2. Truce #2
The condo doesn’t look so scary in the morning, as daylight makes it impossible for anyone to lurk in the shadows.
Once I tidy my room, you couldn’t even tell that an intruder was here last night.
Later on, I have a shift at the art center, and I’m excited about it. Even with the daylight, however, I don’t like being alone. But it’s beyond that. The guys go to school here, and aside from hockey, they have classes most days. When I’m not working, my only company is Lady M.
“Let’s get some fresh air, Lady M,” I say, carrying her fishbowl outside on the deck.
I sprinkle some food into the water and watch the goldfish swim to the surface to eat.
At least one of us has an appetite this morning. Despite not feeling as scared as I did last night, it’s as if there was a knot in the pit of my stomach.
I know I should eat something, and probably drinking a diet soda on an empty stomach isn’t the breakfast of champions. But I can’t stop thinking about what Luke said last night.
Is it possible that Kurt came all the way to Star Cove to hurt me? Does he even know that I’m here? Just the idea takes away my appetite.
Even if Dad made me cut all contact with my twin brother, I didn’t have any other meaningful connections after moving into the Pure Shine house. Guessing that I would come here isn’t a huge stretch of the imagination.
What I don’t understand is why would Kurt come after me? Our engagement was just a publicity stunt for Pure Shine ’s benefit, so that Dad could line his pockets even more than he already did. Kurt didn’t love me; of that I’m one hundred percent sure.
There’s only one way to know if there’s a chance my ex could be my stalker, other than calling him and asking him directly.
I shudder when I think about talking to him after what happened the night before our wedding. If I can help it, I never want to see him or hear his voice ever again.
But like Luke said last night, maybe I can figure it out without him knowing. Stalking is a two-way street, and I opened my social media accounts for the first time since I first got here a few weeks ago.
My intention is to look at his profile and see if anyone tagged him in any posts or photo that’s clearly from last night and not some scheduled posts.
The second I open the first app, I wish I hadn’t.
There are thousands of notifications. For the most part, they’re comments on the last videos and photos I had posted before leaving.
Aisha: I’m so excited to announce that I’ll be joining a very popular celebrity dance competition. That comes with a sweet deal and a seven-figure sponsorship from the competition’s sponsors, Famous Dance Shoes.
That reality TV competition was something Dad was trying to get for me.
A part of me feels hurt that I was replaced so easily. But when I really look at my feelings, deep down, I know it’s just some kind of misguided FOMO.
Aisha will be on TV, and her following will grow exponentially on every platform.
But there is a price to pay for that fame, and it isn’t small.
She still has to live under Dad’s control; and that seven-figure deal?
Ninety-nine percent of it will go to the agency, and she’d be lucky to see a few hundred dollars.
All she’ll be allowed to keep is the merchandise the sponsors will offer.
Maybe the set costumes if she’s lucky. Dad will put the rest in a high interest account under the guise of investing his clients’ earnings to make sure that if they ever got injured or their popularity died out, they would be wealthy.
The reality is that only he can touch that money, as I found out when I tried to withdraw money when I left.
I had to pay for the taxi that took me from Bridgeport to Star Cove by giving the taxi driver my engagement ring.
Jealousy isn’t the only reason why I regret opening my social media accounts.
I should know better than to read the comments on Aisha’s post.
But my eyes catch the first one, and from there it’s a slippery slope.
Dancefangirl25: I’m so happy for you, Aisha! You’re beautiful, and you deserve every success. Wasn’t this something Rebecca was in the running for?
Aisha: It was, before she was fired by the agency.
Dancefangirl25: Ugh. Can you imagine the entire nation having to watch that fat, ugly thing twirl on the dance floor? It isn’t just that Rebecca couldn’t dance for shit; she was really hard to look at.
Aisha: Wink Emoji. We all dodged a bullet.
YourDancePartner4eva: Has anyone seen her, anyway? I swear to God, I love to rub one out looking at all your dance videos, but Rebecca was a boner killer. The ugliest ass I’ve ever had to look at.
Tears well in my eyes.
I know these people don’t know me. I know the internet is full of trolls.
But what if they’re right? What if I'm as ugly as they say I am?
No, those are all people who have no life and feel better by putting other people down.
AnonymouslyYours03: Yeah, you’re right. How can anyone have an ass that’s scrawny and fat at the same time? Disgusting. I better not see her IRL or I’m going to get my shotgun and use that ass for target practice.
Kev: You totally should. There’s so much surface, there’s no way you’d miss. I’m so fucking glad I don’t have to dance with her anymore. Last year I threw my back when we were doing a choreography with a lift.
Aisha: So fat. The only thing I miss about doing collabs with her is that I always felt beautiful and skinny next to her.
Kev: You’re beautiful, Aisha. And a pleasure to work with.
Rebecca wasn’t just fat. She was also an entitled little slut.
She probably thought she was the only one who had a cunt around here and the world owed her something.
Guess what? The world owes her nothing. She’s lucky our agency doesn’t sue her for leaving the way she did.
DanceWithMe34: Send a bounty hunter after her. Once you get her, she could pay her debts on her back, or on her knees.
Kev: That’s not a bad idea. If anyone sees her, let me know.
Aisha: We could do better. There are millions of you guys, our loyal followers. Why don’t you spread the word and find her for us? And then we could make her pay for betraying us.
AnonymouslyYours03: I would totally have a go at that ass. I bet she’s so fat, she’s desperate for some real cock. And fat girls do anal; it’s a given. Who’s with me? Let’s find Rebecca and make her pay.
Hunting4waps: I’m in. Let’s get that bitch and teach her a lesson. You bite the hand that feeds you, you deserve to die.
KillingYouSoftly: Sharing this with all my followers. Find that bitch and choke her until she sees the truth.
It gets worse with every comment, and there are thousands of people calling me fat and ugly and a traitor. The hate messages get shared over and over, and this thread has pretty much gone viral.
My once followers hate me and want me dead. And they’re being encouraged by the people who I once considered my best friends.
Under the light of this new information, maybe I was too fast to cast judgement last night.
“Hey Bex, have you seen Poonani?”
As if summoned by my last thought, Keene steps outside.
I swear to God, this guy has no business looking this hot in a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt that clings to his defined muscles like a second skin.
But his body isn’t the thing that makes me wish he wasn’t a grade A asshole.
It’s his dark hair cut in a high and tight that enhances his perfect facial features.
It’s the ice blue of his eyes that makes his gaze deep and mysterious.
If Keene were fictional, he would be a dead ringer for Damon Salvatore.
“Bex?” he arches a dark eyebrow, his hands on his hips and the corners of his lips lifted with surprised amusement. “Did you hear my question?”
Busted. He totally caught me checking him out.
The embarrassment at being caught ogling him, however, is the least of my worries. Keene’s eyes shift from my face to the screen of my phone, still opened on that horrible message thread.
“What is that?” he asks, every trace of amusement gone from his expression.
“Nothing, just a—hey! Give me my phone back!” I yell when he snatches the device off my hands and begins reading that disgusting thread.
I rise from my chair, lunging at him to try to grab my phone.
But he dodges me easily, taking a step back and continuing to read the comments to Aisha’s post.
“Keene, I fucking mean it.” The volume of my voice gets higher with every word. “That’s private.”
He avoids another attempt to reach my phone by raising his hand closer to his face. Our height difference puts him at an advantage there. He’s a foot taller than me, and when I almost slap my phone out of his hand, he lifts it so that it’s totally out of my reach.
“Stop it.” He scolds me, wrapping one arm around my waist and pushing me against his side. “I’m trying to read this shit.”
He moves the phone to his other hand, continuing to read as he keeps me tucked against his side.
Fuck, he smells so good. Like body wash and clean laundry. I’m not sure if that spicy scent comes from his soap or a cologne, but it makes me feel drunk.
Jesus. I shake my head in an attempt to snap out of it.
This is the same guy who has been an asshole to me from the moment we met.
The same guy who would rather have seen me homeless than allow me to move into my brother’s room.
And the only reason is that he hates women.
I have to remember that whenever I notice his striking good looks.
To my surprise, Keene gives me my phone back.
“Bex.” He looks at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. “What is this shit?”
Figures. He gave me the phone because he’s done reading that vile thread.