cyberlover

fiction: wires, freezing and shame

My wires have always been crossed. I took the plaster off of my laptop camera because I felt lonely. My laptop was bugging out over the last few months. I went to the repair shop. It had no AC running and the air was hot with sweat. The guy at the counter was a portly man who’s hair was thinner than paper yet he still decided to gel it and comb it. He kept fiddling with his tie, in a bid to make it look even more perfect I think. He diagnosed my computer and said that someone had hacked into my camera. He told me he could fix it and I’d get my laptop back after 2 days. I told him to leave it alone—both the tie and the laptop.

I rushed back to my room and covered the laptop with a plaster. I didn’t have more cash to give the repair guy anyway so DIY was the way forward. I also didn’t want to step foot in that sweaty hell-hole if I could avoid it. I noticed that whilst the camera was covered my laptop glitched more than usual. My mouse would stick to the screen like glue and my keys would work intermittently. No amount of shame takes away the actions so why bother? After two weeks of bothersome glitches, I took off the plaster and had planned to head to the repair shop. As I switch it on, the computer works perfectly.

I could only conclude that the guy behind the screen wanted to see me and it was undeniable that I wanted to use my laptop. So we came up with this non-verbal agreement that I’d leave the camera on and he’d leave me to do my work. It was my only choice and it was the only choice I wanted to make. With all this damage, what’s one more crack? Plus I can use the one tool I know best. Something portable and, with the right hands, holdable —me.

I even started to talk aloud to see if I’d get any response and to my delight I did. I closed down all my tabs and left my desktop clear. A timid “hello,” left the confines of my dry mouth. There was a delay and I could feel the hairs on my arms raise as if they were on hooks. It ached. The budding feeling of shame. Before it could grow, the camera on my laptop opened up. As did a little chat-box that I’d never seen before. Slowly the little cursor drove across the blank box leaving behind letter shaped skid marks. In black, capitalised Arial was a HELLO in response.

The shame would come back. It was only a matter of time before it would perforate my fragile heart.

From then on I would keep my laptop open with the camera always facing me. There was something about the lack of performance that exhilarated me. This man, who said his name was Noah, chose me. Of all the laptops and all the people, he chose mine.

See I’ve never been picked for anything. Sometimes I feel like everyone is wired up correctly and I’m not. I think I’m a cancer to this planet and so does my mother. I think if she had her way she’d have unplugged my foetal body from her womb and thrown me in the middle of the road just so a 16-wheeler can flatten my body into the tarmac. Maybe that’s why I smoke because in my last life I was nothing more than a mess of wired blood on the road.

Regardless, Noah picked me and I made sure to make it worth his while. It was at his request. There were small messages in the chat-box, small favours really. Once he asked me to put on my lipstick up-close into the camera. I made a real show of it. I put on a top with a stupidly low cut top and pulled the lipstick out of my bra. Slowly, I rolled out the red wax and tapped it lightly against my pouting lips. Over and over, I smeared the lipstick over my lips until the colour sunk in leaving them a deep red. The camera was open on the desktop and as I performed, the camera would automatically zoom in and out. I guess that was his way of showing appreciation.

Noah’s appreciation made me feel good. It’s like Noah knew the right words to breakdown the paywall so he could access all my software. He never actually said anything, but still. Not once was I worried about risk or corruption. There was nothing more someone could have done to me that hadn’t already been done. I refused to let the hardware that surrounds me rot and go to waste. I rubbed my body on whoever asked for it because what was the harm in a little kinetic energy. I blasted it on the internet like a web to catch the perverse. I didn’t care about the damage because it had already been done.

Noah’s a command centre. He told me what to do; I complied . He told me what to wear; I complied. He told me what to eat, drink and think; I complied. All for breadcrumbs of kindness. It makes you wonder what kind of life I had for me to engage in such a dynamic. I did everything he asked and I hated it but I kept doing it. It’s pitiful the things we’ll do as long as they’re said gently. Noah is a file that you’ve pirated and whilst you can reap the benefits from it, you know it’s doing nothing more than your computer sick. In this case, I’m sick with shame. I have no hope in a cure because these wires are all wrong. There’s nothing else for me to do except pull the plug.