I killed my brother myself.

He threatened me, forcing me to be his model.

Edgy, disturbing, pushing every boundary imaginable.

He made me wear revealing clothes, posing as if I was caught in a candid shot.

He’d even fill the bathtub with fake blood and make me soak in it.

The thick, metallic scent of it made me nauseous; I’d turn pale with terror, shaking uncontrollably.

But my brother, Caleb, would just keep clicking the shutter, murmuring, "Perfect."

Then, right in front of me, he’d compile the photos into a collection and upload them.

His smile was manic, his face twisted into something grotesque and eerie.