Chapter 26
Emma
I showed up at my parent's house two days ago. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I was supposed to be here with Rafi, and it only adds to my depression.
I've been keeping my phone off, deciding blissful ignorance was best. I did turn it on before I left for my parent's house, long enough to send Rafi a message.
Emma: I just need time. Please forgive me, but I need space to think. I'm okay. I hope you're okay, too.
I turned the phone off as soon as it was sent, afraid he'd get it and try calling me right away. So when I showed up at my parent's house with a backpack full of my stuff, it was unannounced.
I had the misfortune of having to explain everything to them. They, too, had been trying to get a hold of me, and the only reason they hadn't shown up at my door was because they were in touch with Alice. What a blessing that girl is.
They hugged me and told me they loved me, and threatened to sue Greg for wrongful termination. It was sweet. But I insisted I wanted to just leave it be.
Dad and I rented a U-Haul and went back to my apartment yesterday and packed up all of my things. I didn't have to rush out of there, I had a lease, and he couldn't make me leave right away. But I couldn't stomach the thought of living there after how Greg treated me. It was supposed to be my safe place.
I spent so much time taking care of that stupid coffee shop, thinking I was important to Greg and that he cared about me enough to let me run the place. I didn't realize I was so expendable. I feel stupid.
And my apartment… I know I was thinking about moving anyway, but I really didn't want to. I love that apartment.
It took us two trips, and I have no right after how much I've been avoiding him, but I can't help but feel disappointed that Rafi wasn't waiting outside my apartment. Maybe he's given up on me already.
After all, I just created a shitstorm for him. Stetson and I aren't the only ones getting bombarded online. If it wasn't for me and my stupid fantasies, none of this would be happening. The photo may have been photoshopped, but barely.
"Bitch! Open up!" My sister Stephanie yells before letting herself into my childhood bedroom. I'm still curled up in bed, the same position I've been in all week. "Dude, when was the last time you showered?"
I throw a pillow at her, which she catches and throws back at me. I let it stay where it lands, on my face. The bed bounces as she climbs in and lies down beside me.
"So, why didn't you tell me you were boinking Rafi?" My family all know who Rafi is to me. And when everything about Raze broke, I told them the truth, that he was my oldest friend, my childhood penpal. They were shocked, excited we were finally together, then shocked again when they realized how deeply this impacted my life. Potentially losing my lover and my best friend in one fell swoop.
But before all this, they didn't know anything. I was going to tell them tomorrow, at Thanksgiving.
"Don't say boinking. It's gross."
"Whatever. He's hot. So, how long you gonna hide like this?" Her voice is low and raspy, like a sexy lounge singer. I've always liked her voice. She can't sing for shit, though.
"I was thinking another 3-5 weeks. Then maybe move to Alaska. Or, shit, I guess maybe to a non-English-speaking country. Do they care about MMA in Argentina? Maybe I'll move to Argentina."
She picks the pillow up off my face and slaps it down again.
"Ooof!" I yell out, slipping the pillow under my head since it's clear she isn't leaving. Our mom hovers in the doorway, then comes and joins us on the bed.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" She rubs my ankle.
"The same. Numb. Lost."
They're quiet for a minute when my mom says, "Well, I, for one, am proud of you. I think it's great that you have all of those followers who read what you write. You've always been so creative. Maybe I'll read your stories, I'm sure they're great, Emma!" Mom tries to be encouraging.
"Mom, please don't read them. It's basically porn."
"Oh, well, so what! I'm progressive. I'm cool. If you can't read your daughter's porn, what can you read, you know?"
Stephanie starts laughing, and I bury my head in the pillow again.
"Look, sis. I get what all happened. But it's gonna blow over. It's just a setback. You and Rafi have been friends forever, there's no reason to think this is gonna shake you. Remember that one time you got a letter in the mail like every day for a month cause you complained that he wasn't writing to you enough? That boy loves you."
"He's not a boy. And that's not what I'm… ugh." I sit up and lean against the headboard. "I just don't think I can handle his life. Always being in the spotlight, judged. What if something happens in the future that I actually should be vilified for? Is it always going to be thrown out there for millions of people to weigh in on?"
"Well, I guess with this time apart, that's what you need to decide. If you love him enough to put up with it. But I do think, in all fairness, this is an unusual situation with extenuating circumstances,” Mom says.
Later that night I debated turning on my phone. I miss Rafi so much. I don't know what will happen, but I know I could never just disappear. But what if it's too much for him, too? What if my private life and my secret life, and every nasty thing I've ever published as The Heart Thief, which is now out there in the open—what if he's embarrassed that the world knows what his girlfriend is really like?
I turn on my phone and have to wait several moments for all of the notifications to stop dinging. Eventually, my phone settles, and I open my email first to find that I've lost the last of my advertisers. Well, that's that, I guess. And Vibes For All, the company that reached out about advertising with me and asked me to review their products, sent me an email. The subject line just says "Following-up," and I don't have it in me to read the rejection, so I close the app.
And, for the first time since this all happened, I opened my social media app. And see there are over 1 million tags, reposts, or comments. I browse through briefly, and for the most part, people are calling me trash. Golddigger. Cheater. Slut.
I close the app and swallow down the shame. None of it is even true, but somehow, it feels like it is. How can millions of people think something so incorrectly about me? How can their incorrect assumptions sway my own opinions about myself?
I open the text message app before I talk myself out of it, so I can read his response.
Rafi: I will fix this. I love you.
I close the app and turn off the phone, and the tears take over for the rest of the night.
I don't know how it's possible, but I sleep in the next morning, Thanksgiving day, and don't roll out of bed until after 12 pm. I think this is a sign of depression. I drag my ass out of bed and, for the first time in four days, shower. I'm just finishing getting dressed when my sister barges into my room, my mother on her tail.
"What the hell?" I say without an ounce of conviction and sit on the edge of the bed.
"Be quiet. You have to watch this." She and my mom sit on either side of me, and she opens her phone and presses play on a video.