Chapter Sixteen #2
But as soon as Imogen reached the solitude of her apartment, the anger drained out of her and the tears she’d been fighting all day finally won.
And not the kind that rolled quietly down your face either.
This was ugly crying. Full-body, can’t-catch-your-breath crying.
The kind that made your chest hurt and your throat ache and your eyes sting so badly it felt impossible there could be any tears left.
Imogen didn’t even make it to the sofa before the first sob hit her. She slid down the living room door onto the floor and cried into her hands until she felt wrung out by it.
She loved Amy. God, she loved her. And somehow she had still walked away from her.
So why did it feel like she’d just broken her own heart?
And because apparently she hadn’t wrecked herself enough, Imogen clicked on the picture of her and Amy once again.
After a few seconds of staring longingly at the screenshot she had taken that morning, she did something she had never done before. Imogen pulled up a new internet tab and searched for Amelia Whitlock.
Instantly, Amy’s smiling face popped up along with the first few lines of a bio. There was a row of different photographs—each one featuring that bright, impossible smile of hers. Which had once won an actual award.
The 2024 Best Smile award. Jesus Christ.
Imogen suddenly felt a bit stupid for complimenting Amy’s smile like she’d discovered something that had apparently already received international acclaim.
Imogen scrolled down and clicked on an article speculating about their relationship based on the hospital photo.
Imogen was being referred to as “the mystery woman.” Another article called her “Amelia Whitlock’s comfort blanket.
” That label wasn’t so bad. Against her better judgement, Imogen kept scrolling to the comments section.
The trolls were there in good voice, which didn’t surprise her.
Some of them said that she wasn’t pretty enough for Amelia Whitlock.
Others, that she was latching onto Amelia in her most vulnerable state.
A couple of them even claimed she was the reason Amelia ended up in hospital.
Talk about making shit up. What was with some people?
However, if she could force herself to be optimistic for once, most of the comments were actually quite positive.
Omg, look at how cute they are together.
When your girl shows up for you.
I’m so glad Amelia has found someone who clearly loves her enough to endure a hell of a backache sleeping on that awful chair.
Aaaaaah! Amelia Whitlock has found love in Ireland—the most exciting thing to happen since Taylor got engaged!
This is exactly what true love looks like. Understated. Present. Real.
Imogen’s eyes filled again at that last comment—because they were right. She swiped the tears, took a steadying breath, and opened another new tab. Only this time she didn’t search for Amelia Whitlock. This time she searched for herself.
It was time.
It was Chelsea’s picture that came up straight away. The search leading straight to Chelsea’s social pages wasn’t exactly surprising. It was the only place online that still had anything about Imogen. She’d removed her own social media accounts long ago.
Imogen looked at Chelsea and wondered what she’d ever seen in her.
She was pretty, of course. But there was no warmth in her smile.
No kindness in her eyes. That was so obvious to Imogen now.
And unlike Amy’s pictures, Chelsea’s made her feel nothing.
Not heartache. Not nostalgia. Not even hate.
Just—zilch. Like Chelsea wasn’t worth a single feeling from her, good or bad.
Determined to exorcise her demons once and for all, Imogen clicked onto one of Chelsea’s many pages.
There wasn’t a platform she wasn’t on, so Imogen closed her eyes and picked one at random.
Uninterested in any of her new content, Imogen scrolled and scrolled.
And scrolled. Did this woman do anything else but post videos of herself?
Eventually, after a lot of sifting, Imogen found the one she was looking for. The one she vowed that she would never watch again. Their viral breakup. The original.
Without giving herself time to think or back out, Imogen hit play.
Even after all this time, her cheeks heated with both anger and humiliation as she watched the video again.
And then again. And once more for good measure.
It wasn’t easy to relive the most uncomfortable moment of her life over and over, but it was something Imogen needed to do.
Her hands were shaking by the time she found the dreaded comments—which were possibly more jarring than the video itself.
She had always wondered if she had amplified their hostility in her head since she last looked.
Built up their ferocity in her imagination.
But no, she hadn’t. They were every bit as awful as Imogen remembered.
And there were so many now too. Thousands. Holy cow, one from only five hours ago. These things really never went away, did they? They floated around out there, forever.
She paused to read an extra-long comment written by Anonymous Member 191, who thought Imogen was an ugly, self-centred, spineless, stuck-up little twat.
Their words. And for some reason, instead of crumbling completely, Imogen burst out laughing.
It shouldn’t be funny. The comment was awful.
Truly awful. But suddenly it also seemed a bit ridiculous.
Who the hell was this person? Who had never met her, knew nothing about her, but had devoted their time to writing a short essay full of horrible, nasty things?
They hadn’t even been brave enough to slate Imogen using their real name.
Just some anonymous keyboard warrior, hiding behind a computer screen spreading hate.
What would drive someone to act that way?
It had to be something. Imogen almost felt sorry for them. Almost.
With newfound amusement, Imogen looked through some of the worst comments. It was like exposure therapy. The more Imogen read, the less she cared. It was like every horrible comment was somehow applying a healing balm to the very thing it was trying to hurt.
After about forty minutes of reading about what a loser of a human she was, Imogen finally closed the tab.
She was quietly content that she never needed to look at it again.
But not because she was afraid to. Because it didn’t matter a damn what a bunch of strangers thought about her.
Not even the real her, but some version of her that Chelsea had invented for her own personal gain.
Imogen sure knew how to pick ’em. If only Chelsea had already been Chelsealicious when they first met, Imogen might not have made the biggest mistake of her life.
Second biggest mistake of her life, her brain corrected her.
Oh God. It was so clear now. Like a giant flashing sign in her head.
“Holy shit. What the hell am I doing?” Imogen scrambled to her feet.
She had been such an idiot, hadn’t she? All along. Like, the biggest idiot to ever exist. Who cared what any of these strangers thought? Who the hell cared?
And Amy’s fans? Most of them had been lovely.
As for the others? Well, there were always going to be people in life who didn’t wish you well, whether you were going out with a movie star or someone from down the street.
But fuck them. Let them hate. Maybe it was finally time to stop letting fear wreck the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Starting right now.
Imogen rushed to the bathroom to wash the devastation off her face, then to her bedroom where she quickly changed into her best jeans and as fancy a shirt as she owned. Three minutes later she was back out the door.
Imogen knew exactly what she needed to do.
But first, there was one quick stop she needed to make. Instead of going straight to her car, Imogen walked back down into the pub. Well, it was more of a skulk than her normal walk.
Niamh spotted her first and elbowed Piper in the side. They both looked about as uncomfortable as Imogen felt.
Imogen approached them slowly with her hands up. “I come in peace.”
Piper reacted first, pushing herself off the bar and hurrying toward her. “Immy, I’m so sorry I got my bitch on.” She collapsed into Imogen’s waiting arms. “I didn’t mean it. I just got so worried that you were making a rash decision, and I handled it all wrong.”
“I’m sorry I was a stubborn brat,” Imogen said, squeezing her tight. “And that I stormed off on you guys.”
Niamh joined them. “I’m sorry that I have too many opinions. As if I can talk anyway. You gave Amelia more of a chance than I give most women. You know we will stand by you through anything, Imogen. We weren’t being good friends before.”
“Get in here,” Imogen said, making space for Niamh in their hug.
Once they let go, Imogen blew out a breath. “It was all me. I got so stuck in my own head I couldn’t see the wood for the trees.”
Piper laid a hand on her forearm. “We shouldn’t have been pushy. You have good reasons to feel the way you do. We know that.”
“And it’s up to you what you do with your love life,” Niamh said resolutely. They had obviously been discussing this while she’d been upstairs.
Imogen eyed them both. “I’m only going to say this once. And it’s going to pain me to do it, but I’m going to do it anyway.”
They both stared at her, waiting.
Imogen put them out of their misery. “You were right,” she said. “About everything.”
Piper blinked a few times and then grinned. “Oh, please. Say it again.”
Imogen smiled and shouted, “You were right!” Because they were. Everyone should be lucky enough to have friends who push them to do the right thing.
“One more time?” Piper moved her hand in a rolling motion and cupped it behind her ear.
“Oh my God. You were right, you were right, you were right. Now, I have to go,” Imogen said, stepping forward to give each of them a quick kiss on the cheek.