Detective

Your room is a mess, littered with sketches, collages, and little scraps of ideas that don't quite come together. You feel like an artist, but you live like a homeless person. The faint scent of weed lingers in the air, mingling with the smell of incense. Probably a few hints of patchouli as well. Gale, your gecko, is asleep in her tank. You write little reminders to love yourself and keep going.

I mean, somebody has to, even when you feel like you don't matter, which is becoming a more frequent occurrence. You scrawl big letters into a bullet journal, filling page after page after page.

I mean, somebody has to, even when you feel like you don't matter, which is becoming a more frequent occurrence. You scrawl big letters into a bullet journal, filling page after page after page.

I mean, somebody has to, even when you feel like you don't matter, which is becoming a more frequent occurrence. You scrawl big letters into a bullet journal, filling page after page after page.

This is just how things are. You try not to think about it, but it's there. This feeling that you're not worthy of happiness or love. That somehow everyone you meet will leave you in the end. Weird. I thought I was the only one who felt that. It starts in January. One cold night, you're mindlessly scrolling, checking messages. You're used to chatting with people you know.

This is just how things are. You try not to think about it, but it's there. This feeling that you're not worthy of happiness or love. That somehow everyone you meet will leave you in the end. Weird. I thought I was the only one who felt that. It starts in January. One cold night, you're mindlessly scrolling, checking messages. You're used to chatting with people you know.

This is just how things are. You try not to think about it, but it's there. This feeling that you're not worthy of happiness or love. That somehow everyone you meet will leave you in the end. Weird. I thought I was the only one who felt that. It starts in January. One cold night, you're mindlessly scrolling, checking messages. You're used to chatting with people you know.

random party friends, the guy from last week's smoke session, etc. But then a message comes in from someone new. A guy named Kun Joe. Who the hell is Kun Joe? You don't know him, but you're curious. So you accept his Facebook friend request and start chatting. At first, there's nothing out of the ordinary.

random party friends, the guy from last week's smoke session, etc. But then a message comes in from someone new. A guy named Kun Joe. Who the hell is Kun Joe? You don't know him, but you're curious. So you accept his Facebook friend request and start chatting. At first, there's nothing out of the ordinary.

random party friends, the guy from last week's smoke session, etc. But then a message comes in from someone new. A guy named Kun Joe. Who the hell is Kun Joe? You don't know him, but you're curious. So you accept his Facebook friend request and start chatting. At first, there's nothing out of the ordinary.

You're used to people hitting you up out of nowhere like this, so you don't think much of it. A few days later, after some casual banter with this guy, he sends you another message. This one makes your heart skip a beat.

You're used to people hitting you up out of nowhere like this, so you don't think much of it. A few days later, after some casual banter with this guy, he sends you another message. This one makes your heart skip a beat.

You're used to people hitting you up out of nowhere like this, so you don't think much of it. A few days later, after some casual banter with this guy, he sends you another message. This one makes your heart skip a beat.

After this message is a screenshot of your address, this person knows exactly where you live.

After this message is a screenshot of your address, this person knows exactly where you live.

After this message is a screenshot of your address, this person knows exactly where you live.

What does that mean? That's what you're thinking, at least. A few days go by and more messages come through.

What does that mean? That's what you're thinking, at least. A few days go by and more messages come through.

What does that mean? That's what you're thinking, at least. A few days go by and more messages come through.

Your stomach turns. He's included a photo. It's a collage of your own selfies overlaid with a sea of penises. Does this person know that you like to do collages? Is this their twisted way of turning something you enjoy into something disturbing? The next message isn't from Kunjo. It's from a random text me number.