Twenty-Five
Leah
F or some time I had been appointed a bodyguard; his name was Dave.
On the unlikely event I went out, Dave followed me everywhere. It didn’t matter what hour of the day it was, either. He must have lived in his car or something, which made little sense because he was a huge burly man that dressed impeccably in nice wrinkle-free dress shirts and khakis. I don’t know, maybe he had an ironer in his car because he was there whenever I needed him.
While he didn’t physically “guard” me, he did act as my personal maid. He fetched me my groceries, collected my mail, and grabbed me an Iced Cappuccino and a chocolate chip cookie every single morning.
The cookies always helped, especially as the news regurgitated the same story over and over again. Turning on the computer no longer became a joy for me. It was an absolute nightmare, consisting of pictures of Carter and me and never ending articles of what a cheater he was and how I “seduced” him.
Yeah, Leah the Seducer. That was me, alright.
Honestly, what the fuck?
I steered clear from the internet, to say the least. For the first time, it wasn’t even difficult to do. When Carter told me they lied, I guess I never realized the extent of how far they would go. It was like waking up one day and having someone tell you the colour blue was actually purple. A complete blatant lie, yet it must be true because it was in the media.
I hated it.
Then Melanie had to come home one day, clutching a magazine in her hands, and suddenly shit went from bad to worse. She approached me in the bedroom slowly, holding the magazine so tightly, her hands had gone white. She looked frightened, like she was nearing a Kodiak bear and I was on the verge of clawing her face off.
I’d been sitting at my desk, playing a stupid video game because life had become boring, and I had nothing else to do. It was a game about building cities, and while that sounded as fun as watching paint dry, it made me feel in control of something around me,
As she approached slowly, I spun my computer chair away from the desk and faced her. I stared at her hesitant movements and raised a brow.
“What is it?” I demanded cagily.
“I’m trying to figure out a way to tell you,” she answered cautiously.
I let out a slow breath. “What’s wrong, Mel?”
“Something big.”
A lightning bolt of alarm passed through my chest.
Was it about Carter?
Was she clutching a magazine of him taking back Molly, or something stupid like that?
I was sure he wouldn’t. He was certain of his want for me, and he wouldn’t do that. No. But… I hadn’t spoken to him since he left, and it killed me slowly that we left things off on such a bad note. I wanted to smooth things over, but then I knew I needed the distance too.
It was a one-of-a-kind fucked-up situation.
My being felt split in two.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can deal with it,” I assured Melanie, even though I hardly believed my words. “I’ve seen it all, anyway. Every single picture, every single story, every horrible insult thrown my way. Hell, you have no idea how thick my skin is after going through the comment sections of these articles. Apparently, Carter decided to ‘slum’ it with a ‘homewrecker’ that looks like a ‘crack addict version of Barbie.’”
She paused in her movements, giving me a strange look. “Seriously?”
I smiled brightly. “That was a nice comment compared to the others.”
Her lips pursed. “It’s sort of funny—”
“I did laugh.”
She shook her head. “But it’s really not true.”
I shrugged weakly. “Can you imagine if they dug into my past? They’ll love that I’m the niece of a hooker—”
“Leah, ignore them.”
And I was.
Hence why I was building cities in my bedroom; my population was cracking sixty thousand, which was no easy feat in a game like this.
“Don’t read anymore of their crap,” she told me then.
I simply nodded.
The bloggers were incredibly creative in their insults. I had even admired some of their name-calling, writing a few insults down for future use in case I had a row with someone who was genuinely a bitch.
As she hesitated now, I stressed again, “I’ve seen it all , Melanie.”
“Nooo,” she said long and slow, shaking her head. “You haven’t seen this .”
My eyes flickered down to the magazine before looking back up at her in confusion and, admittedly, fear. “How am I supposed to ignore something if you’re going to tell me about it?”
“Because this is different.”
“Just out with it, Mel. Seriously.”
Creeping to me like some ninety-year-old woman, she slowly, with shaking hands, rested the magazine down.
What I saw would go down in history as the worst, most atrocious day of my life.