It was a shot of me standing by my armoire during my search.
The angle gave away the camera’s location.
Thanks, dummy.
I headed in that direction when another text came through.
A picture of me from a different angle.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
All from different sides of my room.
At that point, I gave up counting.
Me: You’re a fucking creep.
A second later, another photo came through. It was a shot of his head between my legs.
Brooks: I think I’ll make this your contact photo.
Me: How about this one instead?
I snapped a picture of myself flipping him off and sent it.
Brooks: Bad angle. Sorry. Your face isn’t what you’ve got going for you.
I’m going to kill him.
I spun in a circle, giving every possible camera angle its own middle finger, before storming to the bathroom to shower. I scrubbed his cum off my skin, then between my legs, then even my damn tongue.
When I was finally clean, I padded back to my bedroom, tossed my phone beside my pillow, crawled under the blankets, and settled in for an hour of brain-rot scrolling.
The second I unlocked my phone, it dumped me back into my text thread with Brooks.
I exited out of our conversation, opened a private browser, then typed something I’d never imagined I’d search.
What’s something you can put on your vagina that will poison someone if they eat you out?
Yes, I actually searched that.
The internet immediately informed me that putting toxic substances on my genitals to kill someone was both illegal and life-threatening.
Obviously.
“Ugh.” I didn’t want to kill myself. Just him.
God, I hoped no one ever saw my search history.
My phone buzzed again. This text, thankfully, wasn’t from Brooks.
But it was about him, of course.
Vittoria: My mom is trying to set up an arranged thing with Brooks. Pls tell him to leave you alone.