text: “I was relaxing on the sofa when she called. When I picked up, she asked me if I would make it to the party that night. I gave a generic excuse about needing to get sleep for an early morning at work the next day. Maybe I said I wasn’t feeling well. I don’t remember, but Jackie said something in response before the line cut out. It was the last time I spoke to her-” I paused before adding, “It didn’t seem unusual for the phone to give out like that. I would have called back if I had thought something might have happened.” “I knew I sounded pathetic justifying myself like that, but I was so nervous up on the stand that I couldn’t stop to think about the words I was saying before they poured out of me. I felt I was witnessing a child pull at a loose string on a knit sweater. With each tug, there was a little less of me. I felt after only a few seconds that the damage was irreparable. It was that quick. Each question I was asked pulled on a loose thread. Please state your name for the record. Tug. What was your relation to Ms. Jackie Issacson? Tug. What was your relation to Mr. Leonard Bentson? Tug. Were you aware that Ms. Issacson had the predisposition to commit financial identity fraud, extortion, and distribution of nonconsensual pornography? Tug.” “It all made a little more sense when, years later in therapy, I was told that certain events can trigger psychotic episodes in individuals, even those without any previous mental health conditions,” I closed my eyes and pretended to yawn. I was ready to change the conversation to something else. My throat was tight and my mind was congested. “And when you talked to her again, what did she say?” you asked. “She said she had done it for me,” I answered. “That’s terrible, babe. Come here, let me hold you,” you said as you pulled me into your chest. I could smell the coffee on you still. Your skin was sticky against my face. I recalled when we first started seeing each other in the fall: I would wait at the store until your shift ended and we would go back to my apartment to spend hours kissing on my sofa. Your body always tasted of salt then. You would always offer to shower and I told you I liked you better with the smell of life on you. You would apologize for spills and spots on your clothes and I told you it wouldn’t matter if we took them off. Now lying with my head burrowed into your body surrounded by the smell of life, and dried sweat, I wondered why you hadn’t showered after work today as you usually did. I was going to ask why, but sleep filled me before the words slipped from my lips. You left a note on the counter the next morning: Thanks for sharing with me last night about your ex-friend. That must have been a very tough situation for you to go through. It got me thinking it might be a good idea to invest in some more security on our computers. Maybe we can do some research together tonight. See you then. -Caleb I felt alone in the world for the next few hours. It was all-encompassing loneliness that is not demanding. I didn’t feel lacking as if I needed to be connected to the outside world, I was simply very conscious that I was not. It was a feeling that can only be brought on by the absence of any obligations and any company. I’d felt it many times before. I filled the tea kettle and turned the stove on, but when the water boiled I turned the flame off and decided to go back to bed instead. As I lay on top of the covers, I began thinking about your note, Caleb, and decided to write one in response: You really missed the point. I am not afraid of being out of control or losing my identity. Control is not something you can find once you lose it. I have lost it and there is no getting it back. Leo had lost control and pushed me down under him. Leo had forced himself in between my lips. Jackie had lost control and stolen bank account information from Leo’s desktop. And I lost control of myself on the stand. It wasn’t about home security, or computer security, or even Jackie. It was about the lawyer pulling on the string of a sweater. It was the questioning on the stand. It was about the answers that I couldn't refuse to give. It was about how I felt everything all the time as everyone does until I was nothing anymore. It was about the tugging that turned my life into lines on pages in a file in a box in a building. It was about people turning my life into sentences about legal actions and sentencing. Your note was a tug on a string of a sweater I no longer wear. I’m naked now, Caleb. Or better yet I have no body any longer. My attacker is no longer an attacker because I am no longer a victim. I am no longer anything. I can’t research identity theft protection plans with you tonight because there is no identity for me to guard. The tugging has taken the last substance from my existence this morning. I hate lawyers and I hate computers. Always and forever, I wasn't sure how to sign it. I figured I would decide on something catchy, but never did. I walked back into the kitchen and considered making something for breakfast. I touched my fingers to my lips. They were chapped and cracked. My lower lip burned in a spot I knew must be bleeding. Now I have blood, sweat, and saliva on my lips and nothing left to say.