Page 8 of Deep Fake

I really wished I had been brave enough to at least attempt to get his number.

I would kick myself about that for weeks.

Three tabs open. No, make that five. My wrists sore from rubbing on the edge of the laptop, but the padding from the rests had worn out over time, and I hadn’t bothered to get more.

There had to be someone on this world-wide space that could help me. Even just a hint. I was a smart man. I could probably figure out the rest.

Maybe.

No one had responded to my posts on the site I found the night before. Not after Sketch. It was like his presence hushed the rest of the place. They commented freely on other posts but not mine. It floated to the bottom of the queue, forgotten and dismissed.

I would never know who Sketch was. Hell, I didn’t know if Sketch was male, but he struck me that way.

Still, my chest tightened when I thought of the way he talked down to me. Then he blocked me when I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Like I would plead and promise him my firstborn.

My phone lit up next to me. My heart sped up. Goddess, I hated having such a visceral reaction every time my phone did something now.

Okay, maybe I would’ve promised him my firstborn.

And he could block me all he wanted.

He was a stranger.

I moved my mouse to the top right of the screen, intending to click off the site and forget I ever asked. Forget Sketch and the ones who told me it was nothing. Block and delete. Any dummy could do that.

The arrow hovered and I almost clicked out when a private message popped up on the screen.

A cold knowing trickled down my spine. It was Sketch. The one who chastised me and basically told me to go to hell.

Can you give me more details? I might be able to refer you to someone.

I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms over my chest. He could see that I’d read the message. Good. Let him sweat it out for a few moments.

Refer me to someone?

Why bother? He was too good and too important to take on my stuff on his own. I couldn’t afford his caliber of hacker. The fuck?

Shit. This rejection shouldn’t bother me as much as it did. This was a stranger on the internet. Then again, the actions of a stranger on the internet were what brought me here in the first place. Words and intentions mattered even from keyboard warriors who wouldn’t dare say those things face-to-face.

A lot of violence could be committed from the other side of the internet without a sword drawn.

It was irrational, the irritation he caused me.

Why bother? You made it clear I wasn’t worth the time.

I regretted the words as soon as I hit enter.

He didn’t deserve to see my hurt.

I was…hasty in my response. You didn’t deserve that.

Laughing, I shook my head. Not an apology. But something.

I don’t deserve to be stalked, either, but here we are.

A row of dots popped up on the screen and then disappeared once, twice. So many times, I almost shut the laptop and gave up on everything.

You’re sure it’s not someone you know? Playing a prank? Thinking they are funny?