Hey baby, wondering if you want to meet up sometime soon.

I'm free Monday night!

Hey, this is Charlie from Swipe, is this Keira?

You're really hot, come over later?

The texts didn't seem to end and every single time I thought the last one had gone through, I'd get another five or six. Occasionally, I'd get a call from some random number that I'd never seen before from callers all across the U.S.

It didn't take very long for me to put two and two together.

I stormed out of my bedroom, to the utter surprise of Dane and Cassidy. "I am going to KILL David Walker. Look what he did. Look!"

I thrust my phone towards Cassidy, practically shaking in my anger. She began slowly swiping through the messages, her blue manicured finger meticulous as she tapped through the numbers.

"You mean... you didn't match with any of these people?"

"No! And I never give out my number anyway. Nobody knows my number on the app. Nobody could just get it like this," I was babbling and felt like I was on the verge of tears.

David was the cruelest person in the world. This was harassment. Textbook harassment. He knew my history, he knew everything, and still did this. It was manipulative and rude.

I didn't want to admit it, but I did feel like an idiot. I felt like a complete imbecile. Why hadn't I noticed how shitty David was when he first started trying to woo me? Everything he said and did was straight out of a textbook. He'd even gone so far as to get me to open up about things that I don't tell people easily.

Like how I hated dating apps and had a couple really bad experiences on there.

I still used them, yes, but I always set it up so I had very clear boundaries of what I was comfortable with. I never gave my phone number. I never gave my last name. If after a couple weeks I felt comfortable enough to trust them, then maybe I'd go on a date.

But now I was in a situation where so many random men knew my phone number.

Wait... had David also sent that one guy Cassidy had mentioned? If so, he was also giving randos my address.

There was nobody else who this could trace back to. Nobody else had some sort of vendetta against me where they would do everything in their power to make my life a living hell.

"Keira... I'm sorry. Come here." Cassidy patted the seat next to her. She handed the phone to Dane, who was now somberly reading through the texts.

"Oh my god. This is vulgar," he commented, squinting at the bright screen. "This can't be legal."

I tenderly sat down on the edge of the couch, feeling numb. Cassidy immediately wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.

"We will figure this out. Okay? You are not going to deal with this asshole alone," Cassidy reassured.

I nodded, stiffly. But even though I knew Cassidy and Dane wanted the best for me, I knew that some things were out of our control.

                                                                  ________________________

Every hour the texts got worse.

I had some numbers repeat texting me, asking why I wasn't responding. Another just kept sending variations of "you're hot." Once in a while, I would get call, with voicemails left asking to call back and wondering why I didn't pick up.

I had no idea what David was sending these guys to get them all to harass me like this. Was he promising a hook up? Setting up dates that I was now apparently missing? My best guess was he made a dating profile using photos from my Instagram and literally matched with every single person he possibly could. Judging by what some of the guys were saying, he was using Swipe, a dating app I personally had never tried due to its notorious reputation for creepy men and people only interested in hook ups. I didn't blame people who used it, you do you, but I wasn't in that marketplace.

Although David would probably slut shame me and say otherwise.

Plus, I thought it was somewhat funny the he only sent men my way. He had to know I was bisexual, right? I thought I'd told him. Honestly, he probably wasn't thinking though, and perhaps it was just another way to try to get into my head.

I dragged my feet from class to class, just trying to get through the day. What I really wanted to do was curl up in a ball in my bed and cry. It was frustrating enough to be constantly spammed with text messages that I could barely even use my phone without accidentally clicking a notification or accepting a call. It was even worse knowing that there was malicious intent behind it.

As I reached the front door of my dorm, I was already planning on immediately flopping into bed and not moving for eight hours. I had some ice cream in the freezer that I'd probably down before dinner. Who really cared about societal rules and expectations?

But just as I walked into the front lobby, I heard shouting from around the corner by the elevators.

"Just go, okay? Go. I don't want to see you anymore," yelled someone who was clearly distressed. I paused just inside the lobby, eyes wide. Then, I slowly crept forward, hoping whatever was going on cleared up by the time I inched my way over there.

"That's it? You're not even going to listen to me?!" shouted back another woman, her voice shrill and higher pitched.

"I'm serious this time. Get out."

"No."

"Get out before I call the police."

"You wouldn't."

Suddenly, I heard the musical tones of someone pressing in numbers on a phone.

"Stop it."

"I said I was serious."

"Please." The previously shrill voice was now a desperate whimper.

"Leave."

"Bitch!" Then, just as I reached the corner, a girl with black hair flew past me, racing out the front door and slamming it behind her.

I looked back towards the elevators to see none other than Phoebe Thatcher.