3. Willow
3
WILLOW
T hree Years and Three Months Later
I resent the times I wake up in the middle of the night, haunted by the utterly embarrassing shit I used to do. The night before my nineteenth birthday, I remember the text I sent exactly three years prior at midnight.
One naughty picture. Red lipstick. And the words “wish you were here.”
God. I cringe into my pillow. Wishing I could bleach my brain is more accurate this year.
Honestly, looking back I’m lucky I don’t have a restraining order.
At least, I can say I’m finally cured of the debilitating infatuation I had on my sister’s friend with benefits, or whatever. There’s only so much humiliation a girl can take before getting the memo.
I check my phone. 1:18am. I’m officially twenty. With a sigh, I drag myself up, knowing I won’t be able to get back to sleep. Four hours is as much as I get on a good day.
I scroll through my notifications; a few early birthday wishes, a couple of bills, and of course, tons of messages forRuby Red Heart. It’s also her birthday; I didn’t bother to change many details when I set up my alter ego.
Ruby Red Heart is me, online, behind a black mask and very little clothing.
I’m not fond of the term porn star , much preferring cam girl ; but well, I’ve long ago moved on from naughty pictures to inserting various things in certain orifices for an audience, so porn isn’t exactly the wrong word to describe what I do.
Hundreds of people are wishing Ruby Red a great birthday. I suppose I should post a thank you tit pic later.
No one knows it’s me behind the mask—I’ve been extremely careful, scrambling my location, using VPNs on top of VPNs, and I subtly change my features with makeup. My own sister wouldn’t recognize me online.
I realize that if I were discovered, I’d be at risk of losing a lot—my scholarship, my future—and that should be enough for me to never have posted the first picture, but that’s just the thing.Not much excites or challenges me. Not kissing boys, not dancing at parties, not even sex. But being watched? That’s fun. It’s my naughty little secret; a harmless one that hasn’t yet come to bite me in the ass during the last two years.
I scroll past these notifications, and gasp when I catch an email completely unrelated to my birthday. It’s come earlier than expected.
Dear Ms. Brown,
You will find attached ? —
I don’t bother to read the full message, rushing to open the file containing my transcript.
I was in so many AP classes at Cross and Roses, Columbia accepted many of them as credit for my first year; and I took nine classes at a time, stacking my course load, which means that now, three years and four months after my enrollment, I have a full Master of Computer Science as well as a Master of Business Administration.
Thank fuck it’s over. I freaking hated college.
It wasn’t as terrible as high school, but I seriously can’t stand listening to lectures repeating things I’ve read about in the damn textbook just to get a piece of paper telling me I’ve learned things I already know.
I like learning. I hate having to validate my knowledge to people who only have a small grasp of the subject.
I take a second to consider the time—ten o’clock in Cali. I doubt my sister’s in bed yet, so I decide to attempt calling. Hopefully, I’m not catching her during the rare times when her newborn lets her sleep.
Morgan answers on third ring, her smiling face filling up my screen.
“Hey, birthday girl! How is it going?” she gushes.
Her grin is so infectious, I don’t even have to fake my smile. “Guess who got her double masters’?”
Her jaw drops. “No! Seriously? Cam!” she yells. “Cam, come here. You won’t believe it. My sister is a freaking genius.”
Her husband laughs off screen before joining her.
“Well, I knew that.”He’s balancing Cameron on his hip, the toddler playing with a miniature car. “Well done, kiddo. No clue why you rushed so much, but it’s impressive. What’s next?”
“I already have a part-time job lined up, with the company I interned with last,” I remind him. “And if I want to go the PhD route, I’ll study remotely—I’m done with campus life.”
Cam frowns. We had a passionate argument about it over the summer; he doesn’t get why, given my age, I don’t want to take my time, enjoy my youth, and all that. Several of my professors encouraged me to continue in academia, seeing me only as a brain on legs. They don’t comprehend that I quite simply don’t enjoy college. Everyone’s older, no one likes my grade, my youth, my strangeness.
Morgan didn’t weigh in, though; she understands me. The way we grew up, it’s a miracle we went to college in the first place. There were plenty of time when there wasn’t enough money to go around for food, or my meds, let alone superfluous things like pens and paper. I just can’t justify playing around without earning money for years, regardless of my scholarship, and the fact that Cam would only be too happy to foot my credit card bill if I let him.
What he doesn’t know is Ruby Red Heart makes a fair bit of money already.
The bottom line is, if I liked college, I’d keep studying; but I really don’t.
“Right.” I can tell he makes a conscious effort not to protest my plan. “You’re twenty. It’s entirely up to you how you handle your future. I know you’re going to excel, however you go about it.”
That guy is just way too perfect.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Morgan agrees. “Anyway, now that you’re officially done with all the studying, you’re coming for Christmas, right?”
Ugh. I should have known she’d ask.
“I’m working on Monday,” I lie. “And I told theCrawfordsI’d pop by for lunch, and to see Martin.”
Martin, our little brother, is five, and a handful. The Crawfords adopted him two years ago, after taking care of him since the day he was born, given that our mother, who was in jail at the time for dealing, wasn’t fit for parenthood. The lucky kid escaped all the usual trauma that comes with being born a Brown.
The Crawfords were my own foster parents for three years. They’re good people, raised two great, highly successful kids, and have always been kind to me. I’d say I lucked out to be placed with them, if I didn’t know Camden pulled some strings to make it happen.
He’s made my life brighter since the moment he entered my sister's periphery. Our very own Prince Charming.
Morgan pouts, as I knew she would. “But you see them every other weekend. We haven’t seen you in ages. I’ll send you cash for the flight. Come on, please?”
I chew my inner lip, wishing I could say yes. But I can’t. Just like I couldn’t last year.
Because there’s every chance that he will be there. He always spends Christmas with Morgan and Cam.
I’m the new, improved Willow Brown, who no longer does everything in her power to be noticed by him.
I could cite a laundry list of reasons, but to sum it up: I have too much self-esteem to continue begging for scraps of attention from a guy who’s clearly not interested.
For months, I was blind, shallow, arrogant, stupid. Somehow, I’d gotten it into my head that he liked me; he was just hesitant because I was too young. Morgan’s kid sister, right? I even deluded myself into thinking that if I went to him after my eighteen’s birthday, he’d likely give in. I had it all planned out. Like an idiot.
Guess what happened on my birthday?
That’s right. He got engaged .
Spoiler: I was not the future bride. Because I didn’t exist to him. I’d only been degrading myself. For over a year.
That stopped right then.
Two years later, and I’ve successfully avoided most interactions with Dimitri Volkov, much to my relief. The fifteen months I spent completely obsessed with him were an embarrassment I’m doing my best to completely ignore, because the alternative is hiding under a bridge for the rest of time. I was that desperate.
“I’ll see you for New Year’s,” I promise.
Because I’m enough of a stalker to know that Dimitri spends New Year’s here, in New York, for his company’s fancy bash every year.
"Fine," Morgan concedes. "Tell me when you can come, and I'll send you the tickets."