The day it all started to come down, Part 2

I'd just found a keystroke logger on my computer. This, combined with my naive optimism about sharing all of my passwords with Ex, explained how he was hacking into my accounts. 

A friend had told me I should check the house for hidden cameras. I doubted that was realistic, but I had the whole evening free. I was videochatting with a friend as I started to look around the bookshelf.

It wasn't the presence of small bottles that I thought was odd. It was the fact that they were hidden. 

I'd seen them many times, always strewn across the table and various other horizontal surfaces in plain sight. I'd asked Ex about them, and he'd told me they were herbal Viagra (it was obvious from their labels that they had some sexual purpose; despite the "intended use" on their labels, pictures of men in black leather aren't used to advertise leather cleaners). I'd rolled my eyes and asked him to see a doctor about that. I didn't spend much time thinking about it; I assumed he was using them in his solo activities, which I had long since decided to ignore. But as time had gone on and they continued to show up around the house, I'd started to get twitchier about them, wondering if they were safe. The last time I'd seen them I'd threatened to tell his doctor about them if he didn't tell her himself. 

So I wasn't surprised that they were on the shelf. I was surprised that they were hidden. 

I pulled them from behind my high-school graduation photo and showed them to the camera. The labels were rather homoerotic. My friend seemed confused. I explained as best as I could. I have led a pretty sheltered life, but I knew why the labels looked the way they did. I'd long since come to terms with it. 

I continued to search the shelf. As I'd expected, there were no cameras. 

The evening passed. I went to bed. And when I got up in the morning, my friend from the video chat had sent me a link explaining what poppers are. 

I was reeling. 

I walked into the bathroom; I was using his because the seal on the shower in my bathroom needed to be recaulked. I'd stepped over plastic tubing that morning as I got out of the tub, and I'd shaken my head in disgust. It wasn't the presence of plastic tubing that I had thought was odd; there was often plastic tubing around the house. But I had briefly wondered what the use of such large tubing attached to a large plunger would be. I'd put it out of my head; there was no real value in knowing the details of the solo activities. And you'll recall that I had long since decided to ignore all things related to the solo activities. 

But now I was reeling. 

I opened the linen closet and put my hand inside. What came out was a face mask attached to more plastic tubing, sealed with duct tape. 

And as I searched the house in increasing panic, I found military-style gas masks with receipts from years earlier, boxes full of strange and to me horrible sex toys, and credit-card statements that shocked me into action. I called a lawyer.