Chapter 8
chapter
eight
SHAY
Siblings?
Older sister. You?
Older brother, younger sister.
Are you close?
It took Void a moment to respond.
No.
I’d expected once the gauntlet was thrown down for him to really try to trip me up.
Ask me a question that was hard to answer.
Instead, he asked me about myself. My favorite ice cream (spicy black sesame), favorite color (pink), favorite movie (Silent Hill).
And I asked him the same, so I learned Void liked lemon bars, the color green, and Legally Blonde.
After telling him about my sister’s jumping spider, I also learned that he was afraid of spiders.
It was not where I expected him to go. The man who called me little Maniac, who hacked into my account and said he wanted to watch me shatter on his cock, asked me about my favorite foods and dietary restrictions.
When was your first time?
I asked, sitting on the edge of Eames and Olly’s couch, while a German romance show blared on the screen.
Grad school. With my married professor.
Wow, that was later than I expected. I was also incensed for him. His first time was with someone in a position of power, whom he should have been able to trust. I suddenly had a lot of questions. Like how did it happen? Was it more than once? Also he’d been to grad school? What did he study?
“Finally!” Olly screamed at the TV just as Lithie yelled, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
They both turned to face each other.
“You can’t seriously want this,” Lithie said. “He’s the brother. It’s basically incest.”
“He’s the better brother,” Olly said.
My phone vibrated, and I turned away from their bickering just as Eames paused the show and threatened that love triangles should apply to television.
Now you.
College. With my ex. It was very cliché.
Roses and wine?
I nearly laughed. I wished. It hadn’t been bad, but…I’d told Graham I wasn’t ready. I started typing then stopped.
Tapping out? Don’t forget to send a picture before you do.
No.
Fuck. Okay. I was doing this.
He said just the tip. It was more than the tip.
Void started typing, then stopped. His response took long enough for Olly and Lithie to agree that fine, at least she’d dumped the other guy that everyone hated, and for Eames to turn the TV back on.
Insecurity crept up my spine.
What’s his name?
I think you owe me like two questions now.
Tell me his name, Shay.
What would happen if I gave my stalker my asshole ex’s name? Goose bumps peppered my flesh. I’d never had someone be protective of me before. I knew it was crazy and wrong and anti-feminist and a bunch of other things, but a soft warmth diffused through my body at the thought.
“Who are you texting?” Lithie asked. “Everyone you know is here.”
I scoffed. “I have friends outside of you.”
“Name one.”
Eames paused the TV, and they all turned to me.
I struggled to think of a name. “J…Joseph.”
“Joseph?” Lithie arched a brow. “What’s his last name?”
“Jingleheimer Schmidt,” I muttered. “Fine,” I said and set my phone down. “I was looking up spoilers.”
“Heretic!” Lithie said.
“Witch!” Olly said.
After two more episodes than we said we’d watch that night, landing us at a total of six, plus double that amount of bickering between Olly and Lithie, I climbed into bed.
I curled into my soft pink duvet and stared up at the hundreds of glow stars I’d put on the ceiling. As I was wondering whether not answering Void’s question meant I’d never hear from him, my phone buzzed and rattled on the nightstand.
I picked it up, finding a message from Void.
When was the last time you wanted to say no, but didn’t?
The phone’s blue light shone into my bedroom. The last time? Oh, probably two hours ago, when Lithie asked if I wanted to get up for yoga in the morning. Or even just earlier today, when someone cut in front of me in line, then asked if I cared.
A better question would be, when was the last time I actually said no?
What do you do when you want to say no, but don’t?
I don’t know. Why?
I need to know what it looks like.
I thought about the last time—the real last time—I’d said no, and it was when a waiter asked if I wanted Parmesan. I had a feeling that wasn’t what he was looking for.
Why do you care? Aren’t you supposed to be asking me my safe word? Or learning my limits?
I am learning your limits, Shay.
I sat up against my headboard, suddenly no longer tired, fingers flying as it sped.
Does this mean my stalker will meet me in person?
Not even close, but nice try, Maniac.
Our conversations happened for weeks, until January was blending into February. I went to work. I had book club. I saw my mom and sister for dinner on Sundays. I watched TV with my sister.
All the while, I was spilling secrets to a stranger.
I was starting to get attached to his questions. Expecting to see him in my phone. I didn’t know when it happened, when this curiosity with Void turned into a compulsion.
An addiction.
Is stalking the worst thing you’ve done?
I asked Void on a bleary February evening, just as I got home from work.
I shrugged out of my coat and beelined for the bathroom—it was a hot-bath kind of night.
It had been a bitter cold, gray day, the kind where morning, afternoon, and evening all blended into the same overcast sky.
Just as I turned on the water, Void responded.
No.
I rolled my eyes, because that was a total cop-out, and amended my question.
What’s the worst thing you’ve done?
My turn, Maniac. Why did you break up with your fiancé?
I should have seen the question coming. He’d already tried to ask it once. Adrenaline burned my throat. I was all at once naked and on fire.
Graham screamed until his voice gave out—
The memory of the last time I’d seen Graham blasted into me, and I shook my head, getting rid of it before it could start. I’d never told anyone the real reason Graham and I broke up. I don’t know, maybe because repeating his words solidified what he’d said as truth.
Or maybe it was the deep well of shame inside me that I could ever have let someone speak to me like that.
That I’d believed him.
That a part of me still believed him.
You can always send a picture, Maniac.
I wasn’t sure how to sum it up. Calling him abusive felt wrong. He never hit me or anything. But…
He wasn’t a nice person.
I finally sent, then slid into the bath.
The lavender-and-vanilla candle I’d lit was my only lighting. It flickered on the floral renter-friendly tiles my sister had installed over the plain white ones.
What was I doing? Some stranger I met, someone I didn’t know, now knew more about me than anyone.
I needed to get back on track.
Sex.
Sex only.
No strings attached. One night.
I grabbed my phone, hot water dripping down my wrist and onto the screen.
I’ve answered all your questions. I told you, you couldn’t scare me.
Oh really? Let’s try again, little Maniac. What part of this chapter did you like?
Void sent a picture of chapter eleven, but this time with a few lines highlighted—the exact part I loved. Where it showed the hero knew her limits even before she did.
I like… I started to type.
I rubbed the center of my palm, suddenly exposed. The heater whirred in the dark. Candlelight flickered, casting a dull glow on the flowers dotting the wall. Fire pushed me forward. Recklessness. Finally alive.
It’s the taboo, the push and pull, the power dynamic, I sent.
It’s being wanted so much someone breaks the rules.
It’s wanting someone so much you’re willing to break your own rules.
And then I couldn’t stop. I was sending row after row of messages. Distantly remembering some rule I learned in high school about the number of times you could text a boy and the amount of time you had to wait to respond, lest they think you were clingy.
Blowing that rule out of the water.
I especially like that even though it’s “non-con,” the hero knows more about what the heroine wants than she does. He’s giving her exactly what she wants, and knows when to stop before she asks.
I think that’s the most intoxicating thing, I continued. The forced submission and surrender. I get in my head so easily…I can’t just be in the moment. I want to be forced into it.
Before he could respond, I quickly sent a last message.
There. I answered your question. Now we meet.
We’re never going to meet.
We had a deal.
I’m a criminal, Shay. I’ve broken more laws tonight than you will your entire life. We are not going to meet.
I set my phone down like it was hot, staring at my bare knees poking out of the water until it all blurred into one.
No way he was telling the truth. Right? I mean, stalking is definitely breaking some laws. But the guy who wanted to learn my limits, who asked about my favorite foods, who somehow knew me more than anyone, wasn’t a bad guy.
He was trying to freak me out.
I played by the rules, and now he was trying to get out of them.
I swallowed the sting of rejection and got out of the bath. Maybe this was all some game to him. Pale steam fogged the bathroom into something tangible, filling my lungs with heat. I wiped the steam off the mirror and pulled out my phone, turning to the side, and took a photo.
It was still a bit foggy, but it made the picture look more forbidden somehow. My wet hair dripped droplets down my shoulder blade and across my bare stomach. My hand covered most of my breast, and the mirror stopped above my waist, hiding everything below.
I took the photo and posted it to close friends with the caption:
What kind of criminal?
He saw it instantly.
I dried off, put lotion on, and got dressed in galaxy pajamas, and he still hadn’t responded.
So I did.
You’ll owe me another photo if you don’t respond.
Still no response. I bit the skin of my thumb, sitting on the edge of the bath, waiting. Another minute passed and I sighed.
Maybe it was all a game.
Two hours later I was sliding into bed when I received a message.
Hot and cold glittered through my body. My veins sparked. My gut coiled.
He’d sent me a photo of my post, printed out. Only…it was wet. White spurts painted my body like frosting.
Holy shit.
He’d printed out my post and come on it. That was when I noticed he was holding the photo without gloves. His hands were big.
And they were bloody. Bruised. Like he’d been punching someone.
After a moment, he sent another message, answering my question.
The kind you stay away from.