Page 32 of Cyber Revenge

The messages start small.

You deserve to be raped.

Found your address, slut.

Your daughter’s school is cute.

They find old photos. Screenshots from old streams. One guy uploads a blurred image of my home’s front door.

On day two, I sent my daughter to her grandparents on the other side of the country. I can’t risk her safety. Having to put her on an airplane because of some fucking man I brought into our lives is hell. I spend the whole day crying in bed.

I shut everything down for the time being.

Discord. Twitch. OnlyFans. TikTok.

I turn off my phone. Pull the blinds. Sleep on the floor with the lights on.

The anxiety comes in waves, hot flushes of panic followed by cold sweats and the inability to breathe. Every knock on the wall sends me into a spiral. Every engine outside makes me reach for a knife I’ve never used.

I don’t tell anyone.

I don’t want to be a victim.

Don’t want to admit I let someone inside my house, my body, my brand, and now he’s poisoning all three.

But Trip notices.

Because, of course, he does.

The messages roll in.

[TripsterGuy]: You okay, killstreak?

[TripsterGuy]: Say something. Anything.

[TripsterGuy]: Lydia.

[TripsterGuy]: I know what he did, little killer.

[TripsterGuy]: Please open the door if I knock.

And then…

[TripsterGuy]: I’ll stay outside all night if I have to. I’m not letting you go dark like this. Not alone.

I don’t respond.

Not because I don’t want to.

But because I’m not sure which version of me he’d find when I open the door.

The girl who used to laugh into the mic, or the one curled up under a blanket, waiting for the next hit to land.

SEVENTEEN

TRIP

She hasn’t left the house in three days.

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