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""Slept well? wyd?"" 7:23 AM. Like every morning for three weeks, my fingers tremble as I type these words. He never responds immediately. But I know he reads them. Always. Today is different. Today, we're meeting. I should be at school. Instead, I'm walking toward a deserted parking lot where a metallic gray Porsche is waiting for me. Where HE is waiting for me. His hands on the steering wheel. Those same hands I imagine everywhere on me at night... I don't even know his real name. But my body would recognize him among thousands. The car door opens slightly. An invitation. A trap. And me? I approach anyway. Because certain obsessions are stronger than reason.

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