Page 44 of Taken Off Camera
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Hours later, after frequent interruptions, Sebastian completes the installation, then walks me through the security app on my phone. Each camera feed appears as a separate tile on the screen, far superior to the camera Saint could afford to install in the hallway. A small red dot in the corner indicates that they’re all recording.
“The system stores footage for fourteen days before deleting it,” Sebastian explains, “unless you save specific clips.”
I absorb the information while watching our own images on the phone screen. Seeing ourselves from this new perspective feels surreal, like we’re characters in our own reality show.
As Sebastian packs up to leave, he keeps glancingover at where I sit on the couch, once again pretending to read while trying not to be sad that he can’t stay another night.
He stands and strides over to kneel beside me. “I have a difficult request.”
My stomach tightens at his seriousness. “What is it?”
He takes the book from my hand and sets it on the coffee table to free my fingers for him to grasp in his. “I want you to stop camming. At least for now.”
I straighten, angry heat rising to my face. “Excuse me?”
“Travis, or whoever sent those photos, is watching your streams,” Sebastian continues, his scarred face tight with worry. “Every time you go online, you give him more access to you.”
“That’s my job.” I try to pull my hands free, but he holds on tight. “That’s my income, my independence, and my choice.”
“I know, and I’m not asking for forever. I would never ask you to give up what you love.” He raises my fingers to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “But until we find him, it’s dangerous to keep camming.”
“And how long will that take?” I free myself and scoot upright on the sofa, wrapping my arms aroundmy knees. “A week? A month? Six months? I have bills to pay.”
“I can help with?—”
“No!” The word comes out sharper than intended. “We’ve been through this. I don’t take extra money from patrons.”
Sebastian flinches as if struck. “Is that what I still am to you? A patron?”
The hurt in his expression cuts through my defensive anger. “No, of course not.” I uncurl, dropping my feet to the floor on either side of him. “But my channel is important to me. It’s not only my income. It gives me the freedom to express myself.”
“I understand.” Sebastian leans forward, his hands settling on my hips. “But these photos, the messages… This person is dangerously fixated on you. Each stream gives him more to obsess over.”
“So I’m supposed to let him control my life?” I shake my head. “Stop doing what I love because some creep can’t separate fantasy from reality?”
Sebastian rests his head in my lap. “I care about you too much to see you exposed to whoever sent that package.”
“You don’t understand. My subscribers won’t wait around forever. If I vanish, they’ll move on to someone else.”
“I know I’m asking a lot. But the thought of him watching you, fantasizing about you—” His arms encircle my waist in a hug. “It terrifies me, Micah.”
The vulnerability in his admission disarms me, but before I can respond, my phone chimes, alerting us that someone is approaching my door. As the end unit, no one comes this far down the hallway except for visitors and delivery personnel.
Sebastian’s head lifts. “Are you expecting a package?”
“No.”
A knock sounds at the door, and Sebastian rises, moving to check the peephole. “Who is it?”
“Delivery for Micah Barnes,” comes the muffled response.
“Leave it at the door, please.”
My stomach twists as Sebastian uses the app on his phone to track the person until they leave before he opens my apartment door, retrieving a small, padded envelope from the hallway.
He examines it before bringing it inside, checking for return addresses or identifying marks. Finding none, he hands it to me with obvious reluctance.
