Chapter 13 #2
“It’s fine,” I murmur, reminding myself I’m not in this career to be so delicate. I’ve always been too sensitive, and no matter how many times my mother yelled at me to ‘buck up’ and stop wearing my heart on my sleeve, I never magically learned how to take things less personally.
“First off, this is just bullshit,” Madison informs me.
“You knew this would happen after that shitty livestream, which I hate to say to you. They were in the wrong, but their die-hard fans will go down defending them. And the easiest way to do that is to hurt you. It’s literally just crap. You’re gorgeous, Persephone.”
Breaking her gaze, I use my fork to break off pieces of my waffle, no longer feeling so hungry. “I’m not,” I murmur. “I mean, I’m fine. But I’m not—”
“You are not going to compare yourself to anyone while we’re at The Waffle Wagon,” Madison cuts in smoothly. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.”
Her comment makes a smile twitch on my lips, and I take the phone back from her to see that she’s surreptitiously scrolled well past those comments. The next several are normal, and it takes a while to find the one I’m looking for.
My heart sinks, and I brace myself, ready for something as equally cutting as those from the anonymous fans of Squad Ghouls. If he wants to hurt my feelings, I’m sure my stalker has all the tools in his closet. Especially the photo he took last night.
You’re gorgeous when you’re standing up to me. Did you like my friends? The guy in the skull and suit has been my friend since we were seven. I think he likes you, but not as much as me. See you soon, babe. We still have to work on putting that look of fear in your eyes that I know you crave.
My mouth goes dry at his words that I read once, then twice, then a third time. They sweep away the comments from earlier, and I look in the replies to see if he posted the photo and made some shitty comment.
But…he didn’t. He hasn’t even mentioned a picture, which allows the knot in my chest to unfurl. Suddenly I can breathe easier, and I’m not so worried about my followers seeing me at my very worst.
The replies are…unexpected, though. No one seems put off or freaked out by his comments.
Is this real?? Please tell me this is real.
I don’t know this man and I’m in love. But not as much as I’m in love with reading these. Keep the comments coming!!
Can we get a name reveal at least, friend?? Do you know her IRL? Are you dating? This sounds like you’re dating. You really should be, if you aren’t. Did you really just start showing up at haunts with her?
The waitress brings the bill, hopefully distracting Madison from the fact I don’t know whether to laugh, or cry.
But I’m sure my confusion is obvious, more than I’d like it to be, so I stuff my phone back into my pocket and eat one last bite of my overly sweet waffles that have turned soggy from chocolate and butter. Not that I mind.
“Hey, hey—” I reach for the bill, but Madison just gives me a withering, disapproving look before handing it back to the waitress with her card.
“Don’t start with me,” she states, giving me a warning look. “The day I let you pay is the day you tackle me for this bill. And we both know you’re not about to jump the table when you watched me earn my black belt a few years ago.”
She’s right, and I raise my hands, fingers splayed in surrender. “You’re a monster,” I tell her, then turn to the waitress. “She’s a monster,” I remark to the older woman who’s been here every time we’ve come in.
She huffs a sigh, writing something on her pad with scrawling gestures. “Yeah, I know she is. I remember when you girls first started coming in here and she was a monster then, too. No offense.” She doesn’t look at Madison as she says it, and I don’t bother trying to hide my surprised, amused grin.
“I haven’t tipped you yet,” Madison points out casually, her arms on the table. “What if you’ve hurt my feelings?”
“Doubt that.” The waitress walks away without another word, and I can’t help but silently applaud her confident attitude that’s probably a mixture of age and seeing the worst that humanity has to offer here at The Waffle Wagon.
“I like her,” I say.
“So does Brynn.” Madison surveys me, and reaches out to snag my hand when I move to grab my napkin, intent on tearing it into nervous shreds to place in a pile on my plate. “Are you okay?”
I’m not.
I’m confused, surprised, and a little hurt. But I flash her a dry grin and say, “Never better.”
Madison doesn’t believe me. It’s clear on her face as the sun finally peeks over the cars outside, causing her to squint and look away from me.
That, and the waitress’s prompt return, end the conversation before it can really begin.
No matter her threats, Madison tips her well, just as she always does, and I lead the way through the cluttered gift shop area, stopping when we’re all out in the parking lot between our cars.
“Thanks for letting me stay with you—” Madison cuts me off by grabbing me around the shoulders in a tight hug, Brynn hovering close.
“This isn’t a game, Persy,” she murmurs in my ear. “I’ve read the comments, I know he’s charming. That it seems like he’s into what you are. I know you’re lonely, and things are hard with your family right now.” She pulls away, and I let my gaze slide to the ground, unable to meet her eyes.
“But don’t confuse obsession for affection. All right?”
“You never let me have anything nice.” I keep my voice teasing, and flap my hands at her to get her to move back a step.
But she’s found my weak spot, and a stab of guilt goes right between my ribs.
“I’m not that desperate, if that’s what you’re trying to say.
” Offering her a wan smile, I hold it, hoping I can make her believe it.
“If I was, I wouldn’t have asked you to go with me last night. ”
That, at least, must ring true to her. Madison nods once, clearly considering the words, and I mentally pat myself on the back for coming up with something believable.
“I’m going home now. Thanks for this. And for last night.” This time I’m the one to initiate the hug, and Madison grasps my shoulders for an extra moment before letting me pull away.
Back in my car, I wait until Madison leaves, watching her drive away as she waves at me in her rearview mirror. I do the same, and then I open my phone, as if I’m magnetized to it.
I don’t go to his comment, no matter how much I want to. Just like always, I navigate my way back to the two comments that had hurt, reading over them too many times before I notice there are now replies to each of them.
God, I can’t handle people dog-piling me in the comments. Not today. But I can’t stop myself from tapping on the little arrow, and I try to brace myself for the two of them ganging up on me. Expecting their opinions to become more caustic and vehement once they’ve found they agree with one another.
It’s only entertaining if you fall for set up jump scares and overdone folk tales, sweetheart. Did you really believe that was real? Or are you just all twisted up because you’re hoping one of them will notice you for insulting her and fuck that bitchiness right out of you?
I…can’t believe what I’m reading. No matter how many times I read it, the comment by the same anonymous account as my stalker doesn’t make any sense.
So I do the sensible thing, and move to the next one.
I’m sure she’s been called worse by better. But I understand that originality probably isn’t your strong suit.
The defenses of my level of interesting and my looks are maybe a little too aggressive, and I should probably delete the comments or say something about toning it down.
But again the knots in my chest loosen, most of the hurt from the two commenters has been soothed away by my stalker’s replies.
It’s not okay, and I shouldn’t be glad that he’s here, standing up for me like he really cares.
That’s dangerous, I remind myself while screenshotting the comments like a stupid, lovestruck teenager about to print off her favorite online conversation and hang it on her mirror.
He’s dangerous. Madison is right, and I can’t let myself forget that. Obsession isn’t true affection, after all. Even if it tastes better on his lips than any affection I’ve ever known before.