• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 10
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Email targets you.
Junk mail targets you.
Hate mail targets you.
The Daily Mail targets you.
All your male colleagues, even your male friends, target you. They’ve stopped texting or calling but they’re there, in the shadows. They’re know all your faults. They’re out to get you.

You’ve stayed inside for months.

A door slams and you leap out of bed. Now they’re coming. Now they’re in the passage. Now you’re in the cupboard. But when you realise what you thought were footsteps is actually the hammering of your heart, when you realise what you thought was your front door slamming was next door’s (it’s just done it again), you fall out of the cupboard and stumble into your room.

It’s light. Daylight. But the light is peripheral. It’s been like that for months, but this time you put your hands to your face. This time you take off the thing that’s stuck to your face. It hurts, and it takes a long time. But when it’s finally gone you have to shield your eyes against bright bright sunlight. And tend your wounds. And bin the target, and the hate mail and the junk mail and the Daily Mails. And set secure email filters. And go outside. Nervously. And bump into a friend who says he’s missed you. For the first time in months.