Page 13 of Desperate People

It’s sexy. Steamy. Provocative.

It brings the kind of attention this video is bringing me? Well, it isn’t about representation.

It’s not about empowerment.

It’s obsession.

It’s comments that make my skin crawl.

Messages in my DMs that make me lock my doors twice.

What started as an impulsive “screw you” to the man I wanted most has turned into a spotlight I can’t seem to step out of.

And now I have this creeping feeling that someone is watching me.

That this thing—the video, the fame, the flirty headlines—isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

It started with notes. DMs. Emails. Innocent at first.

Just expressions of thanks and praise for my beauty.

Don’t think I’m a bitch now—but really? It starts as run-of-the-mill stuff.

Then, I get packages.

Dead flowers. Chewed up gum. Containers of liquid—I don’t know what.

I just toss them out. All of them.

And everything that comes after, I don’t even accept.

I have my doorman turn them away.

Then I notice something off in my apartment.

Towels in the wrong place.

Clothes missing.

Milk that’s lower than when I left it.

And for the first time in my life, I’m afraid.

Really afraid.

Chapter Two-Balor

My phone buzzes with a text.

It’s Connor. Connor Callahan, in case you don’t know.

Of course it is.

My asshole cousin is probably home right now, kicked back on his couch with a beer in one hand and his very pregnant wife, demanding frozen strawberries dipped in cumin or something similar in his other hand.

Clementine’s nearly eight months along with their second child, and knowing her, she’s craving something cold, sweet, and weirdly specific—like lemon sorbet mixed with pickles or some shit.

---