‘I need to know if you’re in a safe place. Like not standing on a bridge or anything?’

‘Funny. I’ve never heard anyone check for suicide imminence right before they give someone good news before.’ Lena began walking towards the main road in case she needed to throw herself in front of a truck.

‘It’s good news in relation to the bad news, though, if you get what I mean.’

‘I don’t. Please just tell me.’

‘I’m serious though, babe. Where are you? Is anyone with you?’

‘You’re freaking me out, Annie. Fuck. Speak.’

A big sigh. ‘You’re on sydneysluts.’

‘Isn’t that … Wasn’t it shut down?’ Lena had read the weekend paper exposé on it a few months ago. This old-school bulletin board-style website where people traded nude pictures and videos complete with full names and home town of the women. Sometimes their workplace or—and this was where most of the media outrage came from—their school. The story ended by saying the site had been closed by the time the article went to press. And if you were dumb enough to believe it would stay down you were probably dumb enough to end up featuring on it. Dumb, dumb, trusting, dumb ugly dumb slut.

‘I’m sorry, Leen. They don’t have your work or suburb or anything on there at least.’

‘But my name?’

‘Yeah. And the uni.’

It explained the increase in harassment. Confirmed she needed to cancel her number. Maybe change her name. Uni was definitely over for her even if she could make up for the missed exams.

‘So that’s it then. No coming back.’

‘But, Leen, wait, the good news, yeah? There’s this man my dad knows, right? Takes care of problems like yours.’

‘Your dad knows a hitman?’

‘Ha. No. Well, maybe, who the hell knows. But listen, this dude has a company that cleans all the shit you don’t want off the internet. Dad’s used them before, says they do a good job. Trustworthy.’

‘Wait, why would your dad need—Shit, did he … ?’

‘Ewww. No. He would never.’

‘Of course not. Only disgusting trash whores—’

‘Lena, no! I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. Just don’t make me think of my dad having—ewww! See, now you’ve made me think it! Ugh. Listen, listen, listen: his firm uses this dude to clean up after some of its clients. A couple of its employees, too, I think. It’s not just sex stuff. Like, this one knob got filmed saying racist shit at a party. Scrub, scrub, scrub and now there’s no trace.’

‘No trace.’

‘None. And this knob was a big-deal knob to start with. Dad reckons a nobody like you—’

‘Shit, Annie. I can’t believe you.’

‘Oh, he didn’t mean nobody in a bad way. Just like not famous and—’