EPISODE 1
My name is Amara. I am 19 years old. Please, I want every young lady reading this to learn from my mistake before it is too late.
I thought I had found the kind of love that only exists in fairy tales.
Michael came into my life like an angel. Tall, handsome, rich, and with that sweet tongue that could melt any girl's heart. He was one of those flashy boys people whispered about — a Yahoo boy. But I didn't care. As long as he loved me, nothing else mattered.
He gave me money when I needed it. Bought me the latest iPhone. Spoiled me with wigs, clothes, perfumes — things I could never have bought with my own hands.
I felt like the luckiest girl alive.
But then… something strange began.
The very first month I spent with him during my period, he said something I never expected:
"Don't throw your pad away yourself, Amara. I'll handle it."
I looked at him with surprise.
"Why would you do that? It's disgusting."
He smiled, ran his fingers through his hair, and said,
"Because I love you. Everything about you is mine — even this. I don't ever want you stressing yourself over small things. Let me do it."
My heart melted. I thought, Wow, what a caring boyfriend.
So I agreed. Anytime I changed, I would hand him the pad, and he would carefully take it away.
At first, it felt romantic — like he really loved me beyond my flaws. But then, I noticed something: Michael was too serious about it. He never allowed me to even try disposing it myself.
And it didn't stop there.
Michael seemed to know everything about my cycle. Days before my period started, he would already call me over to his house, insisting I stayed with him.
"Amara, you'll soon see your period. Come stay with me so I can take care of you," he would say.
And like a foolish girl blinded by love, I always went.
Those days were the sweetest. He pampered me, cooked for me, rubbed my back, and gave me money for no reason. But at the end of each cycle, he grew more excited — almost as if he was waiting for it.
I ignored the red flags. I told myself this was what love looked like: a man who cared about me even in my weakest moments.
But one night… everything changed.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Around 2am, I heard faint whispers from the living room. Curiosity pushed me to check. Slowly, I tiptoed to the door and peeped through the small opening.
What I saw froze my blood.
Michael sat on the floor, surrounded by candles. In his hand was something wrapped in tissue — something that looked too familiar.
It was my pad.
He placed it on a black plate, muttering words I couldn't understand. My heart pounded as fear gripped me.
Why would my boyfriend be chanting over my used pad in the middle of the night?
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But my legs refused to move.
That was the night I realized… Michael wasn't just the sweet, caring boyfriend I thought he was.
He was hiding a dark secret.
EPISODE 2 – SPOILED WITH LOVE
After that night, I couldn't close my eyes.
The image of Michael sitting in the middle of the living room, surrounded by candles, chanting over my used pad haunted me like a nightmare.
I told myself, Amara, maybe you're imagining things. Maybe it's not what you think.
By morning, I tried to act normal. My heart was restless, but Michael acted like nothing had happened. He kissed me on the forehead and pressed a bundle of cash into my hands.
"Baby, go shopping. You deserve it."
The way he spoiled me after my period was something I could never explain. He always became extra generous once I finished bleeding. Expensive gifts, wads of cash, perfumes, even wigs from abroad.
At first, I thought it was love.
But deep down, I started to feel uneasy.
Why did his money flow the most right after my period?
Why was he so excited to handle my pads?
Why did he celebrate like he had achieved something each time my flow ended?
I tried to push the thoughts aside. After all, wasn't this the dream of many girls? A rich boyfriend who loved me enough to spend lavishly on me?
But I couldn't shake off that night.
That same week, I caught Michael watching me in a way I couldn't understand. Not with love. Not with lust. But with a strange hunger in his eyes.
Sometimes, I'd be eating, and I would notice him staring at me like I was more than just his girlfriend. Like I was… his property.
"Michael, why are you looking at me like that?" I asked one day.
He chuckled, stood up, and kissed my forehead.
"Because you're my everything, Amara. You're the reason I'm alive."
His words should have made me feel special, but instead, they gave me chills.
And then something else happened that made me question everything.
One evening, while I was cleaning his room, I stumbled on a small leather bag hidden under his bed. I was curious. I pulled it out and slowly unzipped it.
Inside, I saw something that nearly made me scream.
Bundles of pad wrappers. Old, stained, folded carefully like treasures.
My hands shook.
These weren't just mine. There were too many.
Before I could think further, the door creaked open. Michael stood there, staring at me.
His smile vanished. His eyes turned cold.
"What are you doing with that bag?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
EPISODE 3 – THE CLOSET
I froze. The bag was still in my hands. My body trembled as Michael's footsteps echoed across the room.
His eyes darted from my face to the bag I had just opened. For the first time since I met him, I saw a side of him that scared me.
"Amara…" his voice was calm, but too calm. The kind of calm that hides danger.
"What are you doing with that bag?"
I stammered. "I–I was just cleaning. I didn't mean to—"
He snatched the bag from me, zipped it shut, and pushed it back under the bed with so much force that dust rose from the floor.
"Amara, there are things you shouldn't touch," he said coldly.
My heart raced. I wanted to ask questions, to scream, to run. But his glare held me captive.
Seconds later, his face softened. He smiled as though nothing happened, came close, and held my chin.
"You're too curious, baby. Curiosity ruins relationships. I love you too much to let little things spoil what we have."
He kissed me, then slipped a wad of money into my palm like he always did.
"Use this to buy yourself something nice," he whispered.
I forced a smile, but inside, my heart was burning with fear.
That night, I couldn't sleep again. I kept replaying the sight of those pad wrappers in my head. Too many of them. Not just mine.
Whose were they?
Why was he keeping them?
The next day, I pretended to be sick so I could leave his house. But just as I was about to go, Michael locked the door and pocketed the keys.
"You're not going anywhere, Amara. Not today."
I looked at him, confused and scared.
"Why? What's going on?"
He leaned closer, his eyes dark.
"Because it's almost that time of the month. And I need you here."
EPISODE 4 – THE BLOOD RECORD
My heart skipped. The way Michael said those words — "I need you here" — sent shivers down my spine.
What exactly did he need me for?
I wanted to protest, but his stare silenced me. He unlocked the door only after I promised to come back the next day. He hugged me tightly, whispering,
"Don't forget, I know you more than you know yourself. I know everything about you, Amara."
Those words disturbed me.
When I got home, I sat on my bed thinking. He had always known the exact dates of my periods. In fact, sometimes he would tell me, "You'll see your flow by Friday." And like magic, it always happened.
At first, I thought it was sweet — a man caring enough to track his girlfriend's cycle. But now, it felt… unnatural.
How could he know my body more than I did?
The following week, just as he predicted, my period started. And true to his word, he called me immediately.
"Amara, come over. I already prepared your favorite soup. Don't keep me waiting."
Against my better judgment, I went.
When I arrived, everything was perfect. The room was scented with vanilla candles. The food was delicious. He treated me like a queen.
But then… the routine started again.
"Give me the pad, baby. Let me handle it," he said softly, stretching his hand.
I hesitated this time. My stomach tightened. But his eyes burned into me, waiting.
I handed it over reluctantly. He smiled, kissed my cheek, and whispered,
"You're my goldmine, Amara. You'll never lack as long as you're mine."
Goldmine?
The word hit me hard.
What did he mean by that?
That night, as he slept, I picked up his phone quietly. My hands shook as I scrolled through his notes app.
What I saw nearly made me faint.
A calendar filled with dates — every single one of my menstrual cycles, carefully recorded with notes like "collection successful" and "next flow expected."
At that moment, I realized Michael wasn't just a boyfriend.
He was keeping records of my blood.
And I was too deep in his trap to walk away easily.
TO BE CONTINUED...