[ CW ] Write a story that begins with `` I should n't have said [ yes/no ] to [ him/her . ] ''

`` I should n't have said yes to him.'' 
 
 Smoke filled tiny room. A man with a cigar too big for his face sits across from me. The single filament bulb casts a dim glow, barely illuminating the pantsuit of the clown standing behind him. 
 
 `` Real-ly?'' He splits the word in between the Ls. Rolls his tounge along his teeth. Looks at his cigar. Puffs cheeks. Raises eyebrows. Glances too me. `` You are... sure?'' 
 
 Determination fills me. `` Yes, completely.'' 
 
 `` There was n't, real-ly, anything left of him.'' Pats his cigar thoughtfully, ash spreading on the table. `` You're quite... sure, that you made the cor-rect decision?'' 
 
 I am not going to let him get the better of me. Not again. For seven years, I had been slaving under his intent gaze, jumping at his every beck and call, just seeking to please. 
 
 `` Absolutely. I stand by everything I did, even though I know I should not have.'' 
 
 Pat, pat. Inhale. Sigh. Exhale. Looks away. Rolls tounge along bottom teeth. Looks to me. 
 
 `` Real-ly?'' Pat, pat. `` I know how to make you talk. Talk like a little bay-bee.'' 
 
 I squirm internally. I know what comes next. He's done it before. He's done it for years. 
 
 The clown behind him throws a folder on the desk. 
 
 `` Pick it up.'' I do n't move. 
 
 `` Now.'' I move. 
 
 I unfold the flap, and Polaroids fall into my lap. Pictures of my victims spill over me, cascading onto the floor. The memories of my actions fill my mind, stuffing out all sensible thought. Sweat beads on my scalp, on my hands, along my back. I know he knows. He knows I know. I swallow. The cards are all on the table now. 
 
 I decide to go all in. 
 
 `` I've never seen any of these before.'' 
 
 `` Real-ly?'' He stabs the table viciously, ash spilling. The cigar lists heavily, smoking. `` You real-ly do n't.'' 
 
 I shake my head, sweat flying off my hair. I know my ruse is weak. 
 
 `` Maria?'' The clown moves. In a flash, I am thrown over her knee, my bottom is exposed, and I am receiving the classic, archaic punishment. 
 
 Time slows. My vision narrows. Redness creeps into my vision as the pain spreads, fire coursing through my bones. My body shakes, from sobs, from pain. 
 
 I know how to make it stop. I need it to make it stop. I choke through tears. 
 
 `` I did it! I did it! I'm sorry!'' 
 
 He leans back, folds arms. `` What did you do?'' 
 
 `` I ate mother's cake!''
