Like, Follow, Kill

I could still remember everything, if I allowed myself to. That old version of me trapped inside my head—she wouldn’t let me forget. I could silence her voice, but not her memories. No, some memories never die, no matter how much we want them to.

I want to forget … it’s easier to forget a life that I destroyed.

We had a great relationship, Chris and me. Not good, great.

I imagined the weight of him, thick hairy arms draped around my neck while I typed at my desk. Chris massaging my shoulders, twisting his fingers through my hair, tugging at the knots … hands squeezing my neck, not so hard I couldn’t breathe, but enough to give me pause …

But my life was different now. For the most part, I spent my days reading books and watching TV to keep myself sane. I bathed and exercised (a bit) and cooked food. But the moments between those activities and sleeping, those moments belonged to the internet. Searching and looking … trying to find myself somewhere, I guess. Lately, I’d been consumed by Valerie.

It wasn’t her video on Instagram at 2am that woke me, because I was already awake. In the wee morning hours … that was when I often ventured outside, but never beyond the concrete slab I used as a porch.

Perched in a rusty lawn chair, a shapeless cloud of smoke formed around my head like a bubble. Pall Malls—another addiction I couldn’t quite master or shake.

Karen/Carol couldn’t see me from here, even if she was looking. But still, I’d left the back porch light off just in case. I didn’t want to be seen. Looking at my own scars was hard enough; I didn’t need others staring at them, too.

The 2am notification shook me out of my dream-like, smoking state. I stubbed my cigarette out on the rim of an empty soda can on the table beside me, then squinted down at my iPhone. The white-hot brightness of the phone in the dark caused a sharp twinge of pain in my right temple.

_TheWorldIsMine_26 started a live video. Watch it before it ends!

Valerie posted live videos a few times per week, but 2am, even for a frequent poster like her, was unusual. Hours earlier she’d posted several photos on Instagram and a Snapchat story in a smoky underground club in eastern Kentucky called Cavern.

Meeting some interesting new ppl in Paducah! Cavern is the best-kept secret here. But it’s all about business tonight though. #allworknoplay #hustling

The club had a dingy, dark look to it … but Valerie herself was dressed to the nines, in a navy-blue suit that made her hair look white hot and glossy in the photos. I noticed the pink strips in her hair were now gone …

Most likely, she was wining and dining some doctors or other consumers in the healthcare industry. Working that Valerie charm to push whatever the latest drug product on the market was.

I clicked on the newest video, holding my breath in anticipation.

The video was dark, so it was hard to see, and for a moment the screen bumbled and glitched … then Valerie’s nose and lips filled the entire screen.

Immediately, I felt a prickle of fear in my stomach. Something is wrong.

“Not a good night, guys. Not a good night at all,” Valerie’s bow-like lips moved shakily on the screen. They were puffy. Stained purple with drink.

“The meeting was swell, but some creep decided to follow me back to my hotel room. Can you guys stay with me, please …?” The screen bobbled and shook as she walked; all I could see was the lower half of her face. She was panting, releasing short gulps of air through her swollen lips. And she was stumbling too … possibly drunk.

I’ve never seen her this vulnerable.

“Almost there, guys … thanks for having my back,” she huffed. The video panned out and finally, I could see her whole face. Her eyes were wide, more frightened than I’d ever seen them before. And she was surrounded by darkness, spiky dark buildings in the distance, but nothing decipherable. Surely, if she were close to the hotel, there would be lights … Speaking of lights, where are all the street lights in that town …?

“As much as I love being on my own, sometimes I feel like I need a hero. There are lots of creeps in the world, guys. But I know I’m safe with you all watching, always having my back …”

The video cut off abruptly.

I gripped the phone, surprised to hear myself panting just like she was seconds earlier.

Will she post again, to let us know that she made it inside safely?

At 4am, I finally climbed into bed. Should I send her a message, ask her if she’s okay? I was always hesitant to message Valerie, afraid of annoying her or seeming desperate … but she could be in trouble …

Ultimately, I decided to wait until morning. Valerie will be okay, she always is.

I balanced the phone on my chest. If she posted, my phone would vibrate, and hopefully, wake me up.

I stared at the fan blades … swish swish swish … until my eyelids grew heavy and closed.

***

The sound of a phone ringing shook me from sleep. Thankfully, I hadn’t dreamed of the accident. I jerked up in bed, trembling for no reason, and immediately, I remembered Valerie’s odd live video she’d posted in the middle of the night. Did she make it back to her hotel okay?

I declined my sister’s call and swiped away her texts. Without taking my meds or washing up, I scrambled out of bed and went straight for my laptop.

I could see my social media notifications from my cell, but I preferred the bigger screen.

And I needed to know if Valerie was alright this morning …

Clearing away cans and empty chip bags, I rolled my computer chair up close to the screen.

The browser was still open on her page from where I’d left it last night. I refreshed, tapping my fingers noisily on the desk while I waited for it to load.

She’s fine. Valerie Hutchens is always fine. And what does it matter if she’s not, huh? She’s not your sister; she’s not your friend, not really. You barely know the fucking girl.

But I did know her, sort of. At least that’s how it felt, as I followed her day-to-day movements, activities, and moods. As much as I hated to admit it, Valerie’s mere existence was keeping me semi-sane while I hid, tucked away from the world in my shitty house, wasting away.

She seemed to be the only thing I could—or wanted—to focus on these days. And although our brief messages weren’t much, she was the only living soul I’d communicated with—besides my sister and the doctors—since the accident.

I don’t have any friends, no one I can talk to … and although our short chats online probably meant nothing to her, they meant everything to me. Sure, I was jealous of her—her fragile beauty made me more self-aware of my own flaws, and her free-spirited travels and successful career highlighted my personal failures … but Valerie was hope.

She was who I wanted to be … a glimpse of who I might have been …

My thoughts drifted over to the unopened Word files, which I couldn’t see because Valerie’s page was blocking the many icons that dotted the screen. Like Valerie, I was a writer. But not the kind that could ever get published. No, I’d stopped that kind of writing years ago. Now, I did some ghostwriting and occasionally, some freelance editing.

God knows I need the money. That’s how I should be spending my time, not stalking people online.

I used to enjoy it, getting lost in other people’s stories after I’d given up on my own … but lately, all I wanted to do was stay up to date with Valerie’s whereabouts and doings … it was her story that intrigued me the most.

Frustrated, I clicked the refresh button again, and finally, Valerie’s Instagram page filled my screen.

Nothing.

The last post was the live video I’d already watched. It had been posted at 2:06am.

I jumped up and ran back to my bedroom to retrieve my cell phone, then checked to make sure she hadn’t posted any Snaps.

Nope—nothing.

***