Part 8

 “Uh…”

I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until the sound of my voice, loud against the silence of the apartment hits my ears. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. I’ve always avoided talking to myself because I can’t stand the way my voice sounds, and today I have a bit of a sore throat, so it’s even worse than usual. In the perfect stillness of her room it almost seems to echo, the inhuman croak of an unwelcome visitor tainting its pristine pink walls. I’m pretty sure we aren’t supposed to paint in here.

The neon green dot pulsates in my vision.

BUSTY BRIANNA WANTS TO CHAT!

“Helloo? U still there?”

I’m struggling to catch my breath. If this is a…someone that she’s been talking to regularly, of course she’d know about me being her roommate. That part makes sense. But how the fuck did she convince her to leave her webcam on? My roommate, the most paranoid, conspiracy theory-obsessed person this side of the X-Files? That has to be how she can tell I’m a different person, but it doesn’t make sense. My eyes dart nervously up to the small black circle above the computer screen, which is uncharacteristically unobscured. 

  “😘”

Whoever the fuck this…person is, if she is planning on chatting with her again, she’s going to tell her that I’ve been on her computer unless I stop her somehow. Which will drive her fucking nuts and I don’t need that when we just got on track to maybe making up soon. Hesitantly, I move towards the computer desk and sit back down. My hands gradually settle on the keyboard and I punch out a response.

“I’m here. Can you see me?”

I wait anxiously, wrists tense, as text reading “BUSTY BRIANNA IS TYPING…” blinks below my message.

“Ur pretty ;)”

Anxiety giving way to exasperation, I roll my eyes.

“How do you know? Are you looking at me now?”

BUSTY BRIANNA IS TYPING…

“ ♡ Ur as cute as ur roomie said ♡  ”

In spite of myself, I feel heat rising to my cheeks. My fingers stall for a moment as I fight the urge to ask what she’s said about me.

“Do you speak to her ofte-”

I press backspace to erase. Dumb question. I’m flustered and struggling to come up with something. Why am I here again?

“Who are you?”

BUSTY BRIANNA IS TYPING…

“My name is Brianna :) nice to finally meet u!”

I’m not getting anywhere. This situation is so weird that it’s throwing me off. What could possibly lead to my roommate chatting with “Brianna”, some stranger who may or may not be a random sex worker, who may or may not even be a real person, on a regular basis? What would even lead her to this weird, obscure-ass website? Suddenly I want nothing more than for her to get back home and stroke my hair and give me answers that make sense because I can’t think of anything and it’s starting to freak me out.

“Cat got ur tounge sweetie? 🐱”

My head pounds and I feel like I’m going to throw up. The bodily impulse to keep myself from puking in someone else’s space at all costs motivates me enough to exit out of the website, delete my visit from the browser history and return the computer to its lock screen before bolting from the room. As I dry heave over the toilet, her face swims in front of my eyes. She told her I was cute.

I end up with vomit all over my hair.