One
Why would you send something like that to a stranger? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you stupid? You’ve been told so many times to be careful, that you should really get to know someone before you share anything intimate with them. Why would you ignore everyone else like that? Why did you do it? Why did you want to do it in the first place?
You like eyes on you. You just want attention. You must do. You wouldn’t have taken a risk like this otherwise.
You’re there on someone’s hard drive, on someone’s cloud storage. You’re staring into the camera on your phone. You’re holding yourself open.
Look at me. Want me. Love me.
You deserve this. You deserve this along with everyone else who was stupid enough to do what you did. This is what you get for being too eager to please. There’s no taking back what you give away without thinking about it first.
The attachment you opened contains a virus.
Stupid.
We have access to all your contacts.
Crying isn’t going to change anything.
If you don’t do what we say, we’ll send these pictures to everyone you know.
You gave away your control. You deserve this. Deep down, you knew something like this was going to happen.
What will everyone think? It’s one thing to have an idea about what people do behind closed doors and a different thing completely to see it. You know things like this happen. Why weren’t you more careful?
Everyone thinks they know what they would do in situations like this until they happen to them. There are no real thoughts because of the panic; there is only distress and regret. Everyone knows that the best way to deal with situations like this is to never get into them in the first place. You weren’t even able to manage that.
If you needed a sign that yes, you were right, everything that’s happened to you was because of you, then here it is. You spent too much time thinking about them, wondering if what they had to tell themselves to be able to do what they did- if they told themselves anything at all- when you should have been thinking about what you did to bring it on yourself. Even a child can need too much, be too selfish. That’s what they picked up on. Now, it’s happening again.
I feel like lighting a cigarette and burning myself like I used to do; I think about making myself go away entirely. It would just be more self-inflicted misery. It would just be more self-obsession.
We’ll send these pictures to everyone you know.
Everyone already suspects-- how could they not? You can see it in every smile, every sideways glance, every ‘helpful suggestion’ that seems just a little bit too focused on the fault it is meant to address.
They know you aren’t really the way you pretend to be.
They know that something is wrong with you.
They’ve always known.
This will give them all the proof they need. Your life- your act- will be over. Everyone will know you’re just a slut, just a whore. They won’t have to just suspect it anymore.
Another message arrives. Adrenaline knifes my centre, my gut, and my whole body shakes.
What if I just ignore the messages? Are you fucking stupid? They’ve already told you what they’ll do. Maybe there’s no virus, maybe they wouldn’t be able to send the pictures to anyone anyway. You’re in denial. You always do this-- it’s because you’re too weak to deal with the real world.
Look back at the screen and face what you’ve caused. For once in your life, try to own up to your mistakes.
I can’t.
Useless bitch. Fucking embarrassment. Stupid whore.
Just click your heels together three times, Dorothy.
Crying isn’t going to change anything.
Please just stop. Please just leave me alone. Please just pick someone else, anyone else.
I will do anything to make this stop happening. I need to make you understand that.
I re-open the chat window.
You must make three horizontal incisions across each of your forearms. Once you have done this, you must take pictures of the wounds.
Do not clean or cover the wounds. Failure to follow our instructions will result in the immediate leak of the pictures you sent us.
The world twists around an invisible axis, nauseating. Reality isn’t what you thought it was.
You have five minutes to send the requested material.
We’re all watching, Cara.
They want me to hurt myself. The fear moves my fingers across the keys before I can stop them. I need to do anything I can to make myself less afraid. It’s not possible that people can exist who only want to hurt other people. I need to try and reach the person behind the messages.
who are you
Every muscle is locked, every breath stammers, every time I swallow my throat chokes closed.
Have I made them angry?
You do not need to know who we are to know that we are in control.
Four minutes and forty seconds, Cara.
Everything slows down. The tension in my body seems to disappear. I don’t feel anything. I’m floating.
I don’t know why I was worried about any of this. It’s probably just a joke.
I weigh it up objectively. There’s no benefit to having the pictures I sent being spread around, there’s no way of knowing whether there is a virus on my computer or not in the next five minutes and they aren’t really asking for much.
It probably is a joke but it’s safer to just take the pictures.
What is a bit of blood? My body can make more.
I shake my head and go to the bathroom to find a disposable razor to break open.
Either this is already over- there was never any danger anyway- or it will be over soon. The pictures they are asking for a strange but there could be a hundred different reasons why they want them.
They’ll ask for money soon and I’ll pay it.
It’s always safer to do whatever you’re asked to do.
