Work Text:
To say that Alex has had a rough month would be an understatement, It started out inconspicuously with him noticing his now Ex Boyfriend Wilbur hanging around his house even after he supposedly left. The odd behavior from Wilbur kept increasing until he casually admitted to attaching a tracker to the bottom of Alex' car after him mentioning that he found it. Things only got worse when he finds out that his boyfriend has been doing this stuff their entire relationship and for months beforehand. He admitted to orchestrating their entire relationship so he could 'own' him and apparently didn't expect the negative reaction he got. The breakup was ugly, to say the very least, and even though he hasn't seen Wilbur in a while, he can't shake this feeling that he's being watched. It doesn't exactly help that Wilbur has been spamming his emails with excuses and apologies that Alex had deemed bullshit, as they were always before or after pleas to take him back, and veiled threats against him and everyone he knows. Wilbur insists that Alex's friends warning him about his boyfriend's weird creepy behavior was them brainwashing him against Wilbur. They're not the ones who can barely be a few minutes without him. He hasn't read most of them, but the bits he had read ranged from infuriating to terrifying. Even more so that the cops won't to jack shit no matter how much Alex pushes them. Every so often Wilbur tries calling and gets his new fake number blocked again. He still fucking calls. You would think that restraining order Alex filed would actually do something.
One night, Alex is once again on his phone when he was supposed to be sleeping, his eye is drawn to a notification. Some sort of survey? "Eh, why not?" He hadn't heard of notification surveys, but it should be fine. Just the generic finance and work questions to fill his time then he can move on with his night and hopefully be able to properly fall asleep with no nightmares attached. One tap and he's on a plain white page labeled 'Instructions' like everyone hadn't taken one of these things enough times to know the gist. He skimmed the instructions over, mumbling what he deemed the most important bits. "Generic thank you... duh duh duh...Five to ten minutes... duh duh... Please answer carefully okay." He punctuated the okay with a tap of the arrow, red in comparison to the pure white background and black text in addition to the black box outline it's surrounded by.
The first question was about what Alex expected, though not exactly. "Which of the following internet-enabled devices do you currently own?" He reads it aloud, quirking up a brow but shrugging it off. The worst this thing could be is a waste of time, and it's not like he has anything better to do. He selected all but the final box labeled other. 'What are the other tech shit that could be?' He thought, his fingers tapping the case of his phone, starting to grip it a bit. 'I guess the fact that I'm thinking that means I don't have any others...I hope."
"On A typical weekday, how many hours do you spend online?" Okay, this seems to be some sort of generic internet survey. Nothing to worry about. NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. JUST CAUSE YOU'RE GETTING STALKED DOESN'T MEAN EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE IS OUT TO GET YOU CALM DOWN.
Alex clears his throat to distract from the brief outburst that he didn't realize he acted and vocalized out loud. Between his job, online stuff for school, and general faffing about, 12 seems about right. That's probably generous in one direction or the other but what the mother fucking ever.
"On a typical day, how long does it take you to get to work-related emails or messages?" Taking school and work emails and into account, he would typically respond by the end of the week.
The next question made that weird feeling of dread come back, and he wasn't sure why.: "On a typical day, how long does it take you to answer nonwork-related emails or messages?" Nonwork emails? He's not sure if he used his email for anything besides work, and he doesn't respond to nonwork emails he gets, so he guessed he'd stick to answering for messages that don't have anything to do with work and go with by the end of the day. Personal stuff is important, but the guy gets busy sometimes and can't always respond right away(and sometimes he forgets)
Than.
Why.
Won't.
You.
Respond.
To.
Mine?
A shiver traveled up Alex' spine at the words appearing one by one. "Don't tell me that he has anything to do with this" he shuddered, but the question disappeared and was replaced within seconds. He rubbed his eyes "I must be seeing things.. Calm down Alex, it's just a Serve. Just some stupid datamining or generic internet shit." He said through shuddering breaths as he read out the new Question. "Have you ever pretended to be digitally unavailable in order to avoid communication with someone ( Ex: Pretended your phone was dead)? Hasn't everyone?" He commented, selecting occasionally.
"How much attention do you pay to online surveillance and digital tracking?" Well, ever since the incident earlier this month, A great deal seemed apt to him.
"Have you ever felt like you were being watched?" Oh, all the- "I'm being watched right now."
"What..?"
The site moves on to the next question on its own 'I'm being watched right now' auto selected. Alex imminently peeks out of the blinds of his apartment. A silhouette looked out of the trees on the other end of the road. He shoots for his kitchen, and as he takes the largest knife he can find from the block in fumbling hands, he hears his phone buzzing impatiently back in his bedroom as well as someone knocking on the window somewhere else outside the house. "God I hope he's not in the house." He hisses at the idea of the alternative to him pounding on the window from outside. As he slinks back into his bedroom, locking the door behind him, his phone starts reading out the next question in an eerie ai voice alongside heavy breathing and the sounds of repeated calls. He's still fucking calling.
A string of strongly disagree to strongly agree questions. Alex isn't even sure why he's still doing this stupid service. It's not like he trusts the cops to do anything, so maybe this is just blind hope for answers.
'I have a phone within reach at all times' Agree
Alex tightens his shaking grip on the blade in hand, likely to slit the skin if he shimmied his fingers even just a bit higher.
'All my windows are locked' Strongly agree
Thud Thud Thud on glass.
'I Can Recognize my neighbor's faces' Agree
A thud on wood over and over. Like he's cracking the wood of Alex's skull open to pour out his brains.
'I feel safe within my home' Strongly disagree. Usually he would. But not in a long long while. He doesn't know if he ever will again.
The front door's knob rattles.
'For Quality Control purposes please select strongly agree for this question: Everyone deserves a second chance no matter what they have done.' Strongly Disagree.
"Not what you've done, asshole." Alex hisses, he knows what game Wilbur is trying to play with urging him to select 'Strongly Agree'. He wants him to treat the stalking, the privacy invasions, the threats, the lying like water under the bridge so he'll take him back and pretend like It's not happening. He was not expecting a human voice to come out in response.
"Is that why I can't come home?" The jostling of the doorknob gets harsher. The laughter from that same voice comes out just as desperate and whiny as the question.
"Don't ignore me, let me in PLEASE. I love you!"
The door opens, not the front door, the bedroom door. His eyes shoot to the silhouette in the doorway. "There you are, darling. you couldn't get to the door so I just let myself in!" He's lying to himself about what he did and he knows it. “Missed me? Because I really missed you!” He giggled like a lovesick schoolgirl.
"Not in the fucking slightest, creep." Alex snarled in anger and fear
Wilbur's voice dropped into a condescending coo before he proceeded to speak as if he knew Alex's mind better than him. "Oh, you don't mean that, Love." Alex isn't sure if he's lying or if he's really that delusional and selfish that he can't see past what he wants and think about what-
Alex falls back and trembles on the floor when he backs himself into a corner, pointing the kitchen blade at Wilbur and reaching for his phone. "I'm not getting back with you, how many times do I have to say it? Look, if you leave now and never come back, I won't call the police."
"Shh-shh-shh.." Wilbur stifles his protests, nuzzling their noses together like Alex is the one needing to be neutralized and not the one caressing his face with a knife."You're safe now, I'm going to steal you back from the people who tore you from my arms where you belong."
Wilbur laughs, a low and soft sound, before swatting his phone out of the way. "Oh no no. Can't have that." His fingers curl around the blade, digging into his palm.. His facial expression doesn't move an inch. "Come home easily, darling. I don't want to have to hurt you.." He says coldly, his voice a mix of a croon and a snarl that sends a shiver cold air into the empty room. A room empty but filled with A madman with a man frozen in shock and terror. "Now I'll ask again, and this time you better tell me the truth."
“Missed me? Because I really missed you!”