I stared at the dresser in my bedroom. The small camera was visible next to my jewelry box. But only because I knew it was there. No one else would ever know.

I had asked Ben to stay. It had taken every ounce of restraint not to beg him. But he said he wanted to make sure the feed was working. Which meant he was probably watching me right now.

Like he watched the fawn. Huh. Ben had never answered my question about that. Had he gotten video footage of the fawn? Was he getting footage of me right now? I wasn’t sure how it worked. But it probably recorded everything. He’d have to sift through it and trash unimportant files.

My heart rate accelerated at the thought of him sitting at home watching me. Did he find it more fun than the deer? Animals were innocent creatures. I wasn’t. There had to be something enticing about that. Or did he just view me like an animal? Something to watch? Something to study?

I pulled my robe off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I was sitting on the bed in nothing but a short, silky nightgown. My eyes were locked on the camera. Are you watching me, Ben?

Of course he couldn’t hear my thoughts. I sighed. Why’d he have to leave? My throbbing ankle made me turn from the bed. I'd left the Advil on my nightstand. I was just about to unscrew the cap when my phone buzzed.

I lifted up my cell and smiled. Ben had texted me. I clicked on the message, forgetting about the pills.

“Go to bed, Addy.”

I turned toward the camera. “Are you watching me, Ben?” I typed out and pressed send. My heart stammered in my ribcage as I waited. But no response came. I sighed and turned the lights off, wondering if he could still see me. His binoculars had night vision. The cameras might too.

I lay down on top of the covers. My whole body felt hot. I had been so close to finally experiencing all of him tonight. He stayed after I'd told him about my husband. He stayed after I'd said I wanted to murder him. And he was watching me now. He didn’t have to admit it, I could feel it. That feeling was what was causing me to be so hot.

It may have disturbed most people, knowing that someone was watching. But I had never been most people. It was easy to fall asleep with his eyes on me. Easier than it had been in years.

***

“Always.”

I couldn’t stop staring at the text. I had woken up to those words. I had asked him if he was watching me, and he'd responded, “Always.”

There was a tightness in my chest that I couldn’t shake. My father had abandoned me. My mother never wanted me. My husband loathed me.

But Ben? I looked up at the camera mounted on the side of the cupboard. He was watching me. Always.

I felt safe. And content. Which was odd. It was a Friday morning. Normally I’d be in a frenzy cleaning. Making sure there wasn’t a thing out of place for when my husband came home. Friday’s were the worst day. But I felt cheery. I felt like singing and dancing.

My mind was clear. Everything was so freaking clear. Tonight my husband would come home and assault me. Ben would take the video footage to the police. And I’d be free.

I bit the inside of my lip. Or would I be? According to the state, I couldn’t make decisions for myself. Would they lock me up in a madhouse? Would they take me away even though my husband was so clearly the mad one?

Probably. Ugh. I pushed my bowl of cereal away.

What I needed to do was figure out how to prove I was mentally sound. Ben had come up with the idea to videotape my husband. It was a good plan. If I let him in, would he be able to figure out a plan for the second part of the problem too?

I was twisting my hands into knots on my lap. I didn’t want to go from one hell to the next. But I didn’t know if I could confide in Ben without him running away. Who wanted to be with a psychopath? That was what he had called me after hearing my murderous scheming. A psychopath.

No. I couldn’t tell Ben. The only way that the videotapes worked would be if I had an escape planned out. I’d still need to run away. It was probably easier to hide from the state than it was to hide from my husband. Surely they wouldn’t look so hard. It wasn’t like I knew any of their secrets. I had always been uninterested in history. And I was no Nicolas Cage uncovering national treasures and espionage schemes. The thought made me laugh.

Stop. Only crazy people laugh at their own jokes. Right? Or maybe only crazy people talk to themselves. I abruptly stood up. Jokes and thoughts aside, I needed an escape plan and a go-bag. Despite how silly it seemed, the rope from my bedroom window to a tree outside wasn’t the worst idea, Home Alone-esque or not. Besides, it sounded like that little boy from those movies kicked some serious butt.

I walked into the family room and stared down at the sketch Ben had drawn. It wasn’t a bad plan. Glass shards in his feet, paint cans to his head, kerosene in the toilet. I was especially fond of the blowtorch. Although the feathers seemed like an unnecessary touch. That was the only thing I could see wrong with the plan. Unnecessary feathers.

I sighed. Murder involved running away. Video footage involved running away. Was there another option that didn’t involve running?

I could divorce him like a normal person. Ben made it seem simple. But knowing too many of my husband’s secrets wasn’t the only issue. He also knew too many of mine.

I turned around and stared at the basement door. All of our secrets were filed away. Clearly labeled and dated. All those files. I swallowed hard. The cops would look at that. Everyone would know our secrets.

But they didn’t have to know. I could destroy everything I could get my hands on. And I could destroy his computer. All the evidence of my insanity would be gone. All my wrongdoings wiped away.

I walked over to my laptop and switched it on. A few minutes later I had filled an Amazon cart with a paper shredder, a scanner, and a few other random items that happened to be from the Home Alone master plan. It was good to have a backup plan, just in case.

I’d get the evidence on my husband. And then I’d erase all the evidence he had on me. This could work. I was about to press the checkout button when I realized the problem. My husband would look at our joint Amazon Prime account. The stuff I had ordered was strange. Explainable, but suspicious. I signed out of our joint account, made a new G-mail address, and then created a new Amazon account. Perfect. Free trial of Prime. It was my lucky day. I added everything back into my cart and was about to check out again, but paused. Damn it. My stupid husband looked at the credit card statements too. He’d want to know what I purchased. I stared at the items in the cart. I wouldn’t risk it. I’d have to ask to borrow Ben’s credit card.

I glanced at the timer counting down how soon I’d have to place my order if I wanted to get it in two business days. I had a few hours. Ben would be here soon, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I used his credit card. I’d pay him back in cash. Although, it was best if he didn’t see the items in my cart either. I exed out of the screen to hide it and rubbed my hands together. I felt like a diabolical genius.

On Monday I’d be able to start getting rid of all the documents. In the meantime, it would be good to see what I was up against. I walked over to the basement door and undid the latch. I tried to pretend I was going into a normal basement. A dank and scary place with tons of spiders and mold.

I walked down the plush carpeted stairs. The windows along the top of the walls illuminated the space so much that I didn’t need to turn on the lights. I looked around at all the file cabinets. All the shelves with different color binders. All the folders lining every inch of shelf space. I crossed my arms in front of my chest, suddenly cold. It was more than I remembered.

I walked over to one of the shelves and lifted up a folder with my name and a date. It was a copy of a psychologist appointment with an updated list of meds. I shoved it back into place. This had gotten so much worse than the last time I'd been down here. I ran my fingers along the folders. Every appointment. Every checkup. Every single misstep. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing.

I took a step back and stared at the shelves. Thousands of documents all proving that I couldn’t take care of myself. That I was crazy. These shelves were what was crazy. He was the one that had lost his damn mind. Who did this? What kind of sick person kept tabs on their wife like this?

What was I thinking? It was all too much. It would be better to just set the whole freaking house on fire. It would take me forever to shred all these documents. And my husband would surely notice before I could even make a dent.

Luckily I had added kerosene to my Amazon cart on a whim. That smart little boy was on to something. It would be better spread around down here than in a toilet bowl though. I was just about to head back upstairs when I noticed a space along the wall that wasn’t as colorful. Actually, it was completely black.

A huge safe had been installed against one of the walls. It took up a whole row of shelf space. I walked over to it and studied the keypad. When had this been put in? I typed in my husband’s birthday and it buzzed at me. Then my birthday with the same response. Both our names, our last name, a few combinations of out birthdays and initials. Nothing.

I slammed my palm against the keypad, making it buzz again. You stupid piece of shit! I wasn’t sure if I was referring to my husband or the safe. What are you hiding? I grabbed both sides of it and tried to shake it, but it stayed completely still.

“Addy?” Ben’s voice drifted down into the basement.

Oh, shit. He couldn’t see any of this. Shit, shit, shit!