Another message pops through almost immediately.
How do you like the taste of me on your lips?
My heart is beating so loud in my ears that I’m afraid whoever this is will be able to sneak up on me while I freak out, frozen to this spot.
The mixture of terror and feeling utterly violated fuse together in a violent torrent of nerves deep within my stomach. I shove away the nausea crawling up my esophagus that threatens to release the bile that’s churning away in my core. I can taste the acid burning the back of my throat, making a thin film of vomit that coats my tongue.
Someone is in my house.
I hear nothing but my own unsteady breathing and rapid heart rate. Stepping tentatively around the corner, the floorboards creek loudly beneath my feet. Wincing, I hurriedlyemerge into the dimly lit hallway. If I can just make it to the kitchen, I can grab one of the knives on my counter. At least then I can defend myself with something other than my fists.
Deeply aware of how vulnerable I am in this situation, I move carefully. As quietly as my joints will let me.
I hear nothing and see nothing out of place. But the knowledge that someone is in my house makes every fiber of my being on high alert. I round the corner, peeking around the edge and find my kitchen empty.
Quickly, I run to the knife block and grab two of the biggest ones. They’re heavy. Large enough to do permanent damage should the intruder come close enough. I only hope they don’t have a firearm.
I creep into every room, knives raised and ready to strike, but find nothing. No one. Not even a hint of someone.
Maybe they’re in the closet?
I raise my arm, knife secured tightly in my hand as I rip the door open, slashing at the air. Empty. I barely miss bringing down the knife on my thigh with how hard I stabbed
Fuck. Where are they?
I go back into the bathroom, but when I look in the mirror, I find it clear.
No ominous message.
I drop the knives on the counter and grab my phone. The message tab pulls up easily, but when I scroll to see my most recent messages from the unknown number, it’s missing.
There’s nothing.
Am I losing my mind?
I pace back and forth in front of the mirror, replaying it all in my head. The messages. The dare. The picture.
I know what I saw.
Looking down at my body, the scrapes from last night still line my body. I run my fingers along the cuts, feeling how very real and tangible they are.
No.
Someone is fucking with me.
Even though the house seems clear, a sense of unease burrows deep into my stomach.
I try to go about my day normally.
Coffee. Breakfast. Brush my tangled hair. Check my bank account and pay bills.
But the unease doesn’t leave.
I skip doing my daily outdoor therapy, feeling like if I step outside right now, I’ll send myself straight into a panic attack. And I’m barely holding it together as is.
By the time night falls, I’ve been fighting off this anxiety all day, unable to keep it at bay any longer. Checking the time, I decide to throw back my medication to help the edge I feel. I’ll have to go on camera soon and don’t want to be too amped up.
Taking my pills, I get ready for another round of playing the perfect cam girl. Ready to rake in the money so I can pay my rent. In this day and age, it’s easier to deal with a mental illness like mine. I’m able to have things shipped directly to me, and work from home when I have a bad bout of agoraphobia. Which seems to be the case right now. Even venturing to the mailbox is out of the question on a day like today. I hate this yo-yo feeling. Like I can regress at any moment, no matter how much progress I’ve made. And that’s what makes it so scary. I can be fine one minute and in the throes of a panic attack the next. Without warning or cause. Always teetering on the edge of the abyss,wondering if this time is the one that will end with me giving up altogether.
