nothing with the space around them. You’d think they’d want to put them somewhere a little less…shitty.
Plopping down in one of the many chairs, I turn on the monitor in front of me and wait for it to boot up. I type in my student ID number and password before hitting the enter key to access the home screen. After opening up a new Word document, I brace my elbows on the table and stare at the blank white page. The flashing little text indicator is oddly hypnotic. Then I realize that it’s actually just mocking me.
“All right, Dani. You can do this,” I say, trying to pep myself up.
Cracking my fingers, I set them to the keys and prepare to type, but nothing happens. And I mean absolutely nothing. My hands just remain stuck in that position. It’s as if my brain and hands aren’t even connected. I don’t know why this essay is giving me such a hard time. I’m usually awesome at bullshitting—aka essay writing—but this one is stumping me. Maybe it’s everything that’s been going on lately that’s clouding my head and effing with my focus.
I release a frustrated whine and pull my hands away from the keyboard to rest on my lap. Gripping the sides of the computer chair, I groan and look around the room for a visual distraction…or creative inspiration, whichever comes first.
A screen pops up on the monitor, bringing my attention back to it. It’s the media player for the computer, but there’s just a black background with a play button slowly pulsing light blue at the center of it. My curiosity gets the better of me and I move the mouse across the desk until the little white arrow is hovering over the word play. When I click the mouse, the video goes full screen.
Right there for everyone to see is me mounted on top of Parker, feeling him up. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize it’s me, since it isn’t in focus at first and looks like it was shot through the office door window. Once the video clears up, though, I shut off the screen.
Shock registers on my face. My stomach drops as I wonder who the hell caught this on tape. Then I remember the knock at the door that interrupted our little session and realize the person who hit the door was taping us the whole time.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text message has come through from an unknown number. The text reads:
I know a secret…
My first reaction is to reply with “Who is this?” or “What do you want?” but instead my fingers type:
Fuck You!
This is probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but it feels good to tell off the bastard on the other end who’s feeling the need to exploit me. I’m sure I’ll get a quick response, but nothing comes through, even after a few minutes. Maybe I scared the person off.
The computer screen next to me turns on and automatically logs into the home screen. I watch in horror as the same video that played on my computer starts on that monitor, as well.
“What the…?” I mutter under my breath.
I quickly turn off the screen, but once I do, I notice several other computers turn on and log in by themselves. Again, the video begins to play on all of them. I frantically rush over and press the power buttons on every computer that’s turned on, putting an end to the streaming video.
I’m thankful that I’m the only one in the lab and no one else saw this. How in the hell is this person doing this, anyway…and why?
My phone vibrates again. Checking it, I see there’s another message glaring back at me:
I’d be careful what you say to me J
I can almost hear the grin on the other end of the phone. It’s smug and condescending, but at the same time, very serious.
My reply of, What do you want from me? is met with nothing at first. Then a cryptic text comes through.
Such a loaded question…careful it doesn’t backfire.
Feeling like I’m getting nowhere fast, I decide to do the one thing I told myself I wouldn’t—and that’s call Parker. He’s the only one I can turn to right now, and since he’s involved in this, I feel I should tell him.
I dial his number. My finger trembles as I think about what and how I’m going to explain this.