3. Chapter 3 #2
Londyn83: I was getting coffee yesterday morning and thought a guy was watching me. He wasn't, but I panicked and ran out. Almost maced an innocent couple. Then there was a guy who felt like a stalker. I'm sure I was seeing things, but I keep thinking about him.
I wait, watching the little dots pulse as she types.
RavenMad: That sounds scary! He was following you?
Londyn83: I don't know. Probably not. He was just looking at me strange. Or I was overreacting. Just my brain being my brain, you know. This is a crowded city. People look at strangers all the time and it doesn't mean anything. I'm delusional.
I'm trying to brush it off, but my chest tightens just remembering that man. I'm sure he was only a normal guy going about his day, not evil at all, but danger doesn't have to be real for my past fears and worries to get activated.
RavenMad: If your instincts said he was bad, he could've been and I'm happy you're safe.
I appreciate her validation even though my paranoia doesn't deserve it.
Londyn83: Thanks. Sometimes I can't tell the difference between actual danger and my trauma brain throwing a party.
RavenMad: Doesn't matter. Listen to your instincts because it's better to be safe.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, my heart suddenly a trapped bird in my ribcage. I start typing: I'm always scared that—
Then I stop. Then I delete the words letter by letter. Backspace, backspace, backspace. The truth about my past was trying to escape through my fingertips, but I can't let it. I was threatened never to tell my truth, and so far, my silence has kept me alive.
Raven knows the basics of my trauma, but she doesn't know about The Director because I told her a random man hurt me. I've never spoken about the real man's empty promises, the deception and grooming. His cruelty that no one except me noticed.
"If you want opportunities, Elle, you need to be seen by the right people. Come to the party as my date. You'll schmooze, meet people, grab their attention for new roles. You won't forget it."
Elle was my stage name and he'd roll it around his tongue like something he savored. Stupidly, I listened to him and that party changed my entire life.
Raven also doesn't know about the two men who came to my apartment two weeks after the party; the threats to keep my mouth shut, demanding I leave Cali.
They left bruises as parting gifts.
I did exactly what they demanded. I kept silent, packed up my life, and abandoned my career right when I was on the verge of a role everyone said would get me an Oscar.
I changed my hair and my entire existence.
I haven't even dated since then or tried to contact my family, not that my mom cares enough to notice.
But I've always worried: what if those scary men come back? What if The Director comes for me?
Then I challenge that thought with, "Why?"
I haven't done anything wrong, so what could they, or the director they work for, possibly want?
That's why this all must be my paranoia. There's no reason they'd find me here and try to… what? Threaten me when I haven't caused problems?
Londyn83: Just feeling uneasy but I'm okay.
RavenMad: Are you cancelling your date tonight?
My finger traces invisible patterns on my desk as I consider it. Cancel? Don't cancel? The strain of each option feels heavier and heavier.
Londyn83: I don't know. Marcus seems nice.
And he does. At least, the version of him that exists online in sweet messages and good morning GIFs.
We've been talking for months because I've been dragging my feet about actually setting a time for our first date.
To Marcus, I have a super busy life, though reality is the complete opposite.
Other guys would've given up after my first three-week disappearing act, but not Marcus.
He just... waited. Sent a simple "Hope you're doing okay" when I resurfaced.
Compared to other men I've attempted to chat with online, Marcus doesn't pressure me, so we've developed a simple friendship of greetings and check-ins. We even have a few things in common, like a love of comedy movies.
Londyn83: He's been so sweet, so I do want to meet him in person. What if we actually hit it off?
What I don't say is how rigidly I've controlled what he knows about me.
He's shared stories about his childhood dog's funeral, about falling off the stage during college graduation, about his grandma's meatloaf recipe that he still can't replicate.
He's given little pieces of a real life in an attempt to make a deeper connection.
Meanwhile, I've given him carefully curated scraps.
Books I've read (true). My favorite candle scent (true).
Stories about my childhood (completely fabricated so he doesn't find stories about Elle the Actress online and connect the dots).
I even lied about my job and told him I work at a clothing boutique in Midtown.
I've made a patchwork persona that's just real enough to be believable but not real enough to be traceable.
I want to meet him, but I don't know if I can go through with it today. I'm too triggered.
RavenMad: That'd be a proper suck of the sauce bottle! You've talked about him a lot!
Londyn83: haha! Sometimes I have no idea what you're saying.
RavenMad: You love me for it.
Londyn83: So how's the Hole In The Ceiling saga? Has your landlord sent another "repair person" who just stares at it and leaves?
Raven's ongoing battle with her Melbourne landlord is better than any reality TV show. I lean back in my chair, hoping for a diversion.
RavenMad: OH MY GOD YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED
I smile as her enthusiasm fills my screen.
RavenMad: Yesterday I come home and there's a bloke in my flat, standing on a stepladder, PAINTING AROUND THE HOLE. Not fixing it. PAINTING IT. Like if he makes it the same color as the ceiling, I won't notice there's still a hole!
I laugh out loud and both Maria and Josh peek out of their separate cubicles. They both give me a warm smile. I bet they know I'm messing around at work, but they do it too. I actually give them a smile in return before focusing on my keyboard.
Londyn83: No way. What did you say?
RavenMad: Asked if he was planning to paint my floors too since they get soaked every time it rains. He says that's "a separate work order" and he "only does paint." Then the landlord has the nerve to text me after saying they've "addressed my concerns about the ceiling aesthetics."
Londyn83: Aesthetics??? So the giant hole letting in rain is just... a skylight feature now?
RavenMad: Exactly! "Luxury natural water feature" will be in the next rental listing. I hate my landlord.
I grin and relax into my chair. For these few minutes, I exist outside my careful container and constant vigilance. I'm just a normal person chatting with a friend.
But like a stage manager cutting through the chatter with a time warning, Raven brings us back to reality.
RavenMad: So... date or no date? It's completely okay to cancel if you're feeling off. If Marcus is a good bloke, he'll understand. And if he doesn't, fuck him.
My body is heavy in my ergonomic chair, like I can't lift a finger. The fluorescent lights suddenly feel too bright, too exposing.
Six years. Six years since I've voluntarily sat across from a man and tried to make conversation or flirt. Six years of isolation. Six years of safety through invisibility.
And now I'm contemplating dinner with a stranger.
I'm a house divided against itself. Part of me wants to cancel and eat ice cream all night. Another part—a part growing louder each passing month—is desperate to step out into the sun again. Just the sun, not the spotlight.
I miss touch and companionship. Whether I truly connect with Marcus or not, I'm longing to try. I'd like to get closer to something resembling a normal life.
Therapy has a term for this: reclamation. Taking back what was stolen. Not just surviving, but living.
My last therapist would be proud that I'm naming the fear and acknowledging the desire to move forward. That I'm fighting against what happened in my past so it doesn't define my entire future.
RavenMad: U still there, luv?
I stare at the blinking cursor on the screen. I don't know what to tell her, or what to decide.
I want to go on the date; I don't want to. I'm a little excited; I'm a ton of terrified.
Raven messages again before I can finish thinking. She is a little impatient sometimes.
RavenMad: You can cancel. Chuck a sickie. No worries.
Londyn83: I'm going through with it. It's decided.
There. Done.
The decision settles into my bones. Not with the lightness of excitement but with the solid weight of determination. This isn't about butterflies or romance. This is about reclamation.
Moving forward is always uncomfortable. My old therapist, who was compassionate and wise beyond her years, would remind me of this constantly.
"Lean into the discomfort. That's where growth happens."
Tonight, I'll lean so far into it I might fall on my face. I'll sit across from Marcus at the Italian restaurant I picked—the one with two exits and a clear path out—and I'll make conversation. I'll smile while calculating how quickly I can reach my pepper spray or taser if things go south.
But that shouldn't happen because I've vetted Marcus as much as possible. I stalked all of his socials and even paid for a background check. He mostly posts pictures of his dog and he had one unpaid parking ticket during his college years. Otherwise, he seems like an average guy with no red flags.
The date won't be perfect, but it will be a step. One trembling, terrified step toward the woman I'm trying to become.