Control the Camera
On Wednesday, Ethan learned that restraint did not look heroic.
It looked like deleting drafts.
It looked like swallowing replies.
It looked like taking screenshots instead of sending paragraphs.
It looked like letting other people fight with paper while his body did the slow work of existing.
He woke before his alarm, heart already tight, as if his chest had decided to be the day’s first notification. The tenderness behind his sternum was sharper this morning, the kind that made him breathe shallowly for the first few minutes after waking. He lay still and waited for it to settle, palm pressed lightly against his shirt.
Tender.
Present.
Then, as always now, his mind arrived behind the sensation.
Clara’s lawyer.
Consent narrative.
Screenshots.
HR.
The threat–proof you wanted it.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
He reached for his phone and stopped himself.
Not yet.
He sat up, tied his hair back, and went to the bathroom.
The mirror gave him the same face it had been giving him for weeks–his, softened at the edges, clear skin that looked unfairly healthy, jaw too smooth.
Neither here nor there.
He stared until the urge to flinch passed.
Then he turned away.
In his kitchen, he poured bottled water into a glass.
Cold.
Simple.
Nothing added.
He drank and felt the cold slide down his throat like a boundary.
His phone buzzed anyway.
An email notification.
From Mr. Koh.
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
Maya had set up a rule: open legal things with her.
He didn’t like that he needed rules.
He also didn’t trust the version of himself that reacted in panic.
He forwarded the email unopened to Maya.
Then he stared at the empty glass.
The city outside his window looked normal.
Birds on power lines.
A neighbour’s footsteps.
A distant delivery rider’s engine.
Normal world.
Abnormal body.
He left for work.
The office was the most dangerous place for him now, not because anyone would hurt him physically, but because the workplace had cameras in its own way.
Glass walls.
Meeting rooms.
Eyes.
The subtle theatre of professionalism.
Ethan sat at his desk and tried to be a person who only had projects and deadlines.
For two hours, he managed.
He responded to emails.
He attended a call.
He laughed once, politely, at someone’s joke.
The laugh made his chest twinge.
He kept his face neutral.
At 10:03, his phone buzzed with a notification from Instagram.
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
He didn’t open it.
He already knew.
Clara had been posting every day now, a steady drip of soft grief and gentle captions.
A slow campaign.
He could almost hear her voice in the wording.
Be kind.
Anxiety.
Love is hard.
Please pray.
Ethan kept his phone face-down.
At 10:17, Maya messaged.
Her lawyer replied again. They want your records. Mr. Koh is refusing and requesting disclosure of her prescriptions/purchases. Also–Clara posted. We need to get ahead of it.
Ethan’s throat tightened.
Get ahead.
He typed:
How?
Maya replied immediately.
We don’t go public. We go controlled. Trusted circle only. You send one statement + one proof image to ABIX core. No details, no body talk. Just fact and boundary. Control the camera.
Control the camera.
Ethan stared at the phrase.
It sounded like something from a thriller.
But this had become a thriller.
Not with guns.
With narratives.
With the way people turned a body into entertainment.
Ethan swallowed.
ABIX core.
Ivan.
Crystal.
Isabelle.
People who knew him beyond Clara’s version.
People who would not treat his skin like a rumour.
He stared at his screen.
His hands were shaking faintly.
He forced them still.
At 11:30, he asked his manager if he could step out for lunch early.
Farid nodded. “Everything okay?”
Ethan forced a smile. “Medical appointment next week. Just… managing.”
Farid’s gaze softened. “Take care.”
Ethan nodded and walked out.
In the lift lobby, he opened his notes app.
He typed a statement.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted again.
The wrong words were too easy.
Accusatory.
Emotional.
Messy.
He needed clean.
He needed something that couldn’t be twisted.
He sat in a quiet corner at a café near his office and opened the folder with the evidence photo.
The one with his name.
Ethan – Progress.
He stared at it.
His stomach turned.
Progress.
Clara’s handwriting.
He breathed slowly.
Then he wrote the statement one more time and forced himself to keep it simple.
ABIX–this is serious. I found evidence Clara deliberately administered a hormone to me without consent. I have medical documentation and have filed a report. She is currently messaging people to frame me as unstable. Please do not engage with her. If she contacts you, screenshot and send to me or Maya. I’m safe. I’ll explain more when I’m ready. Thank you.
He stared at the text.
It was factual.
It didn’t mention his chest.
It didn’t mention tea.
It didn’t mention how he felt like he was living in someone else’s skin.
It didn’t beg for belief.
It simply stated reality.
Ethan’s throat tightened.
He attached one photo.
The progress page.
Nothing else.
He hesitated.
Once he sent it, it would exist.
And in a world of screenshots, existence was permanent.
He hit send.
The message went out to the ABIX group.
A beat.
Then Ivan replied.
Received. I’m with you. No one engages her. Send me anything you need me to shut down.
Isabelle replied next.
Ethan, I’m so sorry. Are you safe? We’re here. We won’t talk to her.
Crystal’s reply came after a longer pause.
I saw her story. I didn’t believe it. I believe you. Tell me what you need.
Ethan stared at the replies.
Heat rose behind his eyes.
He blinked hard.
Not tears.
Not yet.
Just the sensation of being held by something real.
He typed:
Thank you. Just don’t engage. If she contacts you, screenshot. That’s all.
He set the phone down.
His hands were steady now.
Not because he felt calm.
Because he felt less alone.
At 2 p.m., he was called into Meeting Room 3 again.
This time, Farid sat alone.
No HR.
Farid closed the door and gestured toward the chair.
Ethan sat.
Farid’s expression was gentle, but his eyes were serious.
“I won’t ask for details,” Farid said. “But I need to check on something. Someone outside the company emailed HR again. They’re claiming you’re mentally unwell and accusing them of wrongdoing. HR is handling it, but I need to know–are you safe to work?”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
The question was reasonable.
It was also a trap Clara had laid.
He forced his voice steady. “I’m safe. I’m under medical supervision. I have legal representation. I’m not a danger to myself or anyone.”
Farid nodded slowly.
“Okay,” Farid said. “Then that’s all I need.”
Ethan swallowed.
Farid leaned forward slightly. “If you need to take leave, take it. Don’t burn out. And Ethan–don’t handle this alone.”
The words landed like Ivan’s earlier message.
ABIX rules.
Ethan nodded. “Thank you.”
Farid hesitated. “One more thing. Some people have seen the social media posts. We can’t control what people see, but we can control workplace behaviour. If anyone harasses you or makes comments, tell me. I’ll shut it down.”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
Harasses you.
The word felt too large for what had happened so far at work.
But it was the right word.
He nodded. “Okay.”
When Ethan left the meeting room, his legs felt slightly weak.
Not from fear.
From the effort of staying composed.
That evening, Maya came over with a folder.
Actual paper.
Not just emails.
She set it on Ethan’s dining table like she was laying down a weapon.
“Okay,” she said. “Updates.”
Ethan sat opposite her, hair tied back, hands wrapped around a glass of water.
Maya opened the folder.
“Mr. Koh is sending a follow-up letter,” she said. “Her lawyer is trying to frame consent. They’re demanding your records. We refuse. We demand disclosure of her purchases and prescriptions. Dr. Rani’s letter helps. We also have screenshots of her threats.”
Ethan nodded.
His chest throbbed faintly.
Maya continued, “Also, I contacted ABIX. They’re on your side. They won’t engage her.”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
He hadn’t realised how much he needed that.
Maya slid a printed screenshot across the table.
It was Clara’s Instagram story.
The latest one.
A black screen with white text.
When someone is ashamed of their own choices, they will blame you.
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
Maya’s voice was flat. “She’s escalating.”
Ethan stared.
His mouth went dry.
Maya slid another printout.
A message from Clara to a mutual friend.
He begged me to take care of him. He liked it. He’s lying now because he’s embarrassed.
Ethan’s chest tightened.
Embarrassed.
The word was a trap.
If he defended himself too hard, he looked defensive.
If he stayed quiet, he looked guilty.
Maya’s voice softened. “This is why we don’t go public. We go controlled.”
Ethan swallowed. “She’s making it sound like I consented.”
Maya nodded. “Yes. Because that’s her only defence.”
Ethan stared at the printed messages.
He felt something shift inside him.
Not rage.
A colder clarity.
“You said control the camera,” Ethan murmured.
Maya nodded. “Yes.”
Ethan stared at his glass.
Water.
Simple.
Nothing added.
He looked up. “What does that mean now?”
Maya leaned back. “It means we pick what we document. We pick who sees it. We don’t let her bait you into emotional outbursts. We respond with law, medicine, boundaries.”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
He thought of Dr. Rani.
Not quickly. Not safely.
He thought of the medical plan.
Taper.
Monitor.
Stabilise.
He thought of his body being called a choice by people who hadn’t lived inside it.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
“There’s another thing,” Maya said.
Ethan’s stomach tightened. “What?”
Maya slid a printed email across.
It was from Clara’s lawyer.
A single line under formal wording.
Our client expresses concern that Mr. Tan may not have capacity to make decisions due to ongoing mental instability.
Ethan stared.
Capacity.
Mental instability.
His mouth went dry.
They were trying to discredit him legally.
Not just socially.
Maya’s jaw tightened. “That’s the line. They’re going to try to paint you as unreliable.”
Ethan swallowed. “Can they do that?”
Maya’s voice was steady. “They can try. But we have medical documentation. We have a report. We have evidence. And you have consistent behaviour–no threats, no harassment, no impulsive actions.”
Ethan stared at his hands.
Consistent behaviour.
His life had become a performance of stability.
Maya continued, “We also get you assessed formally if needed–psych consult. Not because you’re unstable. Because it shuts down their narrative.”
Ethan’s stomach turned.
Being assessed to prove he was sane.
He stared at the wall.
His chest throbbed.
Maya softened her tone. “I know it feels humiliating. But it’s strategic. Control the camera.”
Ethan swallowed.
Control the camera.
The phrase landed differently now.
It wasn’t about hiding.
It was about refusing to be turned into content.
Ethan nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said.
Maya’s expression softened. “Good.”
Ethan didn’t flinch at the word this time.
Because it wasn’t praise.
It was confirmation.
Maya closed the folder.
“Now,” she said, “we plan your next two weeks.”
Ethan exhaled.
Planning was something he could do.
Maya listed them like tasks:
- appointment with Dr. Rani follow-up
- therapy intake
- possible psych assessment for documentation
- follow-up with lawyer
- evidence log updates
- no direct contact
Ethan nodded, each item a railing.
Then Maya paused.
“And one more thing,” she said.
Ethan’s stomach tightened. “What?”
Maya’s voice softened. “You need to decide what you do if your body keeps changing faster than you’re ready for.”
Ethan stared.
His chest throbbed.
He could feel the question like a bruise.
Maya continued, carefully, “Not identity. Not labels. Practical. Comfort. Privacy. Safety.”
Ethan swallowed.
He thought of Dr. Rani’s words.
Compression garments.
Presentation adjustments.
Tools.
He whispered, “I don’t want people to decide for me.”
Maya nodded. “Then you decide first.”
Ethan stared at the glass of water.
He saw, suddenly, the power of something simple.
Water didn’t lie.
Water didn’t carry ritual.
Water didn’t become evidence against him.
He looked up.
“I want to be invisible,” he admitted.
Maya’s eyes softened. “For now?”
Ethan nodded. “For now. I want to get through work without stares. I want to get through MRT without flinching. I want to exist without feeling like my chest is a headline.”
Maya nodded slowly. “Okay. Then we build invisibility as a tool. Not a prison.”
Ethan swallowed.
A tool.
Not a prison.
Maya stood and opened her tote bag.
She pulled out a plain compression undershirt–neutral colour, simple packaging.
Ethan stared.
His throat tightened.
“I didn’t buy it for you,” Maya said quickly. “I asked the pharmacist for options. This is optional. It’s for comfort. For your chest. For the tenderness. For the world.”
Ethan’s mouth went dry.
The world.
He stared at the undershirt as if it were a sentence.
Maya’s voice softened. “If you don’t want it, we throw it away. If you do, you try it. It doesn’t mean anything except you choosing less pain.”
Ethan swallowed.
He thought of Clara’s words.
Soft.
Better.
He thought of the way she had pushed soft shirts as camouflage.
This was different.
This was his choice.
He reached out and took the package.
The fabric inside felt smooth.
Tight.
Supportive.
Ethan’s chest tightened.
He whispered, “I hate that I need this.”
Maya’s eyes were gentle. “I know.”
Ethan nodded.
He stood and went to his bedroom.
He closed the door.
He pulled his shirt off and stared at his chest in the mirror.
Faint fullness.
Not dramatic.
But present.
He slid the compression shirt on.
The fabric hugged him tightly.
It pressed the tissue down.
It reduced bounce.
It reduced the sensation of fabric dragging across sensitive skin.
It also made him feel… contained.
Not comfortable.
Contained.
He pulled his normal shirt back on over it.
He looked at himself.
He looked more like he used to.
Not exactly.
But closer.
He exhaled.
His chest felt less tender.
The pain dulled to a background hum.
Ethan swallowed.
He opened the bedroom door.
Maya looked up.
Ethan didn’t speak immediately.
He simply nodded.
Maya’s shoulders loosened slightly.
“Okay,” she said softly.
Ethan stared at his hands.
Contained.
Tool.
Not prison.
That night, Clara went live.
Ethan didn’t see it in real time.
He found out because Ivan called.
“Bro,” Ivan said, voice tight. “She’s on IG live. Crying. Saying you’re mentally unwell. Saying you’re harassing her. Saying you’re making false accusations because you’re ‘confused.’”
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
Contained.
The compression shirt pressed against his chest like a boundary.
He breathed.
“I’m not watching,” he said.
Ivan exhaled. “Good. Don’t.”
Ethan swallowed. “Did ABIX engage?”
“No,” Ivan said quickly. “I told them don’t. I’m screenshotting everything.”
Ethan’s throat tightened.
“Thanks,” he said.
Ivan’s voice softened. “Ethan… people are idiots. But the core knows you. We know you.”
Ethan swallowed hard.
He stared at his dark window reflection.
Hair tied back.
Contained chest.
Softened face.
Unchanged voice.
Neither here nor there.
Still his.
He whispered, “I’m scared she’ll post something private.”
Ivan’s voice went hard. “If she does, it’s harassment. It helps your case.”
Ethan laughed once, bitter. “Great. My case.”
Ivan’s tone softened again. “I know. But you’re not alone. Maya is with you. I’m with you. We’ll handle it.”
Ethan nodded.
After the call, his phone buzzed.
An email.
From Mr. Koh.
Maya had already read it.
She stepped into the living room and held up her laptop.
“Mr. Koh is filing for a Protection Order,” she said. “Because of the threats and harassment. Because of her contacting HR. Because of the smear.”
Protection Order.
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
The word felt like a door closing.
A final boundary.
Maya’s voice softened. “Are you okay with that?”
Ethan stared.
He thought of Clara’s live.
Her tears.
Her story.
He thought of her standing in her kitchen, calm as she watched him see the packaging.
He thought of the message: proof you wanted it.
Ethan swallowed.
“I don’t want her near me,” he said quietly.
Maya nodded. “Okay. Then we do it.”
Ethan exhaled.
He looked down at his chest.
The compression shirt held him.
Contained.
Tool.
Not prison.
He felt, for the first time in days, a faint sense of direction.
Not healing.
Not yet.
But movement.
He opened his notebook and wrote:
Today: ABIX informed. Work contained. Legal escalated. Compression helps. Clara live. PO filed.
He paused.
Then he wrote:
Reminder: Control the camera.
He stared at the words.
Control the camera.
It meant:
Don’t react where she can screenshot your pain.
Don’t give her an outburst to label as instability.
Don’t let your body become content.
Choose privacy.
Choose tools.
Choose boundaries.
Ethan closed the notebook.
He sat back on the couch.
His chest ached less.
His mind still buzzed.
Outside, the city hummed.
Somewhere, Clara was still live, still crying into a camera, still offering the world a soft story to hold.
Ethan didn’t watch.
He didn’t comment.
He didn’t give her his face.
He gave her silence.
Not punishment.
Protection.
And in that silence, for the first time, Ethan could hear something quieter beneath the noise.
His own breathing.
Steady.
Not healed.
But steady enough to keep going.
Two chapters left.
Two chapters for his body to keep changing.
Two chapters for him to decide how to live inside it.
Two chapters to end the story with a choice that belonged to him.