you just stick around long enough.

She seems perfectly comfortable with the possibility that you’ll leave.
Which is exactly why you don’t.

You scroll a little farther.
A post about obedience.
Another about humiliation.
Something about a tribute that makes your stomach tighten just enough to annoy you.
Then a sentence catches you.
Not even anything dramatic.
Just Goddess talking about how she likes exact numbers.
How much easier some submissives become when they don’t have to decide.
Your thumb stops.
You read it again.

That’s mistake number two.
Because now you’re not looking at her anymore.
You’re imagining her talking to you.
Not asking what you’d like to send.
Not giving you a vague little “spoil me.”
Just looking at you with that irritatingly calm expression and saying,
“Send thirty-three.”

And somehow the specificity is worse.
Thirty-three.
Not twenty.
Not fifty.
Thirty-three.
A number that feels chosen.
Personal.
Like Goddess looked at you for half a second and decided exactly what your curiosity should cost.

You close the page.
Good.
Very responsible.

Then you open it again three minutes later.
Pathetic.

There’s a payment link sitting right there.
You stare at it.
Maybe Goddess would notice.
Maybe she wouldn’t.
That thought gets under your skin more than it should.

You imagine the notification appearing on her phone.
Your name.
Your money.
Her little smile.
Maybe she says, “Good pet.”
Maybe she just sees it and keeps drinking her coffee.

You’re not sure which possibility bothers you more.
Your finger hovers.
You could still leave.
Nobody knows you’re here.
Goddess certainly isn’t chasing you.
Then another thought slips in.
What would she think if I actually did it?

There.
That’s the one.
That’s mistake number three.
Thirty-three dollars disappears from your side of the screen.

And for half a second, absolutely nothing happens.
No thunder.
No dramatic music.
No divine punishment.
Just a little confirmation.

Sent.

Your stomach drops anyway.
You laugh at yourself.
Quietly.
Because seriously?
You just gave money to a woman who didn’t even ask you personally.
Then your phone buzzes.

Goddess Morbid.

Your heart does something humiliating.
You open it immediately.
Of course you do.
Her message is short.

“there u are 😌”
That’s it.
Two words.

You stare at them like an idiot.
There you are.
Not thank you.
Not wow.
Not you’re so generous.
There you are.

Like she was waiting for the version of you who finally stopped lurking.

Like sending didn’t impress her.

It simply made you recognizable.

And suddenly thirty-three dollars feels dangerously cheap for how good those two words made you feel.

You type something.
Delete it.
Type again.
Delete that too.
What exactly are you supposed to say?

Hi Goddess, apparently I’m embarrassingly responsive to mild acknowledgment?
Absolutely not.
So you say nothing.
You sit there instead.
Looking at her page again.
Except now everything feels different.

The red hair.
The soft smile.
The cruel little posts.
The roses.
The stupid moon imagery you’re already starting to associate with her.
None of it changed.

You did.

Now there’s a receipt connecting you to it.
And somewhere in the back of your head, a new question has appeared.

Not why did I send?
Worse.

What would she have me send next?
You hate how quickly the answer becomes interesting.

Maybe five.
Maybe fifteen.
Maybe another thirty-three because now the number means something.
Maybe Goddess gives you a choice.
Maybe she doesn’t.
Maybe she tells you exactly what she wants and waits to see if that pathetic little flutter happens again.

You can already imagine her voice.
Calm.
Amused.
Not remotely concerned with whether you’re trying to look composed.
“Good. Again.”

Fuck.

You should’ve kept scrolling.
Instead, you found Goddess Morbid.
And now there’s thirty-three dollars missing from your wallet...
and one extremely inconvenient thought sitting in its place.

What would make her say “there you are” again?