“When the goal is to help others as well as oneself, we call that idealism.”
Richard Stallman
BETWEEN 08.08.2013 07:12
AND 08.08.2013 08:55
"I must really love him to live in a place like this", I had to keep reminding myself of that. Over and over. It became something like a mantra. Because I love him. That’s why. The skies are gray. The trees are dead. It makes it tough to wake up, the sky being that way. But I always find a justification. I’m good at convincing myself.
Ben touched my lower back through the woolen blanket, saying, “you look beautiful” before he’s even seen me. He’s sweet like that. The first thing he thinks about is me. That’s something I like about marriage. You get to say the same things over and over. The I love yous and the you’re stunnings. I’m sure it drives some crazy. People get tired of the love-routine and then they wanna go out and find something different. But I like it. I’ve always been insecure; I’ve always needed reminders. So when someone tells me those things over and over, it really does help. If we go a day without him saying those things, I start looking at myself in the mirror and generating self-delusions. Like: I’m (A) greedy, (B) repulsive, (C) demanding, (D) needy, (E) old, (F) childish, etc.
I rolled over and kissed his chest. We met back in college. I was attracted to him immediately. He was healthy and fit in a way I have never been. Despite his athleticism he was always friendly. He seemed real white-pickett-fence-suburban to me. But he was also quite unique. He had insanely specific hobbies. Like, he was obsessed with board games, bronze age history, and archaeology. He was always reading this journals all about archaelogy. It took me a while to realize, but he really is quite obsessive and nerdy. Even though he doesn’t look it.
The alarm went off. He gets up. He takes off pretty quickly in the mornings, which I hate. I wish he’d stick around a while longer. I like how intimate he is at night, but in the mornings he never really pays attention to me. But he wakes up only about twenty minutes before he needs to be at work, so he puts himself in a place where he always needs to rush out the door. Every morning I try to make him his favorite, eggs and spinach. Only takes about five minutes. But it makes a big difference for him, I guess.
He rushes out the door as per usual, giving me a quick kiss, and forgetting to say “I love you”, and instead saying “have a great day, don’t get too frustrated, with, you know...”.
Off he goes to his job. His finance job. I still don’t know what exactly the hell he does. Me? I have my own full-time job. It’s work from home, and it’s the same field so many of my generation are employed in: the eternal job search. Getting a job right now is near-impossible due to all these AI filters, so you have to tailor your application to fit the exact specifications set out in the application. If the AI filters out your application because you didn’t use the right keywords, you’re shit out of luck. And if you’re looking for any sort of computer science related job like I am, then there’s always hundreds, if not thousands, of applications. How to stand out? There is no way. No fucking way. I don’t even know if a human has looked at any of my applications yet. That’s all I want. Just some real, genuine, human eyeballs on these things. Just look. Why can’t they just look? I mean, what the hell do these hiring staff folks do anyways? How do I apply for their job? Sounds fucking easy. My qualifications would be:
- Avoids human interaction whenever possible
- Always takes the path of least resistance
- Will allow my job to be automated for me
This is what he meant by “don’t get too frustrated”. Everyday he comes home and I’m all upset because of my application process. I get all tied up in knots. Why are they making it so difficult for me? That one job I nearly got had a salary of 30k and no insurance. And I don’t have insurance, I never had any. I never had a safety net like that. Familial or otherwise. He’s my only safety net. Luckily he has insurance, and family that’s actually stable enough to support us in case of emergency. Plus, I’m not even a citizen yet. That looks real fucking great on applications. I’m just presenting myself as a burden. No insurance, no country. I don’t know. I’m just always thinking of the worst possible things.
I had my laptop open with several of those websites open where you can see job openings. They all have ugly UIs and are a pain to navigate. I can’t believe this is the only way to find jobs nowadays. It’s plain stupid. I’m not looking at these websites first thing. I’m gonna wake up a bit first. So I go back to the bedroom to change out of my pajamas. Taking my clothes off, I look at myself in the mirror, and wonder. Wonder what it is about this thing that drives men crazy. Men spend so much time thinking about it, so much time obsessing. They even kill people over a woman’s body. I frankly don’t understand. To me, it’s just droopy flesh on a skeleton. The droopiest part of all, the breasts, seem to be what so many men care about. Why? Maybe Freud had something right. There’s something to it. They’re like children. All of them. Not all of them. Why do my breasts matter to anyone besides me and my potential-baby? Why has so much of my life been defined by the fact I have them, and that I can’t hide them?
But I guess there’s power in that. I mean, if I were doing job interviews in person. Wear a dress. I’d get that job. I don’t want a job because of that. But I think it’s true. Because they care. But why do they care so much?
I overthink things. Probably because little support growing up, little assurance of safety. Constantly doubting. Constant acute stress response. Learned that in psycho-therapy class. I could afford classes on therapy but not to go to therapy. Funny.
I had some cereal for breakfast and I guess an hour’s already passed. I need to sit down and look at some of these job openings.
Scroll, scroll. Move my eyes from one box to the next. Each box, if I click it, and send my silly little form over, could be a potential future. Could change everything. Make me a new person. Stupid little boxes control everything.
I started a few applications, but can’t bring myself to finish any.
What else can I do?
Clean.
What am I, a housewife? What is this, the 1950s?
No, I just want the place to be clean. That’s just fucking normal. I don’t have to be a housewife, obviously. I just happen to not have a job right now. Cleaning can be nice but I can only bring myself to do it for an hour or so until I'm bored out of my mind. So I started doing the dishes.
But then I ran out of dish soap, so I have to check in that area below the sink. Like most people, this is a part of the house I barely ever touch or see. I don’t see any back-ups of dish soap but I do notice something strange. There’s a small tin box. I pull it out. It looks dusty. I think it’s a biscuit tin. The design on it looked pretty old. It couldn’t be my husband’s. It was probably left here by some past tenant. I carefully opened it, trying to not let any dust fall off, just in case.
Inside, an old digital camera. Probably from a decade ago, at least. It says “Kodak” on the back. I flip the power on and, to my surprise, it actually turns on. I used to have a camera like this when I was a kid, so I know that the “ ▶ ” insignia indicates the playback of previous photos and videos stored on the camera. So I pressed it, and it comes up with a low-res image of a room. I immediately recognize it as the living room of our apartment. At this point I’m entirely confused, and my heart starts beating out of my chest. The next picture is the dining room. The next, the coat closet. The picture after, the kitchen. I looked closely at this one and see that in the picture, the drawer beneath the sink is open. Uncanny. Then there’s a picture of the bedroom. And I can see something in the bed. I hope at first it’s just pillows or something, but I can tell for certain that it’s my dark hair spilling over the blanket. I don't know exactly what I'm looking at. I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel. Why would a person do this?
Yet I can’t help but move to the next picture. It’s a picture of one of my panties on the ground. The light purple ones with the bit of lace on the sides. The flash is clearly on.
I looked at the picture dumbfounded for a while. I got nervous and worry that Ben might see the battery drained if I leave it on for too long. So I quickly shut it off and stick it back in the dusty tin.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? Just go about my day, not knowing if I can trust Ben any more? No, no it can’t be him. But if it’s not him then it’s worse. Some intruder. Some squatter living in here. I have to think, for my own sanity, that it is Ben who took those photos. But why? Maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation I just don’t know yet. I can hope so. I don’t know.
I went back to the bedroom. I have to see if my panties are still there. I open the drawer, and search through it for a few minutes. God. I’m so disorganized. I just leave all my socks and underwear all disorganized in here. What am I thinking? But I soon found it regardless. The light purple ones with the lace. They seemed just the same as I left them.
Well, nobody’s taking my things. What’s a few pictures? It’s fine. I’ll just talk to him about it. Ask him about it. He’ll explain. There must be a reason. I just need to move on. Suck it up and move on.
I open up my laptop again, and open up my job searching tabs. I start scrolling through. But it feels like there’s a fuzzy, buzzing black hole in my mind. I can’t focus on anything. I can’t just move on. I can’t. There’s no way to explain this away. The explanation for this will just make it worse. There’s no way the answer will put me at ease. There’s no way he’s giving me an answer. Oh God, am I going to have to divorce him? But I have nowhere to go. I have no place and no family to return to. Worse still, I stay here. I just tolerate whatever it is he’s doing. I mean, really what could it be? If it was something awful, I’d be able to tell. I could tell if he were cheating on me or doing something bad. You can always see it in someone’s face. But Ben’d face… It’s so innocent. He couldn’t do anything to deliberately hurt me. He couldn’t. I have to figure out what these pictures mean, that’s the only way out.
I looked up places that can help me. That can look at the camera, that can tell me about it. So I looked up a nearby tech store. It’s within walking distance. Good— I don’t have a car.
I open the tin back up.
BETWEEN 08.08.2013 09:28
AND 08.08.2013 10:43
The store’s overwhelming. All these TV’s everywhere. So much light and electricity. Stores like this give me a headache. I have a hard time trying to get any employees attentions. They all seem busy and I’m nervous about sounding like an idiot. So I wander around a while. Until I hear a voice behind me, a gentle voice call, “hey, can I help you find anything?”
I turned around, and there’s a woman there. Probably only a year or two younger than me. She has beautiful red hair. Makes me nervous.
“Well, I’m here for a bit of a… how do you say? An ‘unconverntional’ reason,” I say, hoping my prominent accent won’t turn her off from helping me.
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I can help. What is it?” She said, drawing her hair back behind her ear. She had cartilage piercings.
“Well, I have this camera,” I said, awkwardly holding it up, wondering if I should be embarrassed, “I mean, it’s not mine, I just found it, and I need to know some things about the pictures that are on it. Like, when the pictures were taken and that sort of thing.”
“Oh, well, that is a pretty old camera. Does it have an SD card?”
“I don’t know, sorry.”
She drew closer and asked sweetly, “can I take a look?”
“Of course,” I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s actually going to help me.
She flicks open this small thing on the side and presses down. A tiny little card popped out.
“Okay cool,” she said smiling. “So, I don’t think this is really part of my job here helping with this–”
“Oh no I’m sorry I can just–”
“But I mean, like I’m happy to help. I’m just supposed to be upselling you on TVs or whatever right now. But you clearly just need help with this. I’ll be taking my lunch in like ten minutes, and then, if you want, we can meet at the taco place across the street? I can bring my laptop and my SD card reader, and I can tell you all the metadata.”
“Oh, thank you, I can meet you there.”
I don’t know exactly why, but I felt as if I can trust her. So I head over to the taco shop. It’s a funny place, with Catholic decorations everywhere. And there’s a little statue of Mary with money all over her.
I wait there for a few minutes, then I see that girl come in with her laptop. She drops her stuff off then says, “hold on, I’m gonna get some fresca or something so they don’t get pissed at us sitting here.” When she walks up to the register I notice her slim, skinny legs. Enviable. And she has such energy too. I wonder what she thinks of me?
She comes back with her drink and sits across from me. I hand her the camera.
“So what’s on here anyways?” she asks.
“They’re some strange pictures, I don’t know who took them. I found this camera in my apartment, I never saw it before. But there’s pictures of me and my things on it. Very weird and, um, scary.”
“You serious? God,” she sticks the card into the side of her laptop and turns it on. “Hey, you wanna come over to this side, so you can see?”
“Oh, sure,” I say shyly and move next to her.
I noticed immediately that her laptop background is the game board of Hironidach.
“Hey, that was my favorite game growing up,” I said immediately, without thinking about whether it would make me look dorky.
“You play? Nice. My friends get together every weekend to play Hironidach. It’s fun.”
This somehow made me trust her even more.
She pulls up the pictures, looks at a few, and then says with a disgusted expression, "these are seriously creepy."
Then she looks at the properties of the pictures, what she called the metadata, I guess.
The picture of the kitchen was taken just a week ago. And the picture of the panties was taken today. At two A.M.
I was speechless. I put my head in my hands.
“Unless you’re messing with me,” she says looking at the screen, with her index finger under her top lip, “this is really fucked up”.
“Trust me, I’m not,” I respond. “I don’t know what to do”.
“Well, I, um…” the woman responded hesitantly, “I think the best thing to do is to talk to him about it. Ask him about these pictures. And if he’s flighty and doesn’t want to respond, I’d get the fuck out of there.”
“But where would I go? I have nowhere.”
She was silent for a moment, and then said nervously, “I’ll give you my number. I want you to call me if anything bad happens. If need be, you can come stay with me. Since he has no idea who I am it might as well be the safest place you can go. I have a small apartment to myself with a comfortable couch. Okay?”
“Are you sure?” I said tearing up at the thought of leaving Ben. I didn’t want to do that.
“Yes, yes I am. You need to get this figured out. Because it’s weird. Have a piece of paper? I got to get going.”
“No,” I said, looking around.
She grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of her pocket and wrote down her number.
“What’s your name by the way?” I asked.
“Cindy,” she responded while getting up, “my name’s Cindy. Yours?”
“Thank you. I’m Cammy.”
“Nice to meet you, despite the weirdness. Oh, and I recommend this to all sorts of people but especially to you: check the internet history of your wi-fi router. I don’t mean the type you clear away. I mean the data your wi-fi router stores on all connections it makes through it’s IP address. Basically, you just need to find out what your IP address is, put it in the URL bar in your browser and then log in through your wi-fi provider. You have that account information for the wi-fi, right?”
I nodded, remembering all the account information we have written down on a piece of paper taped to the inside of the medicine cabinet door.
“Well, log in through there. You can see every website your husband has visited. Okay?”
“I might do that, thank you.”
“The directions are easy to find. You should do it. It’s important. Well, I have to go, but shoot me a text as soon as possible. We’ll be in touch.”
She leaves in a flurry.
I remembered in that moment the way my parents always described America to me. Full of capitalists who didn’t care for their neighbors. Yet this young lady was willing to house me out of the blue. Places, just like people, always find ways of surprising you.
BETWEEN 08.08.2013 16:23
AND 08.08.2013 16:50
I decided to say nothing. I’d confront him and ask him about it tomorrow. It was just all too much for a single day. I just want to rest.
When he gets home we barely talk. He cooks dinner, some teriyaki chicken. We watch TV. We head straight for bed. I don’t want to do anything else. Just want to rest. Just close my eyes. Drift into the dark. Forget it all for a bit…
But no, how can I just wait around for this conversation to happen? Nothing I was able to do right now could be more important. I think of myself as being able to confront people. So, of course, I must confront him myself. No delay. No waiting. No third parties. I have to face him in person.
He opened his eyes, surprised to see me, and looked up at me.
So in the middle of us watching this dumb show, it was called Slime Monsters, or something, I got up and walked into the kitchen. I checked below the sink, curious if the camera was still there or not. I checked. It wasn't. I didn't know exactly what to do then. So I just wait. I wait until he realizes my abrupt exit and comes in the kitchen to confront me. I sit on the floor. My arms crossed. My mind lost in a world of paranoia.
BETWEEN 08.08.2013 16:55
AND 08.08.2013 17:20
Eventually he walks in. He looks nervous. He glances at the sink before looking at me. Normally this wouldn't have meant anything. But now it was as good as an admission of guilt.
"What do you do at night?" I asked, with a deliberately aggressive tone.
"What do you mean? At night? I'm usually sleeping," he said, maintaining his usual playful tone.
"When you aren't sleeping. When you get up and leave me. What do you do?"
"I probably just get up and went to the bathroom."
"No, you go into the kitchen."
"The kitchen?"
"How else would you explain this? There used to be something in here. Just earlier today," I said as I held up the empty biscuit tin. "What's going on? What do you do with this camera?"
He was silent for a moment, then responded with a sense of urgency, "oh, that might look weird but I mean, it's really not. Just let me explain. Won't you sit down, please? You're making me nervous. It's not as if there's anything awful. Sure, I've kept it secret from you, but that's just because it would seem weird to you, you know? Won't you please sit down?"
"No."
"Okay, well, the thing is, and I don't even really know why I've kept this from you for so long, but, I have OCD."
I pause, dumbfounded. Then I say, "Really?"
"Yeah, I mean for a long time I've had it. It's just something I deal with. I've always had this obsessive way of documenting things. I mean you know I have my journals, and I write down the time of day I do each thing and everything, right?"
"Yeah," I said, looking over at his shelf full of journals.
"Well, this is the same thing, but with a camera. Again, I know it seems weird. Especially if you saw the pictures. But I take those pictures when I get this impulse... This impulse to capture everything and not let it go. To capture each and every single little thing in this apartment, you know? That's all I'm trying to do."
I didn't know what to make of this. He had never mentioned OCD, but now that he has, I find it believable. I mean, what he said about the journals was totally true. I don't know if that's OCD, but it sure is compulsive. I don't know.
I didn't know how to respond.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't know, I just..."
"I mean, don't you think that's the type of thing you'd tell somebody?"
"Well, yeah, but there's a sort of embarrassment..."
"I don't know. I don't like this. I don't believe you're telling me the truth."
When I said this, his face turned red. He looked both guilty and confused.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he replied, stuttering, "this is just who I am."
"Just give me a second. I need to think. I need to think," I replied, pressing my hand to my forehead.
"Okay. Just take your time babe. I know it can be tough to learn something new about someone you're close to like this. And I 'm honestly so sorry. I really should have told you earlier. It's my fault. But this is the one thing you didn't know about me. I promise. This is the one thing I hadn't told you yet."
"Okay. I love you," I said and then walked out of the room.
BETWEEN 08.08.2013 17:22
AND 08.08.2013 17:48
I didn't know where to go, but I knew I needed to get out. Staying in this apartment was making me feel sick. I remembered there was a deli on the street corner. Good a place as any.
So I went outside, it was getting late. The streetlamps were on and not a single star was visible in the sky. Snow was still on the ground.
I went to the deli, and asked them if they had any coffee. They said yes, so I got a small cup.
I sat down. There was only one other customer in there. He was a good looking guy. Nice hair. I glanced at him, but tried to look at something else.
Something didn't add up, about the whole situation. The idea that he had OCD seemed ridiculous. I mean, it could explain this weird behavior with the camera, but I don't think I've ever seen him do anything else which would indicate such a condition. I mean, I think I would have noticed by now. But I don't know. If what he was saying is true, then its okay. I could still live with him. Still love him. But if he were lying about this I don't know how we could possibly stay together.
I looked over at that guy again. I didn't mind looking at him. I wondered what he was doing out so late. He wasn't eating or drinking or anything. Just sitting there on his phone.
He reminded me a of a guy I saw when I was traveling around Eastern Europe. I was at some castle up on a hill in the Czech Republic, and got tired from the walking up the hill. So I rested for a while near some stairs. I saw a guy further down, below me. He was really beautiful. One of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen. He had well groomed hair, a pale face with freckles, and was wearing a simple button down with a tie. He looked really well put together. He probably came from money. I imagined, that if this were hundreds of a years ago, he could definitely be a prince or some kind of nobility. I mean, of course those things shouldn't be too glorified, but there's something about the fantasy of it. Lots of people suffered in those times, but for those lucky few, life has never been better for anyone. I imagined him as one of those lucky nobility who could give someone like me everything I wanted. Constant luxury and entertainment. He could have me, really have me. I just wanted to belong to someone in that way. In that old, spectacular way. When life was all about courting, marriage, family...
I stared at that man for far too long, and he smiled at me. I couldn't mistake that look as meant for anyone else.
I realized that guy in the deli was staring at me. I locked eyes with him. He could never be nobility. He'd be something else. Something below me. But maybe in this scenario, I'd be part of the nobility and he could be the one to enchant him with my luxury. No. Silly thought. Why am I thinking? Then I looked closer at him. I saw his arm moving, very slightly. His phone was in one hand, but he wasn't looking at it any more. And his other hand, it was in his pocket. His arm moving. His hand moving. In his pocket. Oh, God. Was he masturbating?
I felt sick again. A disgust shuddered throughout my body. What was I doing? Just trying to distract myself?
I got up and left the store as quickly as I could. As I slammed the door closed, I heard one of the employees say, "I hope you have a good night".
I went back to the apartment building. I wasn't feeling safe outside. Anyone could be out here. And for some reason, just because I have a woman's body, that puts me in danger. Sometimes I really hate this body. I really hate it. I went inside. But I could bring myself to go back to the apartment just yet. I sat down in the hallway. I wasn't expecting it, but tears starting coming out of my eyes. This whole thing really made me so sad. So angry.
And so afraid.
So I cried for a while. And it helped. I felt better afterwards. I remembered the coffee in my hand and had a few sips. It was cold and disgusting now. I drank the whole thing immediately.
My next course of action leaped out at me then. I'd take Cindy's advice. I would check the wi-fi router's history.
Then, no matter the result, I'd call her the next morning. I needed to talk to someone about all this. If things get worse, maybe I could stay with her.
BETWEEN 08.08.2013 17:48
AND 08.08.2013 18:31
I went back into the apartment as quietly as I could. I hoped he wouldn't approach me and try to talk. And he didn't. There was total silence in the apartment. Maybe he wasn't here. I found my laptop, I had left it near the TV.
I opened up the website for our service provider. Luckily, I had set up the account and everything when we moved in, so I entered our account information. I looked at the system log. Here was the router history.
I was expecting lots of porn, but to my surprise, there wasn't any. Looking through the websites visited, everything seemed pretty normal. But then I noticed a strange looking website called: "192898120198209.net".
Clicking it took me to a blank page which only displayed a link: "http://k4cawd9apwwgcm3mkb6w3e4diqecpo7knfr5gg7sph7jjppqkvwwqtyd.onion/"".
I tried opening it up in my web browser but it didn't work. I had no idea what to do. I sat there puzzled for a while. Something about this url bothered me. I'd never seen anything like it before. I was struck by the way it ended with ".onion", I had never seen that before. On a whim, I clicked on the search bar and typed in "dot onion".
What I got was numerous web pages talking about how its a top-level domain for an onion service. This seemed almost comical to me. What did onions have to do with anything? A few clicks later, and I figured out that you can access onion sites through a Tor browser. Looking at tutorials for Tor, the phrase "dark web" kept popping up. That was something I heard of. I had never heard any details, but I knew it was associated with illegal activity. My heart started pounding. What was my husband doing that would warrant such a secret, cryptic service as this? Perhaps it was something he just enjoyed toying with, a tech-related hobby. But he never struck me as particularly interested in computers. He was hiding something from me. I could only hope that it was something benign.
Luckily, it only took a few moments to download and install the Tor browser. Was it really this easy to connect to the infamous "dark web"? Apparently, because I entered the onion link and it returned a website. It was a pure, black page with one word and an empty text box: "password".
I tried a few different things, my husband's birthday, our wi-fi password, the names of his parents, but nothing worked. I was stumped. I sat there, looking at the blinking line in a digital sea of blackness. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had stumbled onto something I was never meant to see.
I hardly realized it, but I had been up the entire night. I could hear the birds chirping outside. I sneaked back into the bedroom. I laid down, not bothering to cover myself in blankets. I felt hot. I was sweating all over. I tried to sleep next to him. But it felt like I had a stranger in my bed.
BETWEEN 08.09.2013 07:03
AND 08.09.2013 11:45
The next morning I awoke to an empty bed. He was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. I pretended to be asleep.
Eventually he came, kissed me and told me he had to go. I responded with a groan.
"Rest well," he said.
His voice sickened me.
When I heard the door close, I called Cindy. She picked up immediately. Thank God.
I simply said, "Cindy". Somehow saying hello or good morning felt crass.
She responded, "are you okay?"
"Yes, but I found a strange site in his history. It's an onion link. Do you know about onion and Tor?"
"Onion? Really? I... know about this stuff. I used to mess around with it back in high school. Shit's sketchy."
"Should I be worried?"
"Is he a software developer?"
"No."
"Yes. You should be worried."
"Okay."
I took a deep breath.
"To catch you up to speed, I installed Tor and accessed the site. But I need some password to get in."
"Damn girl, you did all that? And here I thought I'd have to explain what a router is. Sorry, anyways. You need a password. Have you tried your birthday?"
"I tried his birthday, yes. Didn't work."
"No, girl, your birthday."
"Why would it be mine?"
"Wanna find out?"
Something about the way she asked that question made me certain she was right. I was filled with an overwhelming, ominous certainty. I knew that if I crossed this line, there was no going back. Our relationship would never be normal again.
I typed in my birthday.
"Fuck," I said softly.
"You okay?"
"It worked."
What I saw immediately horrified me. It took me a while to take in what was contained on this first page. At the top of the page was the site's name: HckbleCams-Trkr. Below the name, was a title card:
***FEATURED: EVE***
Looking at the center I was immediately greeted with a picture of a nude woman. She was tied up in a rope. The rope twisted around her entire body, squeezing every part of her. She was hanging from a ceiling. She looked entirely vulnerable. On the side of the screen was something that looked like an advertisement for various pieces clothing. I quickly realized that the woman in the picture was swinging from the ceiling and that this was not a still image at all. Looking at the bottom right, I saw a timestamp with a date. Today's date. It was a live video feed.
I heard a man off-screen say "you ready for this?" And I could hear him rubbing something on his hands. The woman didn't respond. She looked completely resigned. He came on screen, entirely nude as well. Erect. I looked away. I didn't want to see this. Looking closer at the sides of the page, I noticed arrows pointing left and right.
"Are you there Cammy? Hello?" Her voice cracked through my phone's speaker.
"I'm here. I'm here. I don't know what I'm looking at," I responded, almost a whisper.
"What can I do? How can I help?"
"Just stay on the line. Please."
"Okay. I'm here. Take your time."
I clicked the left arrow.
I received a view of the same scene from a different angle. I could see the woman from behind and the man approaching her.
I clicked again. I had another angle. The kitchen, with the two figures barely visible in the next room. Next, the bedroom. Next, the basement. I stopped there.
Looking at the sidebars, I saw various pictures of items of clothing, with prices listed below a picture of each one. Most of them were panties. The prices ranged from 120 to 300 dollars.
At the top of the screen were small icons with names. They were as follows: Eve, Bianca, Jessica, Veronica. There were arrows up there as well. Next to the arrows it said "page 1 of 78".
I clicked through a few of the icons. Most of them contained video feeds without anyone in them. At this point, I assumed the video feeds were on 24/7. While looking at the page for Veronica, I eventually noticed a drop down menu, called "recent highlights". I clicked on it. There was a list of videos with thumbnails. Every video depicted the woman having sex.
My heart was pounding harder than it ever had in my life. I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
At the top-left corner I noticed an icon that looked like a house, "⌂".
I clicked on it. I saw myself in the living room, on my laptop. I was motionless. I couldn't breath. Then I moved my head slightly, and saw my figure move on the screen.
I involuntarily gasped.
"Cammy? You there?"
I couldn't respond.
"I'm going to call the police if you don't respond within fifteen seconds, okay? Fifteen. Starting now."
"No, please. Don't do that. Not right now. I'm sorry, I'm just scared and confused."
"Cammy, talk to me."
"Okay, there's this site and it's called Hackable Cams Tracker."
"Hackable Cams Tracker? Okay got it. What's on there?"
"There are cameras you can access that, they, um, show woman having sex."
"Like cam girls?"
"No, no it's different. Like, they don't know they're being filmed."
"What do you mean? Like the cameras are in their homes?"
"Yes. And there are, there are cameras here."
I got up and started looking for the cameras which must be hidden somewhere in the apartment.
"Are you serious? You're not messing around?"
"No. Not at all."
"Oh fuck. This is some serious shit we're getting into here. God. We have to tell someone. You realize that right? We have to tell someone."
"No. I don't know. I don't know what to do."
"Okay, we don't have to call anyone. Not now. But, Cammy, I've been thinking the last few minutes. And, you know, I can't really tell you what to do, and we don't really know each other. But, nonetheless, speaking as someone who does care about you: you have to get out of there. If you need a place to stay, I will come and pick you up right now."
"Is that a good idea? Just give me a second. I need to... I need to figure this out."
"Well... What are you doing right now?"
"Looking for the camera."
"Cammy, give me your address. Please."
I began poking around the bookshelf. I was never much of a reader. These were all his books. I checked if there was a camera behind the books on each level of the shelf. Nothing.
"Cammy."
"Thirty four North Montgomery Ave, number five."
"Okay, you're not far. Good. Good. Want me to come over?"
I didn't respond and began to look closer at a copy of Ivanhoe. It was big bound copy, with metal bumps on the spine. Now that I was looking closer, they seemed unusually large. I took the book off the shelf and opened it. It even seemed to be a normal book. But looking at the cover, it seemed as if I could peel back the paper surface which was glued to the inside of the cover. When I peeled it back, I found a multitude of wires, all hooking up to a single board. Suddenly I remembered a word my husband had said long ago, "microcontroller".
He had a friend who he would occasionally see. He was into all this electronic stuff. A hobbyist, so I thought. I thought my husband was just egging on his interest. But now I had to reevaluate everything. Had he set this system up? Had he seen me nude? Had he masturbated to my body?
I was hyperventilating.
"Found it," I said. "It was in one of his old books."
"Cammy, do you want me to come there and pick you up now? I can. I'm all set to come over."
I forgot to respond. I walked back to the laptop, staring at my page. It said my name was "CARMEN". The videos that were "recent highlights" had thousands of views. I messed around with the camera, fascinated by the delay on the screen. People were watching my life ten seconds after it happened. All the job applications I did. All the shows I watched. All the food I ate. All the times we had sex. All the times I masturbated alone. All the times I cried. All the times I was lonely in this damp, dark city.
I looked at the bottom left corner. It said "CURRENT VIEWERS: 2".
I tore open the book in a flurry of rage. I tore apart the wires. I threw the book against the wall. I saw it go dark. I collapsed, crying. What kind of human being lives like this?
Then I thought that, even though I destroyed that camera, there still might be viewers watching me weep from a different angle, a different camera hidden somewhere else in the house. Just as I had that thought, it occurred to me that my husband might be watching right now as well. I screamed in rage.
"Cammy. I'm on my way. I'm on my way."
My phone began vibrating. It was my husband.
I'm not going to answer, I thought to myself. I'm not going to answer. But shouldn't I at least tell him how I feel? Doesn't he deserve that at least? No, he doesn't deserve anything of the sort. But I still wanted to hear his explain, I wanted to hear him desperately try to defend himself. I was entitled to hear that. I was the one who deserved it.
I answered the call and simply said, "explain who you are."
"Cammy, it's me."
"And I'm asking who the fuck you are."
He hesitated. "I don't know what you're talking about, I opened up to you about my disorder and I--"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up. Drop the act. Explain. You have a matter of minutes."
"Look. I know it might be hard to accept, but this is part of our relationship. It always has been. It's what's kept us happy, it's what's kept the money coming in. Just please try to understand. I did this for you."
"What do you mean? What the fuck do you mean? This is the most self-centered thing I've ever seen anyone do. You treated me like a prisoner without me even knowing--"
"Hear me out. All those things I've bought for you, our apartment here, your student loans, how do you think I paid for all of it? Where do you think money comes from? Thin fucking air? There's nothing wrong with sharing what we have, with being open. Everyone benefits here. Nobody is getting fucked over. Least of all you."
I could hear his breath getting heavier, I could hear him running.
"So, I filmed you without permission. Don't you know there are cameras on every street? That there's a camera on you laptop? Don't you know that every time you post one of your pictures online where you feel oh-so-confident and validated to your pretty-fucking-sizable following that thousands of perverts are jacking off to it everyday? Don't you know that? Don't you accept it? Don't you like it? Of course you do. You're a fucking exhibitionist, just like everyone else. I don't see what's wrong with simply turning that into a form of--"
I hung up the phone and buried my face in my hands for a moment. Then, I panicked. I realized I had to get out, I had to get out right now.
I could hear him coming up the stairs to our apartment. I didn't want to look at him, I didn't want to see his face distorted by his anger and perversion. It sounds stupid but I wanted to remember him the way I chose to remember him. I felt that if I saw him that my treasured memories would be shattered forever. That the him I once knew would no longer exist. Of course, now I realize that my perception of him had already totally changed and I knew, on some level, that he was able to be both people at the same time. Both the loving, support partner and the depraved voyeur. Both were him. But I just couldn't accept that I was able to love someone who had done these things to me.
As I heard him approach the door I leapt out of my chair and dashed to the back door that led to the apartment building's basement. I locked the door behind me. I knew he kept the key in our bedroom and that it would take him time to realize I wasn't in the apartment. This would surely grant me a few moments. I ran down the stairs. I hated this place. The wooden stairs were rotting, the ceiling was full of spiders, and there were most definitely rats in the walls. I had never gone down here. I willingly ignored it. When I got to bottom, I had to get through the basement's storage area to get to the exit. I saw several, stacked cardboard boxes which had my husband's handwriting on them. His nearly-indecipherable scrawl writ across the every box, "FUTURE".
I opened one of them. It was full of my things. My panties, socks, bras, shirts, and dresses. Each one was wrapped in plastic. They had names and addresses written on little paper slips stapled to the wrapping. The addresses weren't only all over the country, they were all over the world. I wondered how he could have stolen so many of my things without me realizing. But then I noticed identical bras. He must have been buying a duplicate and replacing the clothing. This would keep me happy, while giving one of my admirers a piece of genuine clothing. And he knew I hated this basement. He knew I'd never come down here. What sickened me more than the fetish, was the fact that he had spent so much time on this. So much time plotting out a perfect scheme, covering his tracks, creating a whole world I wasn't allowed to see.
I heard the door rattling upstairs. I heard it creak open. Looking up, I could see the light coming from my room, and my husband's shadow stretching across the filthy walls.
I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't decide to climb down the stairs. But then I heard him make the slightest creak, and I realized he was slowly making his way down. I had no choice but to run. I could only hope Cindy was waiting for me outside.
I got up and ran for it. As soon as I did, I could hear him rushing down the stairs. When I got outside, I rushed into the cold. It had began snowing. Everything was white and pure. I began running out into the parking lot, looking for Cindy.
"Cammy!" I could hear my husband scream, "Please! We can talk about this."
I looked back, I saw he wasn't wearing wearing any clothes. I was shocked. He must have lost his mind.
"Here, here!" I heard a woman's voice call. It was Cindy in a car. She opened up the passenger door.
I turned around and got one look at my husband, he said, "I love you. I really do," while gasping for breath. He looked so desperate. There were tears in his eyes. I felt my instincts kick in for a moment. I felt like I should comfort him. I had spent so much time consoling him, it had become habitual. But then I looked closer. I saw the way his face seemed to be torn in two. He was being tugged as he felt both extreme anger and extreme guilt. He had an expression I couldn't even begin to describe. He had contorted his face in a way that resembled a frown, but it seemed like he was using every muscle in his face, and every ounce of energy in his body to crush his face into a pinched scowl. I have never been able to forget that moment.
I got in Cindy's car. And the moment my body was inside, she slammed the gas pedal.
"Who is that bitch?" He screamed, simply angry now, lunging forward at full speed. As Cindy pulled out of the parking lot, he must have been only two feet behind us.
As we drove off, I looked in the mirror and saw an insane, naked man running down the street. I would have never been able to recognize him as my husband. I was filled with a tumultuous silence and my body began to quiver. The silence was cut through by warm, wonderful voice, saying:
"You're here. You're here. You're safe now. He has no idea where we're going."
BETWEEN 08.10.2013 11:03
AND 08.23.2013 13:55
The next day I awoke in a stranger's apartment. It was a complete mess and it smelled awful in a particularly female way. But there was something comforting about that. It reminded of my dorm in college. Back when I had my girlfriends who could give less of a damn about men. I felt safe there.
She asked me if I wanted to report that awful website, but I simply responded that I didn't even want to think about that thing. Not for the rest of my life.
Cindy wasn't a terribly healthy person. She spent all of her time outside work playing games and drinking, but she had a good heart. After a few days, I realized she had depression. We talked openly about it and I found that hearing her life stories and struggles was cathartic, and helped me feel less alone.
The next weeks were a blur. At first, I simply sat and laid in that apartment, until I got used to the smell and the mess. I got accustomed to that particular 20-something malaise. It was miserable, yet somehow nostalgic. After a few weeks I began helping out around the apartment. Cleaning the bathroom, doing dishes and laundry, sweeping, mopping... The works. These were all things I dreaded doing, they were things my husband did for me. But somehow they were now comforting. I felt like I had a project, every day I made a little progress. As the apartment got cleaner, I felt myself becoming purified. While I cleaned, I wasn't able to focus on what happened. I simply got lost in the motions.
Eventually the apartment was spotless. One day, Cindy sat down with me and cried. She thanked me for all I had done for her. I felt like this was kind of funny, because, from my perspective, she was the one who took me in and gave me a place to recover. But I guess she needed me just as much as I needed her in that moment.
She asked me if I'd be interested in staying with her indefinitely, as a roommate. I said yes. We cried together, hugging. It was the first time either of us had touched another person in months.
She suggested I start looking for jobs. She said she wouldn't expect me to contribute to rent at all until I found a way to make money.
So I began cruising through the web for job opportunities. I'd get up every morning and spend the day alone, searching for jobs. I felt some kind of deja-vu doing it. Every time I'd get on the computer, I'd be filled with this fuzzy apathy, like TV snow had filled my brain. I'd get a headache, but I just kept browsing. I learned to exist online. I barely went outside at all.
I realized, one day, that I hadn't thought of my husband for weeks. That I had essentially moved on completely. I wonder if he had done the same. Whether he ended up in jail for indecent exposure or if he was thriving, and found a new woman, maybe even one who was living to accommodate his sexual preferences. Then, I had a funny little idea. I realized that, if I wanted to, I could pull up that strange link and I could get back onto that Hackable Cams Tracker site. I could know exactly how he was doing and what he was up to.
I found the link, I pulled up Tor and connected to the site. My birthday still worked for the password. Funny. I scrolled through the various cameras available. Eventually I found one called "CAMELIA". I was struck by the similarity to my name. I immediately recognized the apartment. There was nobody on the camera, it seemed empty. It looked only slightly different. There were some new decorations here and there, but for the most part, it was exactly how I left it. I looked at the different rooms, and felt my heart begin to pound. It was terrifying, yet almost exciting to look at this old apartment. My memories came rushing back, all the good ones with my husband. He was a truly great husband. Constantly taking care of me. Meeting my needs, anticipating my desires. We were so close to having something so good.
I kept the site up for the rest of the day. I began doing job applications while I had it up in the background. Every time Cindy walked by or talked to me, I simply hid this other window.
That night, I saw my husband return to the apartment through the cameras. He seemed drunk. He had a woman with him. She was fairly attractive, though a downgrade, to be sure. I wondered about their relationship. Whether or not she was his girlfriend, a regular prostitute, a fuck buddy, or something else. Looking at her, she seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it. I stared at my husband, wondering about how he was doing, while simultaneously being filled with the traumatic feelings I had forgotten about. I felt sick to the stomach. But I also felt a rush. Like I was doing something I wasn't allowed to do.
I watched them take off their clothes, get into bed, and have sex. I felt no sexual arousal then. But I did feel something else. That strange rush, like cold water trickling down my spine. I knew I should stop watching, but I found myself transfixed. I was unable to stop.
I kept staring at the woman, until I realized she looked almost exactly like Cindy. But it couldn't be her, I could hear her playing games in the room adjacent to mine. Why did she look exactly like her? I was filled with confusion and I slammed the laptop closed. I laid in my bed, filled with a numbed darkness.
I don't expect anyone else to understand, but I started looking at that website everyday. I became filled with an obsession. It wasn't that I was obsessed with my husband, it was a strange mixture of nostalgia, anger, curiosity, and attraction to the woman he was with. I hated that she was with him, that anyone else was with him, even though I hated him too. Inexplicably, I began having sexual fantasies about that woman. I couldn't get her out of my head. The more I hated her, the more I began having these intrusive fantasies. And the website was so easy to access. Everyday I'd tell myself I'd do job applications, but then I'd briefly pull up the site, browse it out of curiosity, and end up in a pit of libidinal-infused despair. I didn't know what was happening to me. I felt the need to rescue this poor woman, tell her what was being done to her, but I also didn't want her to stop, because I wanted to keep watching her.
BETWEEN 08.23.2013 13:50
AND 08.23.2013 15:20
I eventually had another funny little idea. I still had the key to that apartment. That place, soaked in so much trauma, shame, and manipulation. I could just unlock the door and step back in. That is, if he hadn't changed the locks. For some reason, I felt like I had to know whether he had changed the locks or not. It was if I thought knowing that would give me closure. The only thing stopping me was the walk it would take to get there.
The thought entered my mind intrusively for several days, until I decided to cave in. I somehow felt it was necessary, that it was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not. I simply felt the compulsion and followed it. When I got to the apartment, I unlocked the door without any problem. I was surprised. But then I thought, why should he have changed them? Of course he wants me to come back, he was obsessed with me. I shouldn't be surprised. He would leave this woman and come running back to me if I only said the word. But, of course, I would never do that. He still repulsed me.
I took a few steps into the apartment. I tried to rationalize it to myself. The time and effort it took me to get there wouldn't be worth it if I didn't simply look inside. So I went in, it had that certain smell I had forgotten. It had been a part of my life for so long, and with it came rushing back all sorts of things I missed about this place. But along with that came sickness again. It was almost a physical pain I felt in my stomach. As if my body was warning me not to go farther.
I didn't listen to it.
I looked around and I saw pictures with this new woman on the walls. The thought of them having a happy life together brought me to tears. I hated what they had. I hated that I still wanted it. I hated that I would never let myself have it.
I quietly crept by the bedroom, seeing the woman fast asleep on the bed. I was filled with a sudden wave of alarm. I needed to get out of here. I would seriously fuck up my life if I stayed here. I began quietly making my way to the front door. But then I noticed something on the fridge. It looked like a wedding invitation. I felt like I had to see if it was for them. Why would I even want to know that, though? I stood there, transfixed by the debate in my head. I decided that I had been weak at every other point today, I might as well stand up for myself at least once. I made my way to the door.
Just as I reached out for the doorknob, I heard a voice say, shakily, "who the fuck are you?"
I looked back and I saw the woman. Camelia. She was holding a kitchen knife. Something about that was endearing to me. I decided in a split second that I was here for a reason, and that reason was to save her from this Hell she did not know she was trapped in.
"I came for you, to help you. To warn you about your... your..." I thought about what word to say, then spat out, "man."
"You better fucking explain yourself quickly," she said, holding up her phone with 9-1-1 dialed on it.
"Okay, okay. So I dated him for several years," I said, my voice shaking with intensity, "and, well, we actually married and I lived with him here. In this apartment. But there was something in this apartment, something he didn't want me to know about."
"What do you mean?"
"He was keeping this secret from me, all along he was..." I spoke carefully and deliberately, while trying to gauge Camelia's emotions. "Well, he has this fucked up fetish where he likes filming people without their permission, he streams it online for other people to watch. And... and..." I trailed off for a moment, getting nervous at the curious expression on her face. I concluded, "he manipulated and profited off of having sex with me on camera in front of strangers."
She gasped, but not in the way I would have expected. "I'm sorry," she whispered, emotionally, "but you're Carmen, aren't you?"
"Carmen?"
She smiled a melancholy smile, "I met him, through you."
"What do you mean?"
"I watched you for years. I first watched him because of you. But then I started to like him too. When you suddenly disappeared from the scene, I realized there was an opportunity for me. I'm sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. We met through that site."
I was speechless. What could I say?
"I'm sorry this is the way things ended up, but I'm afraid I'm not willing to give him up. I like what we have."
"You mean, you entered into this, knowing what this all is?"
"Yes. And I've made peace with it. I've even learned to enjoy it. And God knows we don't have to worry about rent," she said, almost smiling, but then feeling guilty about it and deliberately frowning, "he opened up to me about you, you know. He told me about how Carmen was on that site without knowing. He really felt bad about it. He wanted to turn a new leaf. To have a relationship built on consent. He's been working on himself a lot, and if you're willing to see him again I think you'd--"
I interrupted her, saying bitterly, "hold on, he 'opened up to you about me'? What the fuck does that mean? It's not like I'm some dirty little secret, I'm a real fucking person who was manipulated and abused. He's-- he's an abuser. You know that?"
"Look, I can tell you're upset. I see where you're coming from, and, yeah, I don't want to invalidate what you're saying. But let's not make him into a villain. He made some mistakes. But I think he still deserves to be loved."
I tried to respond, "you don't know, you have no idea, none at all, as to what it's like, to be... to be..." My words were interrupted with unstoppable fits of sobbing. At this point I had no control over my emotions.
She put her knife and her phone down. She came over to me and placed her hands on my shoulders.
"Look, everyone has... preferences, right? And you found that you don't like this, and that's okay. That's your preference. That's your choice. But you also need to realize that we're perfectly happy the way we are now. I know that might hurt to hear. But it's true, okay? And whether you know it or not, we're both here for you. Anytime you need our support, you can reach out to us. But it's also totally valid if you never want to talk to him again. It's your life. And this one is mine."
I shook my head, "what are you saying? What kind of life is this?"
"No life is better than another. It's just preference. And as long as we're honest about our preferences, we'll be okay, alright? That's all life is. Just preference. C'mon, look at me," she grabbed my chin and made me look in her eyes, "you are so incredibly beautiful and inspiring to me. And I have to thank you. I never would have found the love of my life without you. So, thank you. Thank you."
She began tearing up too. She hugged me. I was unable to move.
"I have to go."
She looked at me, sadly.
"Okay. Everything in its own time."
I couldn't bring myself to respond or look back, so I simply left.
I went onto the street. Unsure where to go, or what to do with myself. On impulse, I went to the deli I used to go to.
The cashier recognized me, saying, "why hello again, long time no see! How you been?"
I muttered, "still have coffee here?"
"Still have coffee."
"One, black," I responded. I went and sat down at the same table I sat at half a year ago.
I began to cry. I mean, really cry. Like I never had before. I felt guilty. I hated crying in public. Like I was drawing attention to myself. Ruining other people's day. But I just couldn't control it. I had to. So I simply let myself. For the first time in my life, I really let myself cry. And nobody seemed to mind.