Page 157 of Fake Game

At least a day or two from the way the light shifts on the ground beneath my curtains, a thin line of sunshine appearing only to be replaced by the blackness of night, plunging my room into a sanctum of stars over and over again.

It’s a cycle that shows the world is still spinning even though it feels like it’s stopped.

I unplugged my Wi-Fi—ripped it from the wall, to be more specific, since I’d yanked hard enough on the ethernet cable without unscrewing it that the entire socket wrenched itself from the plaster.

It doesn’t matter though. The point was to disconnect me from the outside world, from any threats, and I’d done just that.

No one can watch me.

My streaming room is trashed, my webcam smashed to pieces on the floor.

My phone is…somewhere. Dead, probably, at this point.

A good thing.

It stops me from going back through every message I’ve ever exchanged with Rick over the years. But it doesn’t stop my mind from running through the memories. From questioning why? Did I do something wrong? Was it me?

I spend most of my time sleeping or just lying in bed, staring at the wall, cycling through an endless cavern of self-destruction and self-pity.

Sometimes, like now, I’ll find my way into my bathroom and stick my head under the sink faucet for some water. There’s still some part of me, I guess, that reminds my body it has to live.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, risking a glance in the mirror.

Haunted desert brown eyes stare back at me.

Live isn’t the right word.

Surviveis more fitting.

That’s what I’m doing, surviving.

A knock at the front door echoes through my shell of an apartment.

I stop breathing, body frozen midstep back to my bed. I strain my ears, but all I can hear is my blood pumping. It’s only when my lungs begin to burn, and my vision goes double that I inhale. The sound of my sharp breath forces me back into action and I scurry onto my bed, crawling back under the covers and squeezing them tightly around myself.

I’m broken—a butterfly that’s gone into a cocoon to become a caterpillar.

I don’t care who is at the door. I don’t want to think about the world outside this room, the dangers. If someone like Rick could turn on me, who is to say someone else won’t? I trusted him, he seemed fine…normal.

You can’t trust anyone.

The world isn’t safe.

Nowhere here is safe.

I’m not safe.

There’s a resounding bang, almost like my front door was flung open so hard that it hit the wall.

On instinct, my body shoots up, my eyes flying open to search for the threat.

Someone’s here.

Is this how it ends?

No.

There’s still a small spark inside me, a little star that is twinkling fiercely, trying its hardest not to be engulfed by the darkness. It’s that little sparkle that has me reaching to grab my taser from my side table, brandishing it like a sword at anyone who comes in.

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