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I gulped. Two years ago, I had given naked pictures of me to Dean for Valentine’s Day. It sounded like he was
showing them to random people on the street. I could feel myself becoming nauseated. It probably wasn’t the best idea to get shitfaced and then read emails from my psychopathic ex-boyfriend. There were four other emails from the same address. The rational part of me said to delete them—the drunk, stupid part of me kept reading.
I skipped pretty quickly past that one, it wasn’t so bad.
I took a deep breath. He hadn’t really found me. He was just trying to freak me out. I scrolled down to the bottom of the email and noticed he sent attachments. I didn’t open them, but I could see the thumbnails. They were horrific. Pictures of women bound and gagged, clearly against their will. Some of the women were dead. They were all bound and gagged in some way. Some more so. Some had been penetrated.
It happened before I could feel it. The vomit. It came up and out before I could even make it to the restroom. Luckily, I had a waste bin right next to me. I vomited up not only the night but everything that Dean had done to me. I felt like I vomited for ten minutes straight, but when I looked at the time it had only been a minute.
I was exhausted. I deleted the other two emails without reading them and pushed the laptop off my lap. Stumbling to my bed, I fell into a fitful sleep.
My alarm woke me with an ear piercing shriek. I had half a mind to throw it across the room when I remembered that I had a job. I got out of bed and immediately regretted moving. My head banged in protest. My body’s organs were holding their own protests complete with picket signs.
“Urrrghh.” I hadn’t been this hungover since high school. What the hell had I been thinking? I quickly dressed and left my apartment. When the elevator dinged open, I cursed.
“You look well,” Vic said.
I stepped into the elevator. “Well that’s good, because I feel like shit.”
Maybe it was the lead filled balloon in my stomach, or maybe it was the innumerable Seven and Sevens and shots, but I wasn’t feeling too tactful. To his credit, Vic didn’t say anything. We rode down in silence while I contemplated the life of a Jackie-O impersonator—at least I could wear the big glasses.
Work was a bust. I spent the better part of the day trying not vomit slash lose my job. Lissie didn’t look much better than me. However, unlike Lissie, I had to have this job—I had to keep this job. Lissie was just using this job as a distraction while finishing up school.
I knew Bethany could tell something was off with me. She was the kind of freak who didn’t drink, do drugs, or do any type of fun on the weekend. She worked all day, went home, and worked some more. So, when I came in to the office unsuccessfully trying to hide the aftereffects of a fun night, I may as well have slapped her in the fucking face.
I slugged through work. I didn’t do a bad job; in fact, by most people’s standards, I was good. I just wasn’t able to be completely anal retentive like Bethany demands, therefore I was terrible. The clock couldn’t strike five fast enough. When it did, I was out of there by six o’clock. (Yeah, because even though we’re off at five, if you leave, you’re a slacker.)
I went home, ready to kiss my apartment door. My laptop was perched on my chair, right where I left it last night. Its LED power light eyed me—I eyed it back. I knew eventually I would have to open it and check my email. Sooner would be better than later. I only had one email address, and I had to check that for work. I thought it would be easier to only have the one email address, but boy, was I wrong.
Before I left Seattle, I’d deleted all of my other email accounts. What a waste of time. Dean had still found me. I shook my head. It was useless to fear him. His emails couldn’t touch me. He couldn’t touch me, and he knew it. He was just trying to scare me. I opened my laptop and the email notification popped up.
Four new emails. All from him. I slammed the laptop closed. This is bullshit. I shouldn’t be afraid to open my computer. Before I knew it, I was out of my apartment and running to Zoe’s, laptop in hand. My fist collided with her door.
Zoe opened her door, mildly surprised.
“I need your help,” I stated bluntly.
Zoe opened the door wider, and gestured for me to sit down. “Sure…” Zoe said, a hint of sarcasm playing at her voice. “Do you want anything? Tea? Redbull? I think I have filtered water.”
I shook my head, ignoring her sarcasm.
“No, just your help please.”
I placed my hands over my laptop, preparing to tell my story. I hadn’t told anyone save Bethany why I was here in Santa Barbara. And I hadn’t had a choice but to tell Bethany if I wanted her to hire me. Part of me didn’t want to put anyone in danger—including Bethany. But the bigger part, the selfish part, didn’t want to put me in danger. The more people who knew me and about my story, the more people they could tell, and the more likely Dean could find me.
Zoe sat patiently across from me, waiting for me to explain. I clenched and unclenched my fists, futilely waiting for a big dose of courage.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath. It all tumbled out: The beginning with Dean, the middle, and the end. The now. Why I was here. His emails. His constant, unrelenting, stalking.
I asked Zoe if there was anything she could do to make his emails stop coming.
Zoe nodded slowly, processing. “I can’t stop the emails, but I can block them so you don’t see them anymore.”
“That’s perfect!” I exclaimed, so excited to have freedom from Dean’s emails.
“But,” Zoe said, “are you sure you don’t want to go to the police?”
I shook my head. “I’ve tried that route before.”
