Chapter 25
The op-ed I wrote goes viral. It is all over social media.
On Twitter it gets over eighty thousand likes and over thirty thousand retweets, and the comments are at almost ten thousand and still going strong.
And surprisingly, everyone is on my side.
Well, not everyone. There are always exceptions to every rule.
I still get some hate, but the comments are overwhelmingly, undeniably #TeamFern.
Because the thing is, while some people may judge me for pulling out those electric cables, everyone has at some point in their life been the target of a bully.
Everyone knows the way being bullied eats away at you from the inside, festering like an infected wound.
It infects every part of you, including your sanity.
Many people even support me losing my mind and ripping out those cables, because they get it.
They understand and empathize with the primal fear that Haven had pushed me into feeling.
The days following the publication of my op-ed, I go to sleep clutching my phone and wake up with it still in my hand.
I refresh Twitter over and over again, watching the numbers tick up, up, up.
It is all over TikTok as well, where tons of people have posted videos of themselves summarizing everything that’s happened between me and Haven.
I laugh when I watch one particularly animated user gesturing wildly at her camera and saying: “Y’all are not gonna believe the crazy shit that authors get up to behind the scenes!
We all think of authors as nerdy little gremlins, hiding away in their dark caves typing away on their little keyboards, but these two bitches be crazy!
I don’t know which is the crazier of the two, but I know who is the more evil and calculating. It’s Haaaven!”
The comments range from “Both of them are insane” to “I am totally on Fern’s side. If I were her, I would’ve done the same, or worse. Haven had it coming.” Even the ones that call me crazy or insane or unhinged generally agree that Haven is worse.
Reading all these comments from impartial strangers is a salve to my soul.
I no longer feel as isolated. The bottomless hopelessness starts to abate, and I see a light at the end of the tunnel.
I still don’t have a job or a book deal, but it doesn’t quite feel like the end of the world.
I have shared my truth, and in doing so I have freed myself.
I’m no longer hiding in a dark corner, waiting for Haven to pounce on me.
Everyone knows now, and there is something so exhilarating about that.
Some people from the debut group reach out to me to apologize.
Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, none of them is Jenna.
My closest buddy Jenna has remained staunchly silent.
She took down the tweets she’d made about me, along with the screenshots of my private conversations, and based on that, I assume she’s seen my op-ed and decided it’s best for her to stay the hell out of this mess.
Lisa, Yuna, and Felicity are the ones who reach out.
Felicity is the most apologetic of them all, which is ironic.
Fern, she says over Twitter DM, I am so, so sorry for everything that Haven has put you through.
I was bullied too back in high school, and reading that op-ed you wrote made me cry.
My heart breaks for what you’ve been through.
That journal entry about the hissing cockroaches?
That . . . it’s pure evil. I’m not saying you were justified in cutting Haven’s electricity cables, but .
. . I get it. When I was bullied, I often fantasized doing the most messed up shit to my bullies.
I imagined running over them with my car!
Of course I never did anything to harm them, but I just want to say I understand and I am so sorry that you lost your book deal over this.
It’s so unfair. The debut group misses you very much and if you ever want to come back into the Slack, you are always welcome to.
Haven is blocked from there so it’s a safe space for you.
I reply: Thank you so much, Felicity! I really appreciate your kind words.
It means the world to me that people know the truth and understand where I’m coming from.
I totally agree that what I did was despicable, and I am so ashamed of myself for doing it.
I will never be able to make up for what I did.
Thank you for inviting me back to the Slack, but given the inexcusable things I’ve done and also the fact that I’m no longer a debut author, I don’t think I should come back there.
I miss you guys very much, but we can chat over DMs!
Please give my regards to everyone in the Slack group and tell them I wish everyone the best with their books.
I don’t tell Felicity that the truth is, I’ve had enough of debut groups for now.
Especially one that turned its back on me so swiftly.
One where the friends I’d made plastered our private chats all over the internet.
No, from now on, no more debut groups for me.
Not that I have a choice, since I don’t even have a book to debut with.
Haven has completely disappeared from social media.
She’s deleted her Twitter and Instagram.
Completely wiped from the internet. Part of me, the old part that clings to bad habits, is tempted to take a drive down to her house to see what’s going on with her.
But it’s a small part. Like I said, I’m healing, and seeing the words “@HavenMLee: This user does not exist” propels me onward in my healing journey.
I stare at the screen for a long time, reveling in the delicious joy that these words bring me.
She’s gone. She had a business as an influencer, and she deleted it.
That’s huge. Earth shattering. And all because the world now knows the truth about her.
A week after the op-ed comes out, Haven’s publisher releases a statement.
We are canceling the publication of Haven M. Lee’s book, She asked for it, due to improper conduct by the author. Wallace Books has a firm stance on bullying, and does not condone the actions of Haven M. Lee.
When I read it, I actually gasp out loud so hard that Mom pops her head through the doorway.
These days, I’ve started leaving my bedroom door open to signal to my parents that I’m up for a chat.
It’s part of my journey to recovery. I think they’ve sensed the change in me, because the suffocating tension that existed between us has eased up a little, and they’re no longer as jumpy around me.
They pop by my room once in a while, and each time, they will have a gift for me—a plate of freshly sliced apple, or my clothes, fresh out of the dryer, folded neatly.
And I realize that for Mom and Dad, their love language may not be what I wanted, but it’s been there all along.
They show me their care and concern in myriad tiny gestures, like giving me the biggest piece of chicken at dinner, or switching from penne to linguini because they know I prefer it.
They’re still awkward most times, and they still speak in an overly formal way, but I remind myself to focus on the good stuff, and I think that overall, we’re doing well.
But right now, Mom says, “Are you okay? What happened?” and when she says this, I see the old concern creeping back over her face.
“Oh, just some publishing drama.” I hesitate, then I decide that actually, I would like my parents to know what just happened. I want to see my mother’s face when she realizes that Haven isn’t perfect. “You remember Haven from school?”
“Of course. She was here not long ago. The day that you, ah, fell.”
“Yes. She has a book deal too. Well, she had. Her publisher just announced that they’re canceling it.” I’m careful not to sound too smug about this. I deliver the news in as neutral a voice as possible.
Now it’s Mom’s turn to gasp. “What? Why?”
“They said it’s because of improper conduct.”
Mom’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my. What sort of improper conduct?”
“I don’t . . .” I was about to say I don’t know, but I don’t want to lie to my parents.
And anyway, they might find out about it; my op-ed is still being shared online.
It’s only a matter of time before one of their friends sees it and links it to them.
“Bullying,” I say. “But I don’t want to get into it right now.
Sorry.” In my mind, Aliyah goes, “Good job setting boundaries, Fern.”
Mom huffs and shakes her head in wonderment. “My goodness. Bullying. Who would’ve thought.”
It takes everything inside me to not say “I would.” I shrug, and Mom leaves the room, muttering to herself. I go back to Twitter and look up Haven’s agent, and sure enough, there’s a statement from her as well.
With sadness, I am announcing that Haven Lee and I have parted ways. Rest assured, I am reading and listening to all of your messages and I am learning from them. We at Reed Literary cannot support any authors who take part in bullying or harassment of any kind.
“Wow,” I whisper under my breath. The seven-figure book deal is no more.
Without a doubt, all the different territories will also follow suit now that the US publisher has dropped Haven’s book.
How much would she have to return to them?
Part of me recoils in horror as I make a quick calculation of how much Haven would owe them.
Close to a million altogether, if not more.
How much has she spent? Haven has always liked beautiful things.
I’m sure she bought herself nice things as soon as she got the first check.
Despite myself, I feel rather bad for Haven.
This could spell the beginning of financial ruin for her, and though she’s a horrible person, it never feels good to see anyone fall so hard.