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There’s something that looks like a metal screen inside the clicky hole, and now, try as I might to convince myself I’m imagining things, I can’t believe it.
I think it’s a microphone.
Is he spying on me?
I feel even crazier thinking this than I felt imagining he might get some kind of “Sophie is leaving!” or “Sophie is home now!” notifications on his phone when he had the champagne ready as soon as I stepped inside the apartment last night, but there are things it would explain.
That conversation I had with Professor DeMarco at the coffee shop. He shouldn’t have known what was said that day, but he knew he invited me to office hours, or he wouldn’t have known to fake that letter from him. He seemed to know what we talked about, too, judging by the things he said when he had me in his bedroom.
What would even make him think I might like Professor DeMarco in the first place? He can’t crawl inside my head and literally know what I’m thinking, and I know for a fact I never mentioned my professor to Silvan, let alone indicated any kind of interest in him.
Is it a spy pen?
That’s too crazy to consider… isn’t it?
Maybe it would be crazynotto consider it. This is Silvan we’re talking about, after all.
I want to know if he’s spying on me, but I don’t want to ask. If he knows I’m onto him and I’m right, he’ll just find another way. Maybe one I won’t figure out.
Besides, I could be wrong.
Maybe my imagination is getting the better of me.
Maybe he doesn’t even know when I’m coming or going, and that’s just a standard security measure since this is an upscale place and they want to make sure residents aren’t getting robbed.
Maybe he only knew about Professor DeMarco inviting me to office hours because…
Actually, no, I can’t think of another explanation for that.
On impulse, I put the pen down and grab my phone. I pull up my internet app and search “spy pen” to see if I can find this one.
I can’t, but I am startled by how easy it is to buy them. You can get them on Amazon, for Christ’s sake.
I should order some kind of spy thing to spy on him and see how he likes it.
I give up looking for the pens and tell myself to stop thinking about this and just get going on my homework. It’s not like I’m doing anything he can’t know about anyway; it’s just the absolute invasion of my privacy to keep dibs on me so thoroughly. It’s not like I’ve given him a reason to. I’m living here with him in this lovely cage, after all.
This cage where he might keep track of my every move.
He says he wants a partner, but he watches me like I’m his pet.
And not even a well-behaved pet, but one he expects to fuck everything up. He keeps careful watch so he can step in and prevent any of my possible missteps.
A pet he has no faith in.
Maybe it’s not even a spy pen, and I’m getting upset over nothing.
But I don’t believe that, not really.
I want toknowif he’s listening to me.
I think about saying something in front of the pen that I know will get a reaction out of him if he’s listening, but if I justtalk into the pen when I’m in the apartment by myself, he’ll know I’m suspicious. He can either acknowledge it, too, and switch his spying tactics to using some other household item or pretend he didn’t hear anything so I think I’m crazy and it’snota spy pen, and then I don’t suspect it anymore.
No, I need to be more subtle than that. I need to say something I wouldn’t want him to hear, but I need to make sure he doesn’t realize I’m onto him.
A phone call.
I’ll fake a phone call.
