Chapter 47 #2
“There’s one more thing you don’t know about me.” I sucked in a breath, steeling myself, “My name isn’t Dakota Fox. It’s Dakota Blackwood. My brother is in prison for murder.”
The comment notification sound became a constant drone, reactions flooding in like a ruptured dam, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. My heart pounded in my ears, nearly drowning out my own voice.
“My brother’s story is his own, but from early on, I assumed if people knew that about me, they’d never accept me.” I dug crescents into my palms.
The words tumbled out faster now, as if the first confession had broken something open inside me and all the ugly truths I’d hoarded were spilling free. Each admission felt like peeling off another layer of armor I’d worn so long, it had fused to my skin.
“Regardless of where my fear started, it doesn’t change what I did. It gives me no excuse. I should never have taken that picture of Axel to begin with. I was being snarky and mean.”
I pushed a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
“Because that’s the truth. I am nice and kind and giving, and I can also be flawed.” The admission felt like setting down a weight I’d carried for years.
My eyes stung with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall. This was my mess, and I had no right to feel sorry for myself right now. The people who had every right to be upset were the now 134,000 viewers witnessing this meltdown in real time.
“I guess I presumed early on in my social media life that folks don’t like people who are flawed.
” I gestured vaguely at the expensive equipment surrounding me.
“So, I started Photoshopping images to erase imperfections. When I recorded myself, I made sure my makeup was always flawless, my hair done perfectly. I started wearing clothing that enhanced my body. I used filters that made my skin look perfect.”
I tilted my face at different angles, letting the shadows and light expose every pore, every tiny red mark and blackhead that normally never saw the light of day on my feed.
“I thought I had to be this perfect version of myself. And it seemed like once I started doing that, my views and followers skyrocketed.” I exhaled slowly. “But the more I created this perfect persona, the less true to myself I became.”
I moved to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the camera, no longer concerned with how the angle might emphasize my double chin or the way my stomach folded when I sat.
“The truth is, I’m just an ordinary girl. I’m nothing special. There’s no difference between someone with ten followers versus me with millions.”
I looked down at my fingers, twisting them nervously in my lap.
“Well, I suppose there’s one big difference, isn’t there?” A humorless smile escaped me. “The girl with ten followers is being authentic and honest. And I wasn’t. I never deserved those millions of followers.”
My chest felt tight, like something was pressing against it from the inside, demanding release.
“From the bottom of my heart, I’m really sorry.
I lied to you. I misled you, long before I pretended to get engaged to Axel.
” The words tumbled out faster now. “To the brands that entrusted me with your sponsorships, I’m sorry.
To my family, who never put the burden of keeping their lives financially afloat on me, I’m sorry. ”
I paused, my throat constricting as Axel’s face flashed in my mind. Not the smirking playboy the public saw, but the man who’d held me when I cried about Knox, who’d seen me at my worst and still agreed to this ridiculous charade.
“And to Axel …” My voice broke, betraying me. I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting for composure. “I’m really sorry for what I put you through. You all deserved better than what I’ve done.”
Through the window behind me, the sun cast long shadows across the room. How fitting that darkness would soon fall as I finally stepped into the light.
“Social media has a dark side,” I said softly. “You open it up, and you see the best five percent of someone’s life. Or worse, a false version that makes everything look perfect and makes you feel even more imperfect than you already do.”
The memories flooded back of endless nights of scrolling, comparing, despairing.
“They have a clean house, or they make perfect food, or they have a perfect body, or they have the best makeup or hair or clothes or friends or whatever. I swear, I used to open social media, and whatever insecurity I was feeling, it had this power to magnify that vulnerability and make me feel worse about myself.”
I placed a hand flat against my chest, feeling my heartbeat beneath my palm.
“And I probably made you feel worse about yourself.” The realization hit with fresh pain.
How had I never thought of that before? “What I wish I would’ve done differently was be true to myself and be true to you.
I mean, so what if my hair was messy? So what if I had a coffee stain on my shirt or dust on my desk when filming? ”
A tear finally escaped, sliding down my cheek.
“Maybe if I would’ve had the courage to lean into that, maybe everything would’ve been different.”
I paused.
“I thought being vulnerable made me weak. That revealing imperfections would lead to being rejected. I thought that the perfectly curated image I’d created was what people wanted, and sadly, that extended to my romantic relationships too.
I thought anyone who saw the real me would leave.
But my obsession with appearing perfect prevented me from having meaningful, genuine connections and made me less authentic with you, my audience.
I’ve learned that in life, true intimacy and authenticity are about sharing both strengths and weaknesses.
So”—I opened my arms wide, turning my face from side to side—“this is me. No makeup. No filter. No hairdo, and no beautiful outfit.”
The words came easier now, a dam breaking. “The truth is, I’m a hot mess, just like many other people out there. The difference is, I let my insecurities lead my life while others were much braver than I was.”
I leaned closer to the camera, as if I could somehow reach through the screen and connect with each person watching.
“Please know that social media isn’t bad. It’s actually a wonderful place. There’s a whole world of people you get to meet. There’s inspiration, joy, ideas, and camaraderie. And there are plenty of people being authentic and cheering each other on. I wish I had been one of those people.”
My phone had stopped buzzing. Either my PR team had given up or they were watching in horrified silence like everyone else.
“I took all of that for granted when I agreed to this charade. Please know this whole thing is on me, not my family, who knew nothing about it. And it’s not on Axel.”
The memory of his eyes, dark with his profession of love, tightened my chest.
“Axel is … he’s a really good guy.” My voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I’m the one who dragged him into this, not the other way around.”
More tears now, falling freely despite my best efforts to contain them. I swiped at them with the back of my hand.
“Anyway,” I said, pulling in a shaky breath, “I just wanted to come on here and apologize and thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
I looked directly into the camera, letting them see the redness in my eyes, the blotchiness in my cheeks.
“With my last post, I wanted to show you who I really am. I’m a girl who has let her insecurities rule her life. I’m a girl who camouflaged those insecurities with images of perfection online. But that ends today. Today, I embrace my true self.”
The setting sun cast its final golden rays across my bare face. I squared my shoulders, feeling both lighter and heavier than I had in years.
“Today I’m not signing off as Dakota Fox.” My finger hovered over the end button. “I’m signing off as Dakota Blackwood.”
As the screen went black, my phone immediately exploded with notifications, but I shifted my attention to the floor-length mirror.
I hadn’t realized how much my obsession with perfectionism had chipped away at my self-esteem. By habitually editing every single image of myself, I had trained my mind to hunt for my imperfections.
And remove them.
The way my right eye was slightly bigger than my left, just like my grandmother’s had been. God, I missed her so much, and I had the blessing of seeing her in the mirror every day through my eyes, yet I filtered them out? As if they were something to be ashamed of instead of treasured.
The freckles that dusted my skin. The ones that matched my beautiful mother’s, the ones that linked me to my family’s DNA, that proved I belonged to something bigger than myself. How could I have ever not been proud of them? How could I have seen them as anything but a gift?
The tiny lines around my eyes, the ones I’d been desperately smoothing out in every photo.
Those weren’t wrinkles; they were proof of joy, times I’d laughed so hard, the happiness was literally etched into my skin.
Every line a memory of doubled-over laughter with friends, of moments so perfect that my face couldn’t contain the smile.
And I’d been erasing them like they were mistakes.
And that slight scar on my temple, barely visible, unless you knew where to look.
The one I’d gotten when Dad was teaching me to ride a bike, his strong hands steadying me before letting go, trusting me to fly.
That tiny mark was proof of his love, of a perfect Saturday afternoon when I was seven and brave.
I should have wanted to frame it, not conceal it.
Somewhere along the way, I’d grown to hate these pieces of me, and I no longer looked at images of myself and saw beauty.
I saw flaws.
But they weren’t flaws at all. They were love letters written on my body, proof of where I came from, evidence of being loved. And being unique.
Worse than that, somewhere along the way, I had fallen out of love with the girl that I was. I had let the girl in the mirror down. Convinced her that she needed to be fixed.
How could I have let this happen?
It wasn’t until Axel stormed into my life and made me question all my editing decisions that I finally relooked at my image with a new lens. Seeing myself through a different filter.
Or maybe, for the first time, through no filter at all.
The biggest gift that Axel gave me was making me fall in love with myself again.
My heart broke for the girl staring back at me. The reflection of the woman I had convinced was broken somehow when the only thing that had ever been broken was the cruel voice inside her head: my voice, telling her she wasn’t enough.
“You’re perfect just the way you are. You’re beautiful,” I whispered to the girl in the mirror, “and I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t.”
Everyone on this planet was beautiful, if only they’d allow themselves to see it.
Suddenly, something in my peripheral vision grabbed my attention.
Axel.