He would think I was crazy if he stopped over. I looked around the room, seeing the place with his eyes. I was about to crack apart my television when my almost boyfriend texted me. Disassembled outlets, almost electrocuting myself. I continued searching for cameras, tearing the place apart in the process. He couldn’t have known any of that information unless he was watching me. There were a million little moments where he knew too much. Or when he volunteered to come in and fix my sink before I even told him it was broken. The time he asked me whether I enjoyed The Circle finale, even though I’d never mentioned being a fan. The fact that I found nothing should’ve calmed me down, but the longer I looked, the more memories came flooding back to me. Then I swept the room with a blacklight, on the hunt for miniature cameras smaller than a thumbnail. I tossed on a sweatshirt to cover myself and slipped into big, fuzzy socks in case he had some kind of foot fetish. My landlord might have been a weirdo, but I felt confident he would never sneak inside while I was in my bathrobe.īut what if he snuck inside when I wasn’t home? What if he installed some of those baby cameras and watched me in my bathrobe from his room on the other side of the complex? I never really worried about it before, even though the apartments on either side of me were empty, undergoing renovations, leaving me pretty much isolated. My landlord has keys to my place in case I lock myself out or there’s an emergency where he needs to barge inside. They were nearly impossible to detect, even when you were actively looking for them. He showed cameras installed in tissue boxes. He talked about how there were a growing amount of apartment buildings and Airbnbs with hidden cameras - and how easy it was to disguise them. The other day, I made the mistake of watching Shane Dawson’s newest conspiracy theory video.
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