“It’s good. Thank you,” I say. I’m usually the coffee-maker, the caretaker. It’s nice for someone else to take that role.
She sits down next to me. “Care to fill me in on what’s going on?” she asks gently.
I take another sip, giving myself a minute. Daisy waits without saying anything.
“When I got to his hotel to deliver your gift to him, he was really sick.”
“He should have called me! I was out of town, but I could have come back,” Daisy says in dismay.
“He didn’t want to bother anyone. He had food poisoning. I was worried and didn’t want to leave him with such a high fever, so I stayed. Then he got better and…”
“And?” Daisy says with impatience.
“And I spent the weekend with him,” I mumble into my coffee.
“You did what? Why didn’t you tell me?” Daisy cries, as if she can’t decide whether to be outraged or excited.
I gnaw on my lip. “I’m still trying to process it, honestly. Talking about it would make it feel real, and it was just this very temporary thing. I can’t be hung up on a movie star.”
“I suspected something might be between you. I thought it might even be good for you both. But maybe I was wrong. I’m going to kill Chase if he did anything to hurt you. I know you, Olivia. There’s no way you are okay with a one-night hookup. He’s a million times more experienced.”
Hearing that makes my stomach churn, even if I know it’s true. But this isn’t his fault. I meet her gaze. “Don’t be mad at him. It’s also why I didn’t tell you. He never made me any promises. I knew how it would be. He was sweet. He didn’t take advantage of me. If anything, I threw myself at him.”
She snorts. “I doubt that.”
“It’s true. At least, I wanted more, but he stopped us from…” I falter, embarrassed. “He put the brakes on things.”
“Not on everything, by the looks of it,” Daisy says, jiggling the magazine.
“Yeah, well, that was my fault, too. We were playing truth or dare in his hotel room, and I dared him to kiss me in a rainstorm. I thought it would be funny to make him reenact the scene from The Wanderers. It didn’t even occur to me there could be paparazzi or that someone would get a picture.”
“Chase’s life is like that old movie, The Truman Show. You have to accept it if you want to be around him. And you might not have realized someone would take a picture, but Chase knew the risk.”
“I’d accept his life. But he’s not interested in giving me the opportunity. And now, we’re on the cover of a magazine because of my dare,” I say with a groan.
I wonder what Chase will think of the tabloid. Will he be upset?
Daisy stays with me as I work up the courage to do a search of myself and Chase on the internet. I need to know what’s being said about us.
Horror shoots through me as I read the comments on my laptop. Brutal words dissect my every flaw. My vision clouds with tears. It’s like middle school all over again, the year when I was bullied. Only this time, instead of a few nasty preteen kids, it’s thousands of online trolls doing the hating.
Gross. Slut. My middle school bullies called me that because my breasts came in, fast and furious. It hadn’t been long after my mom had died, and I retreated more firmly into my writing and the world of books, into that safe space of dreams and make-believe.
Back then, it felt as if the whole world was against me, but it had only been a small group of girls and boys, led by one boy in particular. Now, the world truly is looking at me, judging me, and tearing me to shreds. Nausea rolls through me.
Daisy must see it all on my face because she reaches over and shuts down my computer.
“I was afraid this would be a bad idea. You can’t fight the trolls. You can’t control what they say. But you can control what you do. Don’t give them power over you. Stay away from the online bullshit, especially the comments sections. You checked once, and now you never need to do it again. Promise me.”
I promise her, praying my words are true, that I’ll be strong enough not to seek out that vitriol.
But the damage is done. I’m shaking. I can’t get it out of my head, the ugly words of strangers that have seeped into my cozy living room, creeping across my soft couch, winding their way through my home like insidious poison.
None of it is real, I remind myself. I’m not even on social media except for my bookish accounts. I barely watch television. I don’t read tabloids. I just need to pretend that sick alternate world full of trolls and haters doesn’t exist.