Chapter 4: The Test

At one in the morning, I took two deep breaths and pushed open the bedroom door.

The house was quiet, the only sound the faint ticking of the hallway clock and the low whir of the central air. Shadows from the streetlights fell across the bed, painting Aubrey in stripes of pale gold. She lay there, unmoving, like a painting come to life.

Aubrey was sleeping soundly, apparently not noticing I’d been pacing outside for an hour.

I could see the slow rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t snore, didn’t toss and turn—just lay there, serene and beautiful. I wondered if she dreamed.

She’s always slept like this, like nothing could wake her.

I used to joke she could sleep through a tornado, and she’d laugh, telling me her dreams were more interesting than anything real life could throw at her.

Even now, when I opened the door, she didn’t stir at all.

The room smelled faintly of lavender and laundry detergent. I paused, listening to make sure she was truly asleep before I moved any closer.

I stiffly walked over to the bed.

Every step felt like it echoed down the hallway, the floorboards tattling on me. Each step felt heavier than the last, the hardwood floorboards creaking beneath my feet. I was hyperaware of every sound—the crinkle of the sheets, my own shaky breath.

I’d walked this distance a thousand times, but tonight it felt endless.

It was like wading through wet cement. The air in the room felt thick, pressing down on me.

Thinking of the admin’s words, my heart thudded uncontrollably.

Every word replayed in my head: “If it’s already bright red, you’re not far from being in real danger.” I could feel the blood pounding in my ears.

Nervousness made my head spin, like I was floating above myself, watching as I crept over to Aubrey’s side.

It was a weird, out-of-body feeling, like the moment before you step onstage or jump off the high dive—only this time, I didn’t want to be here at all.

Aubrey never likes to wear much to bed—just the thinnest, gauziest fabric, if anything at all.

I always teased her about it, but she’d just laugh and say pajamas were for old people and sitcom dads. Even in the dead of winter, she’d curl up under just a light sheet.

She always says sleeping without clothes is more relaxing and helps her sleep better.

She claimed it was good for the skin—something she’d read on a beauty blog once. Maybe that was true, but tonight it just made me more nervous.

But the admin had a different explanation:

"I bet your girlfriend doesn’t like to wear clothes when she sleeps, right? That thing on her body needs to breathe at night—clothes make it uncomfortable."

I remembered that text and shivered. Suddenly, all her quirks seemed less cute and more… calculated.

Staring at the sleeping Aubrey, I started to doubt myself.

I felt like a jerk, letting some stranger online make me question everything about the girl I loved. But the doubt crept in, stubborn as a splinter.

How could I let some stranger’s weird words make me suspicious of my girlfriend of so many years?

I almost turned around and left, but I couldn’t. Not now. Not after all that had happened tonight.

I hesitated.

My palm was slick on the paring knife, fingers cramping from holding it too tight. It felt heavier than a crowbar.

I realized I was holding my breath, afraid even the tiniest sound would wake her. The knife’s cool handle dug into my palm.

I swallowed hard, telling myself: Just try this once. Afterward, I’ll block the admin and never let him mess with me again.

I raised the paring knife.

At that moment, the red mole on Aubrey’s chest suddenly glowed, stark against the darkness.

It was like a brake light blinking on in the night, so bright I almost dropped the knife.

Right then, Aubrey—who’d been sound asleep—suddenly opened her eyes and stared straight at me.

Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and for a split second, I didn’t recognize her. My heart leapt into my throat.

"What are you doing?"