CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CAM
HNRFFF-zzzthbt. Mmmrrph. Hhhnkshhpoo Snkxxkchh!
I turn my head on the pillow and bite my lip, shaking with silent laughter. Reece snores like a broken symphonya chorus of clogged kazoos with chainsaw overtones, each breath ending in a high-pitched wheeze (is that a whale mating call?) . And yet, somehow, its adorable. As in, I could happily listen to this wrecked accordion for the rest of my life.
Holy hell, Im down bad for him.
Last night he wrecked me in the best, walking-today-will-be-a-problem way. The man has stamina. And an oral fixation. And a surprising ability to make me forget the limits of my flexibility.
Muscles I didnt know I had are screaming in sweet protest. My thighs burn. My lips feel puffy and tender. And the spot between my legs? Lets just say Im going to request one of those inflatable donuts for our Jeep tour today.
Worth. Every. Ache.
I reposition myself on the rumpled sheets, inhaling the intoxicating cocktail of scents that surrounds ushis spicy ginger cologne mixed with my coconut shampoo, plus the faint musk of sex. My gaze falls to the floor, where the scrunchies lie scattered like leftover party favors.
My eyes land on Reeces wrist, where a hot-pink scrunchie clingsthe same one that, a few hours ago, was keeping my hair in place while he fu
Dios mo! Calm your tits, Camila! Focus up, or we will never leave this bed.
The fact that hes still wearing it as a bizarre trophy makes my heart sing. I should be panicking. Should be freaking out about how hard Ive fallen. Leaving was always the plan. The whole point. But now? None of that matters. Not after last night.
I dont want to leave.
I want to stay. With him.
Its suddenly clear what I have to dosomething Ive avoided this entire trip.
Lay it all out. Confess the truth Admit I love him.
No games, no half-truths. Just the messy reality.
If theres one thing Ive learned about Reece, its that hell never make the first move. Not when it comes to feelings. Hes too scared of being used, too burned by people turning him into a paycheck. Someone has to be brave. And it might as well be me.
All I need is to shake off the ugly voice in my head whispering Astrids words.
Youre just using him to launch your channel.
You and I are the same.
We all use each other to get ahead.
My twisted stomach is a pretzel of guilt. Did I come here hoping hed promote my channel? Absolutely. Was that a little opportunistic? One hundred percent. But that was before I knew the man behind the YouTuber persona was someone I could fall in love with.
Reece Dare, my scrunchie thief, tenderhearted grump, and secret Tom Cruise fanboy.
Id rather throw my camera into the ocean than risk him thinking Im mining his influence for personal gain. I wont ask for his endorsement. Not now. Not ever. If he offers, thats different. But I refuse to be another entry on the long list of takers in his life.
Because I love him, not his followers. Him .
I reach out, unable to resist tracing the sharp cut of his jaw with my fingertips. His stubble scratches my skin, the sensation shooting straight to my core. His snoring stutters then abruptly stops. His lips curve into a devastating smile that would break the internet if his fans saw it.
Morning, gorgeous, he murmurs.
You havent even opened your eyes. How can you say I look pretty? I say, trying to sound sassy instead of hopelessly smitten. I could be hideous, or maybe I transformed into a monstrous eel after you dozed off.
One eye lifts, ocean blue peeking out. Eels dont have these, Morales. His hand slides without warning, cupping my bare breast, his fingers giving a slow, teasing squeeze.
Mierda! I gasp, heat flooding through me. Some people just say good morning, you know.
They arent waking up to a breathtaking sex goddess. Both eyes are open now, focused on me with an intensity that causes me to melt. Youre so damn beautiful its painful, Camila. Even half-asleep, Id recognize you. The air feels different when youre close.
How does he do that? Go from playful to soul-deep in two seconds?
Im either sex-drunk from last night, or thats the sweetest thing anyones ever said to me, I joke, trying to mask how completely undone I am by his words.
His mouth quirks up on one side. Youre too far away from me. He hooks an arm around my waist and hauls me to him with embarrassing ease. I collide with the solid wall of his naked chest, his skin blazing hot against mine in the air-conditioned room.
His lips find my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my noseI shiver. Each press of his mouth is gentle, almost reverent, completely at odds with the filthy things he said last night.
Can we just stay here? Forever?
His arms tighten around me, one large hand splaying possessively across my lower back. Ive been thinking the same thing. We could become beach hermits. Live off room service and skinny dipping.
I pull back enough to take him in, studying the quiet storm in his eyes. What is he holding in?
Blood rushes to my ears, the sound drowning out the gentle crash of waves outside. This is it. The moment. I need to tell him now, or Ill lose my nerve.
Three little syllables dancing on my tongue, ready to shake up everything between us. Im ready.
BANG! BANG!
The words die in my throat as someone pounds on our door like a jackhammer with a raging hard-on. So much for romantic timing.
GO AWAY! Reece bellows. WERE BUSY!
He rolls over to pin me beneath him. His nose nuzzles into the curve of my neck, legs tangling with mine. A giggle escapes as I wiggle under his weight, loving every second of it.
Busy getting busy. he whispers before leaning in to kiss me.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The pounding intensifies, somehow becoming even more aggressive. Whoevers out there is either running from a zombie horde or doesnt understand the concept of do not disturb.
A mans voice penetrates the door, sharp and demanding. REECE! OPEN THE FUCK UP!
He freezes mid-nibble. His head jerks up, brow furrowed in confusion. Is that Gordon ?
Our eyes lock, mutual horror dawning between us. Gordon ThorneReeces manager and professional narcissistis supposed to be in Los Angeles, not pounding on our Maui love nest door at the crack of dawn.
Put something on. No one gets to see my baby naked but me.
The possessive growl in his voice sends a shudder up my spine that has nothing to do with the AC blasting against my suddenly exposed skin. I scramble for my hotel robe and cinch it at my waist while Reece yanks up his shorts, not bothering with underwear or a shirt.
He strides to the door resembling a panther whose territory has been invadedall deadly swagger and coiled tension. I smooth down my sex-rumpled hair, aiming for well-rested professional instead of someone whos been riding her boss like a mechanical bull .
Reece barely cracks the door when Gordon forces his way in, his short stature vibrating with fury. Despite his agitated state, his hairclearly fresh from a salon touch-updoesnt move, a testament to whatever industrial-strength product hes shellacked it with. His skinny jeans look painted on, and his crimson blazer dear God, hes wearing velvet in Hawaii? strains against his narrow shoulders.
I knew it, Gordon hisses, beady eyes darting between us and the rumpled sheets of destruction behind us. I fucking knew it.
Gordon. Reece crosses his arms over his bare chest, biceps flexing and nostrils flaring. Im sure youre pissed about my text, but flying to Hawaii is a bit much, even for you. Besides, my mind is made up.
Waitwhat text? What decision?
Gordon waves his hand dismissively. Well talk about your little identity crisis later. His eyes swivel to me, narrowing into venomous slits as he shows me his phone. What the fuck is this?
His scathing tone, dripping with contempt, forces me to take a step back. Ive been on the receiving end of Gordons wrath beforelike when Ive suggested Reece take a day off or refused to film a particularly dangerous stuntbut this? This is seething rage.
Reece steps between us, an arm positioning me safely behind him. His fingers grip my hip protectively, and that dominant reassurance calms the storm in my chest.
You better calm the fuck down, Reece threatens. No one talks to her like that.
Gordons too-tight face twists into something ugly. Before you defend her, look at this.
I dont like how he says that.
He thrusts his phone at Reece, who receives it with obvious reluctance. I peer around Reeces shoulder and when I see the screen, my heart plummets like a malfunctioning elevator.
Theres a YouTube thumbnail of Astridher expression a masterpiece of calculated devastation. Crocodile tears streak her perfectly contoured cheeks, her signature overdrawn lips trembling for maximum sympathy.
But its the title that makes my blood turn to ice water in my veins:
Exposed: Camila Morales Confesses to Using Reece Dare!
Oh no. No no no no no.
Thats typical Astrid bullshit, Reece says.
Play it. The whole damn internet already has. Eighty million views in twelve hours.
Reece taps Play , and it displays blurry, shaky footageundoubtedly filmed with a hidden camera. The middeck of yesterdays catamaran comes into view, rocking slightly. Astrid appears on screen, her gold bikini glinting, and my throat tightens.
I gotta ask, she says, voice honeyed with fake innocence, does Reece even realize youve been playing him from the start?
And then
There I am.
Im not going to lie. Im using him.
A dramatic DUN DUN DUN sound effect blasts from the tiny speaker, making Gordon flinch. Bold red text flashes on the display: SHE SAID IT HERSELF!
I didnt say that! I grab Reeces forearm. Shes taking it out of context! Thats not what I
Reece shrugs off my grip without looking at me, his eyes locked on to the video with razor-sharp intensity. Panic turns my body into a trembling disaster zone, radiating out from my gut to my shaky fingertips.
This isnt happening. This cant be happening.
The video mercilessly continues.
On screen, Astrids manicured hand tosses her blonde extensions over one shoulder. So youre telling me this relationship is the perfect setup for your little documentary channel?
Yes, Ive calculated how his endorsement could help my career. Ive thought about his followers becoming my audience.
Youve been playing the long game. Youre hungry for those subscribers.
Only a complete idiot would ignore the professional opportunities that have fallen in my lap!
I taste copperIve bitten the inside of my cheek so hard its bleeding. Each spoken word is another nail in my coffin. I recognize fragments of what I actually said, viciously dissected and reconstructed into something monstrous. A grotesque puppet show starring me.
Whats the exit strategy? Wait until he promotes your channel, build your starter audience, then release a tear-jerking breakup video?
There will be a messy public breakup to boost my career. Reece is a steppingstone. Hes disposable. And when my channel launches, its gonna be huge. Im just a social climber chasing the money.
Those arent my words not in that order, not with that meaning, not with that intent.
The footage transitions with a star-wipe effect to Astrid sitting in her hotel room.
Reece, baby, she says softly, voice thick with manufactured emotion, I am so sorry you had to find out this way. I really, really hoped I was wrong, but the receipts dont lie. You are being played. Camila Morales doesnt love you. She loves what you can do for her. We may not be lovers anymore, but were friends, and I find this disgusting.
Bold white text fills the screen: #CancelCamila #SaveReece
Astrid leans in for effect with exaggerated sympathy. DareSquad, hear me loud and clear. If you care about Reece like I doand I mean, I really careyou wont let a fame-hungry nobody keep playing him. Yall know what to do. Take. Her. Down.
The video cuts to black.
Thats not true! I blurt, my voice cracking. She edited that to make me sound awful. Those werent my words, not like that!
Reece is stone cold, his face unreadable. So youre not leaving to start your own channel.
I I was planning on telling you, I whisper, each word scraping my throat like broken glass.
She put in her two weeks notice before you left for Hawaii, Gordon says, blunt and brutal. Sorry, kid. I thought Cam was the best solution for you, but clearly I fucked up. And the fans? Theyre out for blood. Listen to these comments.
He scrolls reading them aloud:
Classic move: sleep with the boss, steal his audience.
Cant believe Reece fell for her act. So obvious.
Always knew she was using him for clout. #TeamAstrid.
Camera girl should stick to staying BEHIND the camera.
DareSquad, its time to #CancelCamila once and for all.
When Reeces gaze meets mine, Im staring into the soul of a man whos being gutted alive. Pure agony.
Gordon sighs. Cam and I had discussed you promoting her new channel as part of the fake girlfriend contract. Thats why she was so eager.
No! I surge forward, desperation clawing up my throat. You said that. I hadnt decided if thats what I wanted or not!
What do you want, Cam? Because I sure as hell dont know. Reece says gruffly. I was hoping it was me. But apparently Im a schmuck, because Im just the willing hottie at the resort for you to climb like a coconut tree.
My heart stops. Those words. My words. From my FaceTime call with Petra and Katie back in the church on his wedding day. The plan he overheardcoming to Hawaii to have sex with hot cabana boys.
Reece, you have to believe me. Dont shut me out. Not again. Lets talk about this alone. I can explain.
I watch it happen in real timethe shuttering of his expression, the hardening of his features, the emotional retreat Ive witnessed many times before when emotion run too high.
Gordon checks his diamond encrusted watch. The PR firm is waiting on a video call to discuss damage control. Ive got the conference room set up.
Blind panic courses through me. I grab his hand. Reece, please. Dont go.
He stares at our joined hands for three excruciating heartbeats. Then he extracts himself from my grip, the neon pink scrunchie still on his wrist grazing my skin.
I thought you were different. He moves to the door, pausing at the threshold. I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend. For real.
The admission hangs in the air between us, a beautiful dream extinguished before it could live.
He completes his dark transformation, and it destroys me. The playful, passionate man who stole my heart is gonelost behind walls built from years of betrayal and mistrust.
He walks out without another word.
Youre fired, effective immediately. If you come near Reece again, Ill bury you in legal paperwork so deep your descendants will be filing motions. Gordon slams the door, the bang echoing through our once-intimate space.
My heart doesnt just breakit disintegrates, pulverized beyond recognition. My legs give out, and I collapse onto the pile of colorful scrunchies that Reece ordered for me, each one a testament to possibilities now lost forever.
The memory of his eyesgutted, betrayed, devastatedsears itself into my brain. My stomach revolts violently, bile scorching my throat. I dont know whether to sob or vomit, so my body chooses both. Hot tears stream down my face as I stumble for the trash can, retching painfully while clutching a purple scrunchie to my heart like its the last piece of him Ill ever hold.
***
I stab at Petras contact with a trembling finger, my vision so blurred from crying I can barely see the phone display. Each long ring is an eternity. Pick up, Petra. I cant be alone in this nightmare.
When her face appears, shes squinting, her black hair a wild nest around her head, dark smudges of yesterdays eyeliner giving her raccoon eyes.
Cam, its fucking six a.m., she says with a raspy groan. Someone better be dead or
A sob rips from my chest so violently it actually hurts.
Instantly, her eyes snap open. Gone is violent sleep-gremlin Petra, replaced by alert, protect-at-all-costs Petra.
Whoa, whoawhat happened? Whats wrong?
III My words disintegrate into hiccuping sobs. I try again. Reece video Astrid Gordon fired Each word punctuated by a gasping breath followed by a pathetic blend of sobs and a wheezy, mucus-laden whimper that makes me hate myself.
Okay, whos fucking fault is this? I want blood, she demands as she sits up abruptly, the covers sliding off her tattooed, bare chestPetra Brinkman doesnt believe in pajamas, or modesty.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the tiny FaceTime box andAy, Dios mo!
I look roughlike if a hangover had a hangover.
My hair is doing so many things, none of them good. My face is red, blotchy, and beyond shiny with mascara smeared down my cheeks. There are actual snot bubbles forming. Snot bubbles!
I. Am. A. Hideous. Mess.
S-Sorry, I stammer through a hiccup. I w-wouldve called Katie, but sh-shes in Italy, and I dont know what time it is there, and Another sob erupts, snuffing out the rest of my sentence.
Hold on, she says, snatching a crumpled tee from the floor and tugging it over her head. I got you, Cam. Whatever it is, well handle it together.
Petra enters an insanely fancy sitting area, which can only be described as a casual billionaires jungle sanctuary. She plops down onto a pristine white leather couch that looks like its never met a human butt.
The room behind her oozes wealththe quiet, terrifying kind. Like, you wont find gold faucets here because thats too new money. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a panoramic view of lush jungle meeting the vast ocean. Theres a super yacht in the distance and Im pretty sure that the abstract painting on the wall behind her is a real Picasso just casually hanging there like its a $20 Target print.
Start over, she says, running a hand through her chaotic bedhead. Tell me exactly what happened.
A deep male voice interrupts from somewhere offscreen. Is this a cappuccino situation or espresso?
She turns slightly, tilting the phone. Espresso. A double.
My sobs come to a screeching halt as I spot the man in fancy silk pajamas talking on his phone. Tall, gorgeous, with blonde hair more perfect than any Ken doll.
But hes not just any blue-eyed hottieits Bryce Freaking Sterling. Billionaire heir to the Sterling empire, with buildings named after his family in every major city. The same guy Petras been hopelessly in love with since high school and who happens to be her brothers best friend.
Okay, spill it, Petra says, unfazed. As if Im not witnessing her most closely guarded fantasy come to life.
Is that Wait, are you?
Its not what you think. Its complicated. Im in Mexico for my brothers wedding. We can talk about it later. Focus, Cam. Whats wrong? How can I help?
The memory of Gordons faceof Reeces broken expressionof Astrids manipulated videocomes crashing back. The tears return with reinforcements.
I fucked up. Its all gone to shit. My voice cracks. I want to come home.
Should I send the jet? Bryce asks offscreen. Wait, sorry, my jets in New York with my mother. I can charter one though, be there in four, maybe five hours.
Slow down, Mr. Moneybags. Petra rolls her eyes. Normal people just buy a plane ticket.
She turns back to me. Cam, Ill book you on the next flight out. And when you get home, Ill arrange Reeces takedown, Petra says, voice cool, dangerous, like a woman who absolutely knows where to hide a body. Something public and humiliating. Maybe involving a scandal.
Bryce appears in frame, offering Petra her espresso on a fancy room service tray. I forget how legitimately terrifying you can be.
Money cant buy your safety, Petra replies, accepting the tiny cup with a smile thats equal parts threat and promise.
They share a look thats so X-rated, Im secondhand blushingmight be time to hang up.
She knocks back her espresso as if its a shot of tequila. Im gonna hang up to get your ticket sorted. Text me when youre at the airport, okay? And Bryce will have a car pick you up when you land.
I will? Bryce asks.
Oh, so now youre shy about flaunting your fortune?
Love you, I interject, hoping to dodge the crossfire of their bickering, which sounds suspiciously like foreplay.
Love you too bestie.
And then shes gone.
I yank open my suitcase and start throwing things in like a lunatic.
Scrunchies.
More scrunchies.
Armfuls of scrunchies.
Because if I dont have at least a hundred mementos of him, I will die.
A soft knock at the door sends my heart soaring. Hope lights a fuse of fireworks in my chest.
Reece. He came back. He realized Gordon was lying. He
Not Reece.
Kai stands in the hallway, shirtless. His sarong is tied with suspicious precision, his sun-kissed skin glowing like a damn sunset, his expression that usual Zen-master-meets-thirst-trap combo that makes women book extra nights at his resort.
His smile fades the instant he notices my tear-ravaged face. Oh, wahine. What is wrong?
Um, I I struggle to form words, swiping at tears that wont stop. Never mind. What do you need?
I came to ask if there was any way I could help with the video about my friends from Lahaina, Kai says, his eyes soft with genuine concern. Our community is very grateful for Reeces interest. Not many celebrities bother to look past the resorts to see the real Maui.
He glances behind me at the explosion of clothes and toiletries. This is a bad time. I will return later.
That does it. The dam breaks again.
I had hoped the video would help too, I say between hiccupping breaths. But I I dont work for Reece anymore.
Kai blinks, processing what Im saying. May I hug you? he asks, spreading his arms tentatively.
I nod mutely, and his arms wrap around menot in the flirty, suggestive way he hugs female guests by the pool, but in a solid, comforting embrace.
Its nice, but definitely not a Reece hug.
I feel your hearts pain, he says, voice quiet and thoughtful. At times like these, I recall what my grandmother said to me about the ocean. No matter how stormy the surface, deeper waters always remain calm. And every tide, no matter how far out it goes, always returns.
My phone dings, the sound demanding my attention. I pull away to inspect the displayits from Petra, confirming my flight details.
I check the departure time. My flight doesnt leave for several hours, but I cant stay here. Not one more second.
I need to go to the airport.
I will arrange a car, he says, immediately pulling out his phone and sending a quick text.
Where the hell does he keep that thing? Does that sarong have pockets?
Before you embark on your journey homeward, would you allow me to share the words stirring inside me?
Sure? A t this point, whats one more bizarre Hawaiian memory?
Kai places his large hand on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who can bench press a small car. His eyes latch on to mine with a gaze so powerful that I forget to keep crying.
Beautiful soul-seeker, find the hearts that beat with yours, for they are your tribe. Then dance with those who match your rhythm without masks or expectations. The universe has scattered kindred spirits along your path, like stars that light the way home. You do not journey alone.
I exhale sharply, his words settling into me, cracking me open.
I realize
I know exactly what I have to do.
It wont win Reece back, but it will allow me to turn my mess into something good.
Thank you, I whisper. For everything. This has been an unforgettable experience.
Aloha, Camila. May you find the fulfillment and happiness that your soul desires and deserves. The world is waiting for you to shine. Our paths will cross again.
I wipe away my tears.
Then, I grab my laptop.
I have work to do.
***
Hawaii can suck it.
Like, genuinely, truly, all the way up its gorgeous volcanic ass with a pineapple.
I stare at my laptop, nursing a lukewarm lemonade at the airport California Pizza Kitchen. My BBQ chicken pizza festers beside me, barely touched. The cheese has congealed into a sad, plastic-looking messa perfect metaphor of my heart.
I barely notice the bustling restaurant crowdtourists in flip-flops and souvenir shirts, buzzing with vacation energy. Must be nice. Meanwhile, my cargo pants hug my thighs like emotional Bubble Wrap. Im wearing the T-shirt Reece wore when we made love under the stars (yes, the one with rhinos fucking) . Im clinging to anything familiar since my whole damn life has gone up in flames.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I have never edited a video so fast in my life. My fingers fly across the keyboard, making brutal cuts to the footage with a speed and efficiency that would impress even Mr. Critical. Its not about perfection. Its about truth. About what I shouldve said all along, before Astrids manipulated video went mega-viral and ruined everything.
I dont have much time. The second Gordon realizes I still have access, hell change the passwords to all of Reeces accounts. He probably already has some poor intern in a corporate dungeon drafting up an ironclad NDA to make sure I never utter Reeces name again.
But Im getting this out first.
Every frame I cut through shows Reeces facehis real face, not the crafted YouTube persona, but the man I fell in love with. The one whose heart I broke.
Fuck. My eyes sting with fresh tears.
Of course he went to his default settingshut down, locked me out, tossed me into the pile of people whove used and abused him. Thats all hes ever known. And right when he took the risklet himself trust againI betrayed him.
I cant get his expression out of my head. The way his jaw clenchedhe was barely holding himself together. Then his blue eyes turned hollow, as if Id taken the first real thing hes felt in years and mocked him for being so gullible.
That look is tattooed on my eyelids, right along with my shattered heart.
The laptop fan whirs angrily as the upload bar creeps across the screen, the little blue line taking its sweet-ass time, as if its aware that my entire soul is riding on this moment. The airport Wi-Fi is a miserable, crawling, wounded sloth, and I resist the urge to start pounding the table (just barely).
Come on, come on.
Reece might never see it. Hell, he might delete it the second he gets a notification. But if he does watch it, hell learn the truth. The unedited, unfiltered, brutal truth.
I was never using him. I was simply too scared to admit I love him.
He was going to ask me to be his girlfriend.
For real.
My chest tightens and I feel like I might suffocate.
The upload bar finally hits 100%. I hover over the Post button before jamming my finger down as if Im detonating explosives. Which, in a way, I am.
Processing Processing Video posted successfully! I say out loud.
The confirmation appears, and I power down my laptop before shoving it into my carry-on.
I glance at the departures boardone hour and twelve minutes until my flight whisks me away from this paradise-turned-hellscape.
I grab my phone, opening the YouTube app to check how many views the video has already gotten. Instead, Im bombarded with alerts, thumbnails, and recommended videosdigital wanted posters with my face plastered across them.
Justice For Reece: Why #CancelCamila Is Trending Worldwide.
Reeces Face When He Found Out The Truth About Cam (Heartbreaking).
10 Times Camila Morales Was ShadyRed Flags We Missed!
YouTubers React: Camilas Shocking Betrayal of Reece Dare.
The Hawaii Con: Camilas Master Plan That Made Her the Internets Most Hated.
Why Well NEVER Forgive Camila Morales (And Neither Should Reece).
Ay, Dios! This is so much worse than I imagined. And its blowing up so fast. I close the app, my stomach twisting painfully as if I swallowed barbed wire. The endless flood of notifications are a series of tiny, electrical shocks stinging my already bruised heart.
PING! PING! PING!
More notifications.
I dont want to stay in Los Angeles. I cant.
LA is Reeces kingdom. His adoring fans fill every coffee shop, every grocery store, every sidewalktoo many memories, too many places where we filmed together.
I cant live with reminders of him of what I had and of how I lost it.
I will not live under judgment from his fans, their sideways glances, their whispered hateful comments as I walk by. Reece has been in the public eye for years. Hes strong enough to weather that kind of storm, but Im not.
This is why I always chose to stay behind the camera. No one picks you apart if they dont know you exist. No one cares what you wear or who you sleep with.
But now? Im the villain in a story being told by millions of people who have never even met me.
I need to disappear. I need a shoulder to lean on. I need my sister.
Aria, with her tiny New York apartment and her food truck and her complete detachment from YouTube drama. Aria, who once told a catcaller to Go fuck a blender without breaking stride. Aria, wholike Petrawould burn down the world for me no questions asked.
I send off a quick text.
Me: Can I come stay with you for a while?
Aria: Of course. My couch is always yours. But whats wrong? You ok?
Me: No. Ill explain when I get there. I gotta pack up some stuff, but Ill be on the red eye to New York tonight.
I turn off my phone, unable to handle another notification, another message, another fucking reminder of what a spectacularly shitty person I am.
I want to unplug. To forget the headlines, the hate, the people who think they know me. To sink into the only place I still feel wholehis memory.