I exit the conversation with @ XXXastrolifer to see another nine requests pending. My phone rings loudly through the TV speakers, startling all of us. It’s an incoming Instagram video call from a new would-be abuser.

I make a snap decision to take it, drop my phone, and pull off my sweatshirt to swap it out for one with a hood. The room knows what I’m doing.

“Keep quiet, everyone,” Nathan states the unnecessary. With my hood up and the room dimly lit, I tilt my head to obscure my face and answer the call. Dominique on my left remains poised at the ready. A former costume designer, her skills with wigs and stage makeup are unmatched. Photos of my personas side-by-side don’t even look like they’re related. I’m Latina. I’m part Asian. I’m a blonde. I’m a redhead.

We’re greeted by a man with a British accent, breathing heavily and whispering into the phone.

“Hey. How are you? I want to see you.” He tilts his phone and he’s lying in bed and shirtless. I kick my voice up an octave.