My fiancé told me the neighborhood was getting sketchy and suggested we set up emergency safe words. “You absolutely loathe coconut,” Jackie had said, his arm wrapped casually around my shoulder. “You literally gag at the smell. So if you ever need me in an emergency, just text or call me and say: “I’m craving coconut.” I’ll know instantly that something is wrong. As for mine, let’s make it…” But when I actually found myself in danger and called him, the person who picked up was his “female bestie.” Lexi’s voice was dripping with irritation. “Jackie, your girlfriend is doing her attention-seeking thing again,” she shouted into the background. “She’s calling in the middle of the night saying she wants coconut. Are you actually going to go buy some? If you leave, we’re short a fourth for poker. It’s so annoying!” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before Jackie’s dismissive voice drifted through the speaker. “I’m not going. It’s that time of the month; she just likes to make a scene when she’s bored.” Later, around one in the morning, Jackie—who had a bad knee and hadn’t stepped foot in a gym in years—sent me a text. “I’m heading to the gym.” I only sent back a detached reply: “Oh, drive safe then.” Then I wrapped myself tighter in my blanket and went back to sleep. … It was Lexi who had hung up the phone on me that night, not even waiting for a response. I sat there, gripping my phone, my entire body trembling. A wave of bitter regret washed over me for ever putting my faith in Jackie’s words. I tried to dial 911, but before my thumb could press the screen, a slick, low voice hissed from the shadows behind me. “Craving coconut? Want me to go buy some for you?” Tears of sheer terror sprang to my eyes. I spun around, my voice cracking as I stammered, “What do you want? Money? I can give you whatever you want. Please, just don’t kill me!” The man only smiled, a slow, casual tilt of his lips as he shook his head. “I don’t want your money. I just want your life.” I froze, the sheer absurdity of the words forcing a question out of my throat. “Why?” His face darkened instantly, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Why? You have the nerve to ask me why? We dated online for months. I gave you everything I had. You broke it off out of nowhere, without a single explanation. Why?” He took a step closer, his voice rising with erratic energy. “I transferred my entire savings to you just to keep you happy. Was that not enough? Women like you—vain, playing with people’s hearts—you deserve to die!” The man’s breathing grew ragged, his agitation peaking as he suddenly lunged forward and gripped my throat. I struggled violently, my hands clawing at his wrists. Yet, as the suffocating pressure mounted, a strange, cold clarity washed over my brain. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I did not know this man. I had never engaged in an online relationship with him, and I had certainly never taken any money from anyone—I didn’t even accept expensive gifts from Jackie. It was a mistake. He had targeted the wrong person. I needed to explain. Just as my consciousness began to flicker into darkness, the grip on my throat suddenly vanished. I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. “Dying like this is too easy for you,” the man muttered, staring down at me with a manic, vacant look in his eyes. “Someone like you needs to suffer. You need to rot from the inside out…” I didn’t waste a second. Dragging air into my burning lungs, I cried out, “I am not the woman you met online! I don’t know who you are, and I have never catfished anyone!” The man paused, let out a dry chuckle, and pulled out his phone. “Still trying to lie to me?” He swiped through his screen and turned it toward me, displaying a series of chat logs. “These are the photos you sent me. Are you going to tell me this isn’t you?” My eyes scanned the screen. The first thing I noticed were the prominent transaction receipts—Venmo and CashApp transfers totaling over two hundred thousand dollars. Then, I looked at the photos. I wanted to tell him that I regularly posted selfies on Instagram, that someone must have stolen them to create a fake profile. But the words died in my throat. I stared, paralyzed. The photos were indeed of me. And someone had definitely used them to catfish this man. But these particular images had never been posted on my public social media. They were intimate, slightly revealing photos—the kind I had only ever shared with one person. A horrifying realization sparked in the back of my mind, though I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it. “I only sent those photos to my fiancé,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “They shouldn’t be anywhere on the internet.” The man let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Right. And wasn’t I your fiancé? The stupid, gullible fiancé who paid for everything?” “No! Please, listen to me,” I pleaded, sweat slicking my forehead as panic escalated. “I have an actual fiancé. We’ve been together for years, and we’re supposed to get married next month.” The man’s expression hardened. “So you’re telling me you were playing both of us?” Desperate, I unlocked my phone and held it out to him. “Look! This is my actual phone number, my real Instagram, my real Snapchat. I don’t have burner accounts. Everything is registered under my real name. I can call customer support right now in front of you to prove it. We can trace where those money transfers actually went!” I broke down, tears streaming down my face. “Please, just believe me! I didn’t do this! I don’t want to die for someone else’s crime!” The man remained silent, studying me with a piercing glare. After a long, agonizing silence, he spoke. “You said you only sent those photos to your fiancé?” I nodded frantically. “So,” he continued slowly, “you’re telling me the person who catfished me and stole my money is your fiancé? He put on a high-pitched voice and pretended to be a woman online?” I wanted to nod, because even though I couldn’t comprehend why Jackie would do such a thing, he was the only one who possessed those photos. “I’ll call him right now!” I said, grabbing my phone and immediately dialing Jackie’s number. It rang and rang, but there was no answer. I called again, and then a third time. Each call went straight to voicemail. “He’s playing poker,” I muttered, my voice hollow. “He probably has his phone on silent.” “Are you done acting?” the man asked quietly. He tapped his screen and played an audio message. “Babe, I really want some of that fancy coconut water, but it’s just so expensive…” A sweet, high-pitched female voice drifted into the quiet room. I had never heard that exact voice before, yet a sickening sense of familiarity crept over me. “Maybe… maybe they used a voice-changer app?” I suggested weakly. The man stared at me, his face devoid of emotion. He stood up, taking a slow step toward me. My mind raced, but my limbs felt heavy, frozen in place by fear. As he reached out to cover my mouth, a sudden memory sparked. “I can’t eat coconut! I’m severely allergic to it!” He paused, his hand hovering in mid-air. I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaking violently, and ran into my bedroom. I pulled open a drawer and retrieved a medical report from three years ago. “Look,” I gasped, thrusting the papers into his hands. “I was hospitalized because of an allergic reaction to coconut oil in a dessert. I literally can’t touch the stuff. Why would I ask you to buy me coconut water?” The apartment fell dead silent. The man stared at the medical report for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath. “I believe you.” Before I could even begin to feel relief, he added, “But a burner account can be set up under any name, and money can be routed through different cards. And just because you’re allergic doesn’t mean you couldn’t have asked for it to give to someone else. None of this is absolute proof.” My heart leaped back into my throat. But the man kept his eyes locked on mine. “However, your reaction tells me you aren’t lying.” Right then, my phone rang. The man gestured for me to answer it. I picked up, and Jackie’s annoyed voice filled the space. “What the hell do you want? It’s the middle of the night. I’ve been losing all evening, and you keep blowing up my phone. You’re ruining my night!” Hearing his voice, a wave of cold fury washed over my fear. I screamed into the receiver, “Jackie, did you share my private photos with someone else? Are you out of your mind? Those were private! Do you have any idea what is happening to me right now—” I caught the man’s warning gaze and abruptly cut myself off. Jackie went silent, but in the background, Lexi’s voice rang out clearly. “Oh my god, what is her problem? Why does she have to call every five minutes? Women are so exhausting.” I felt the man beside me stiffen. The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place with terrifying precision. “Lexi,” I spat into the phone, “did you catfish someone using my photos?” The line went dead quiet for a second before Lexi flared up. “What the fuck did you just say? Are you insane? I don’t even like dating in real life, why the hell would I catfish anyone? Branda, did you get caught sleeping around and now you’re trying to pin your mess on me?” The louder and more defensive she got, the more certain I became. “Jackie, I—” “Branda, can you stop making a scene?” Jackie interrupted, his voice dripping with cold indifference. “You think everyone is as obsessed with drama as you are? I’m out with my friends. Can’t you have a life of your own for one night? I lost a ton of money tonight because you kept distracting me. Go find a show to watch. “General Hospital” has like fifteen thousand episodes, go catch up on that!” The line went dead. I sat on the sofa, staring blankly ahead. I looked up at the man standing near my door. The threat of immediate violence seemed to have passed, but the tension in the room was still thick. Even if he believed me, there was no guarantee he would let me go. I closed my eyes in exhaustion. When I opened them, the man was already turning the doorknob. He stopped, looking back at me with a cryptic, humorless smile. “Do you know what I used to do for a living?” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. It took several minutes for the silence to sink in. I reached up and realized my face was soaked with cold sweat. I picked up my phone to dial the police, but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t press the numbers. He had entered my apartment without making a sound. If I called the police and they failed to catch him, what would he do? Would he come back for me? Was his final question a curious inquiry, or a quiet threat? I didn’t sleep a single wink that night. The next morning, I dragged my exhausted body toward my office building. As I approached the entrance, I saw Jackie waiting by the doors. He had dark circles under his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept either. The moment he saw me, he rushed over. “Branda! Are you okay? I was worried sick about you last night! I didn’t sleep at all, and I came straight here to check on you.” I looked at him. Despite my exhaustion, my mind had never been clearer. If he was so worried, why had he ignored my safe word? Why hadn’t he come to my apartment last night, instead of waiting until my exact shift started to show up at my office? I admit, I used to be blinded by my feelings for him. I had tolerated the subtle hostility from his friend group. I had ignored Lexi’s unwarranted dislike of me. But in the face of life and death, all of those excuses evaporated. I let out a soft, cold laugh. “Jackie, when I used my safe word last night, why didn’t you come?” His eyes flickered with guilt, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “We rarely get the whole group together these days. If I just up and left, it would have ruined the whole mood.” “Do you even hear yourself?” I asked, my voice flat. “My physical safety is worth less to you than keeping the mood light for your friends?” Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, Jackie frowned. “Well, Lexi said girls always use stuff like that to test their boyfriends. She said you probably weren’t in actual danger, and that you just wanted to force me to come home and ruin our night.” I scoffed, refusing to waste my breath on his excuses. Instead, I asked the question that mattered. “The private photos I sent you—who did you share them with? Was it Lexi?” Jackie’s posture went rigid, his defense mechanisms kicking in. “Of course not! Why would I do that? Those were private. I’d never show anyone.” “Think very carefully before you answer,” I said coldly. “Sharing intimate images without consent is a crime. I’ve already contacted a lawyer.” “What?” Jackie’s voice cracked. “You’re threatened to take legal action against me? Are you crazy? I’m your fiancé!” “My fiancé distributed my private photos,” I said. “Why shouldn’t I protect myself?” Jackie’s chest heaved as he struggled to find words. Finally, he let out a long breath and deflated. “Okay, fine. I did it. But I swear I didn’t mean any harm! You know how Lexi is… she’s basically one of the guys. She told me she wanted to learn how to be softer, how to be more feminine so she could actually find a boyfriend. She asked to see how you carried yourself, how you took photos. I only showed them to her so she could learn!” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “She used those photos to catfish a man and steal over two hundred thousand dollars from him. And last night, that man broke into my apartment. I almost became her scapegoat. I almost died.” Jackie’s eyes widened in temporary shock, but he quickly shook his head. “No, that’s impossible. There must be some misunderstanding. Lexi is loud and a bit clueless sometimes, but she would never do something like that. Branda, I know you don’t like her, but you can’t just accuse her of a felony.” I felt a sudden, profound sense of exhaustion. “Since you trust her so much—since you couldn’t even bother to check on me—why did you even bother setting up those safe words?” “If I hadn’t wasted my one phone call on you, I would have called the police immediately.” Jackie’s patience wore thin. He shoved his hands into his pockets, groaning in frustration. “But you’re fine, aren’t you? Nothing actually happened. Why do we have to make such a big deal out of this?” He muttered something else under his breath. “What did you say?” I demanded. Jackie gritted his teeth. “I said, aren’t you on your period anyway? If someone breaks in, they either want money or… you know. You don’t have that much cash in the apartment, and since it’s that time of the month, no guy was going to touch you. Lexi was right, you were perfectly safe. You just wanted to ruin my night.” The moment the words left his mouth, I swung my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “We’re done, Jackie,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “You disgust me.” He stood frozen, clutching his cheek, before his face contorted in anger. “Branda, don’t do this! The venue is booked, the invitations are out, and you’re breaking up with me over this? There’s a limit to how dramatic you can be!” I raised my hand and slapped him again, even harder. “Get lost.” Turning on my heel, I walked into the office building, leaving him shouting behind me. “You’re going to regret this, Branda! You hear me? You’ll regret this!” I pulled out my phone and blocked him, his mother, and his entire friend group across every platform. Over the next week, Jackie tried calling me from dozens of burner numbers. Sometimes he begged, sometimes he made vague threats. I ignored all of them. His friends tried to reach out too. “Come on, Branda, give him a break. Don’t be like this.” I was planning to go to the police station the following morning to file a harassment report. But that night, at 1:00 AM, my phone lit up with a call from an unknown number. I picked it up, and a shaky, trembling voice came through the speaker. “B-Branda… I’m… I’m heading to the gym.” It was Jackie. And those were his exact safe words. I sat up in bed, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. I answered him in a light, casual tone. “Oh. Drive safe then.” I went to hang up, but Jackie panicked, shouting into the phone, “Wait! Please, wait—”
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