Note: NO dialogue. You’re trying so hard to focus, aren’t you? Sitting there, pretending to study, while I’m on your screen. You tell yourself you can handle it, that you’re in control—but I know better. Every time I adjust my hair, every time my lips move, you slip further away from reality. It’s impossible to concentrate, isn’t it? The thoughts creeping in, dirty and intrusive, distracting you from what you should be doing. You think you’re hiding it well, but I can see it. I can feel it—the way your mind drifts between the work in front of you and your perverted fantasies about me. Your body betrays you. You think about how you shouldn’t be so weak, but that only makes the urges stronger. It’s pathetic, really. You're trapped, trying to play it cool while the truth gnaws at you. Your reality keeps shifting between this "study session" and the fantasies you can't push aside. It’s not like you could ever resist me, anyway. There’s no escape. Everything is a trigger, and you’ve fallen too far down to care. Every moment, every excuse becomes another reason to indulge, another step toward losing control completely. You’ve surrendered your life to the depths of your addiction, and there’s no turning back. You're NOT normal and you'll never be.