Selfie Inflicted

9

I screamed.

Loud and shrill I screamed and screamed.

Lyza came bursting in the door, stumbling and falling but shouting "What, what!?"

I told her. I told her about my search online, about the man outside the window.

I told her how I had destroyed the phone only to have it return to me.

"We have to get out of here. We have to go. We'll go to my mom's."

I agreed and she said she'd go back to her place to get her car. We would drive out immediately. It was a few hours, we'd be heading up into the country. It was far away from here, far away from anything. I knew it would be perfect.

I moved through the house, packing a few things into my bag. Some clothes and my laptop. I checked my phone and saw hundreds of notifications and messages. I couldn't deal with them now. I threw it into my pack and went to the kitchen. I was starving and couldn't even remember the last time I ate. Was it yesterday? The day before?

I grabbed a hunk of cheese and an old half-eaten salad and stood in the kitchen. I didn't look out the window. Didn't want to see anything unsettling. I tried eating but could barely bring myself to do it. I threw the food into the trash.

When I finished I put the plates in the sink and then habitually I started washing them. I hate mess and didn't want bugs and mice to be having a field day when I came back. I filled the sink up and poured in loads of detergent, the bubbles rising up.

I began to wash the wine glasses and the shot glasses. I put the plate on the rack and reached down for the cutlery. I felt around but I'd put in so much detergent it was hard to even hold the knives and forks. Eventually I got a handful and started wiping.

Then I noticed the water. It was changing, the foaming bubbles pink.

The sink was turning red. I felt a stinging in my hand and pulled it.

My palm was cut open, blood streamed from it. The cut reached from my pinkie finger almost up to my wrist. I shrieked and grabbed a dish cloth. The cut was shallow but the blood spilled from it and the rag turned red.

How did this happen? I carefully reached into the sink and let the plug out. When the water gurgled away I howled. The sink was full of my sharp knives. All of them.

I ran to the bathroom and doused my arm with antiseptic wash, growling at the pain. I dabbed at the wound, wondering if I'd need stitches. I pulled the cloth back and the blood had slowed. It didn't look too bad after all, but if it had been one inch higher up I'd have been in trouble.

I found some gauze and large bandaids in my bathroom and sealed my hand up as best I could. I'd need to get Lyza to help me make it better.

I went to the door and stepped out into the hallway and then paused. I looked back.

There it was.

The iPhone.

It was on the table.

I told myself to go.

And yet, I stood there, staring at it. It was clearly something unique, something powerful. I didn't understand it but knew there was something special about it. Something twisted but important.

And then it buzzed. And my heart dropped.

I ran to the phone and lifted it up. The gauze on my hand slipped away as I swiped it on. Blood poured from my palm onto the screen and I struggled to unlock it. Through a film of red I opened the gallery and pulled up the photos.

There was the selfie. But this time, only I was in the photo.