The Insufferable Silence in Apartment 616

Three - What Are You Afraid Of?

Lizzie's insides were twisting. With the gag removed, she could now talk, although her body was demanding the other thing. She closed her eyes and worked her jaw, sore from the gag. Finally: "Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?"

No reaction, no missed beat: "My name is Peter and I'm here asking you what you're so afraid of, Lizzie."

Never getting fucked again? Never feeling like you're being split in two—

"Your boyfriend dumped you. It didn't go well. Not that those things ever do. But you check his Instagram every day. Not to mention the new girl's Instagram—" he leaned forward conspiratorially—"the fucking tits on that one! Honestly, he should enjoy it while it lasts because she's grade-A fuckmeat that's just gonna move onto the next thick dick that crosses her path, am I right?"

Lizzie blinked. His words were a cold shower to her repressed libido. Who the fuck was this guy and how did he know?

As if he could read her mind: "Again, my name is Peter," he repeated, leaning back and dropping the melodrama, "and I'm here asking you what you're so afraid of, Lizzie."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Lizzie's brain was too busy racing and when she didn't say anything, Peter continued: "How about this? Fun World. You have an annual pass and go there once or twice every week after work. That's on top of weekend visits. Your patronage of this park is like clockwork."

Lizzie couldn't hide her confusion. Why did she have to defend her recreational activities to a home invader? "I have an annual pass. It's a great value. A good way to kill a few hours."

Peter leaned in, eyes sparkling. "Reading a book is a good way to kill a few hours and infinitely more affordable, not to mention a great way to expand those mental horizons. Spending more time at a theme park than one of its own minimum wage hot dog slingers is a tacit—albeit desperate—exercise in avoiding something else altogether."

Peter's impossibly dark eyes penetrated Lizzie.

"Something that terrifies you," he said quietly. "So again: what are you afraid of?"

Lizzie snapped, pulling against her restraints. "I'm not afraid of anything!"

"Ha!" Peter bounced to his feet so quickly his chair clattered to the floor behind him. "Everyone's afraid of something. Everyone has that little voice inside their head pointing out all their flaws and failures. Maybe you're afraid you were never good enough for your boyfriend, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe you're afraid you won't lose those few extra pounds. Or maybe—maybe!—you're just afraid of the Big One."

Peter grabbed Lizzie's wrists and leaned in close, uncomfortably nose-to-nose. "The inevitable. The endless sleep. The darkness that comes for all of us. Tell me, Lizzie, are you so insufferably boring that you're just afraid of death?"

Lizzie had no idea what was happening, but it was safe to say that all the sexual energy had evaporated. That tends to happen when someone calls you insufferably boring.

"... fuck you."

Peter clicked his teeth and pulled away, studying the simmering rage on Lizzie's face. "No ... not death."

He turned to the table and picked up a smartphone. Lizzie recognized the bright colors of her case. Peter tapped in a sequence of numbers and unlocked the device.

"Hey—!"

"Last I counted," Peter said as he scrolled the device, "you were able to keep upwards of thirteen utterly random conversations going across social media and texts. Concurrently. With complete strangers."