chapter thirty
Comment by CJS_49er: There’s no way this guy is with her for anything but her money and fame lol. Why would a guy who looks like that settle? He’s definitely cheating!
Reply by Ritchie_Scotty7: @CJS_49er You’re pathetic and you should be ashamed. Crystal is beautiful, inside and out. I feel sorry for anyone who doesn’t see that. She’s the kind of person who would give the shirt off her back for a stranger and has dedicated her life to helping others. Do us all a favor and get a fucking life. Put your hatred and ignorance toward something useful for a change.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” I hiss.
Scott looks a little frazzled as he steps aside to let me in, and I don’t blame him. I’ve shown up at his apartment out of the blue, practically fuming. Admittedly, it’s difficult to maintain any level of outrage when Albus Doodledore is galloping around the living area like a tiny horse, euphoric about my arrival. His tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth as he nibbles my fingers.
I clench my fists, shielding my fingers from Albus, which automatically resets my headspace. The simple act reminds me why I’m here, reigniting the fury pulsing through my veins. If I were an animated character, steam would be billowing out of my ears.
“I can explain.” He watches as I pace the length of the IKEA coffee table in front of the couch, Albus following nobly at my feet, thirsting for me to toss the slobbery stuffed gibbon he’s dropped on my foot.
“Scott, I made it clear I didn’t need backup. That I wanted to handle this myself. And you went behind my back and responded to a bunch of comments. You did exactly what I told you not to do. You’ve swooped in, trying to be a hero I don’t need. You’ve stolen my opportunity to strategize. To regroup. To address the entire situation in my own way. And now I look like some broken damsel in distress who requires rescue and validation by her big, strong boyfriend.”
He swallows, head hanging in regret, like a small child in trouble with the principal. “I’ll delete them.”
My irritation flares. “It’s way too late for that.”
The comments were only posted two hours ago, and already, BuzzFeed News has written a follow-up article, titled Six-pack boyfriend of full-figured fitness influencer speaks out, loves her curves. It paints me in an even more pathetic light than the first.
And worse, just when the comments were slowing down, just when I was becoming old news, buried by the next juicy scandal, the hate has ramped up all over again.
Scott regroups and stands, reaching for my hands. I wrap my arms around myself, avoiding his touch. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let people bombard us with these asinine comments about how I must be cheating on you, or using you. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. I can’t let people say horrible things about the person I love.”
Love.
Everything comes to a screeching halt. My mind is akin to one of those plastic car-crash test dummies, flying forehead-first into the airbag. I’m jolted. Whiplashed. Frozen. Did he really just tell me he loves me? “What?” I manage through my shock, vision tunneling.
His gaze doesn’t waver, eyes locked to mine. “I said I love you. More than I can even put into words.”
“When did you decide this?” My voice comes out in barely a whisper. As the weight of his words settles onto my shoulders, I lower myself to the couch. He sits next to me, knees touching mine.
There’s a long pause, as if he really needs to think this through. “Since you peeled my clementine for the first time. That night we watched Lord of the Rings.”
Everything inside me clenches. Those three words are everything I’ve been dying to hear from him over the past month. On one level, he seems to be telling the truth, or at least he thinks he is. But saying it now feels like pity. Why not tell me the moment he felt it? He’s had plenty of opportunities since. Why wait until the worst possible moment? I desperately want to believe it’s genuine. But there’s a nagging doubt that won’t go away, no matter what he says. It’s the same doubt that’s seemingly clouded everything in my life since the photo went viral.
How can he be in love with me if I’m not even sure I’m in love with me anymore?
After the whirlwind of the past few days, it simply isn’t registering. “Scott, I just don’t know.”
His patience wanes. “You just don’t know about what? I just told you I loved you.”
“I’m so mad at you. You should have asked me first before you went ahead and responded.”
“I didn’t ask you because I knew you would freak out. Like this.” He waves a fed-up hand in my direction.
“This is social media 101. You never respond to your haters. Ever.”
“Even if they’re spreading lies?”
“Especially then.” A fresh swell of resentment rises in my throat. “Your comments look like my response to the whole thing. It makes me look weak. Like I needed you to go to bat for me publicly. Like the comments affected me. Like I hate my body and I need reassurance from someone like you.”
“But why is that such a bad thing? Why do you need to be the one to respond?”
“Because! It’s my image. It’s my brand.”
His lips twist in dismay. “Don’t you ever get sick of this? Tired of constantly getting shit on?”
“You know I do. But what choice do I have?” I run my palms down my cheeks in exasperation. It feels like I’m being forced to solve an unsolvable jigsaw puzzle.
“Why don’t you delete the stupid picture? It’s going to take a toll on you, little by little.” He trails off when he notices my grimace.
I should have known this was coming. “Scott. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a twelve-year-old in middle school. I’m so sorry about what happened to you. I really am. But this isn’t the same thing. Deleting one photo won’t change anything.”
He tosses his palms in the air, red-hot irritation flaring. “But look at what it’s done to you. You’re consumed by it. You have been since I met you. I’m concerned for you. This shouldn’t define you. You’re worth so much more. You are so much more than just this.”
“It’s not that simple.”
His jaw ticks. “How is this supposed to work if you continue to shut me out entirely? Every single time the idiotic internet trolls say shit about you?”
“I don’t know!” My voice comes out louder than I intended, and I find myself standing.
He scoffs, standing too, hands on hips. “You know, this is the entire problem with us. It always has been. You don’t trust me. You don’t trust me enough to rely on me when shit goes wrong. And you know what? I’m done trying to earn your trust. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“How can I trust you when you go behind my back like this?” I ask honestly, manically gesturing to the space between us. “I told you I was handling it by myself.”
He rakes a tense hand through his hair. “But that’s just it. You don’t have to do things by yourself anymore. That’s the entire point of a relationship. You have me now. We’re supposed to get through these things together. As a team.”
I’m quiet for a few moments. He’s right. My first instinct should have been tackling this together. And it wasn’t. It was the exact opposite. I kept it from him like a dirty secret, because, deep down, I was terrified he’d believe the comments. I was terrified he’d walk away from me.
He continues. “And if we’re actually going to be a team, I refuse to stand by and keep letting this shit happen.”
I blink. “I can’t be known as the fat girl who dared to date a hot guy. I can’t. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.”
He digests my words and shakes his head, like a realization has just washed over him. “So that’s what this is about?”
“I haven’t felt this bad about myself in years. I need time to figure myself out before I can focus on us.”
Scott pulls back as if I’ve slapped him in the face. He stares at the floor under his bare feet for what feels like a hellish eternity. “So . . . you . . . what? You’re just ending things? After I told you I loved you for the first time? After all we’ve gone through to even get to this point, you’re willing to toss it all out the window because of some stupid photo?” he asks, voice low, gravelly, and exhausted.
“Yes.” My heart is crushed to dust when the word settles. I can’t even argue, or take it back, because it’s the truth. If I truly want my strength back, I need to find it myself, not while hiding in Scott’s arms as he pets my hair, telling me everything is going to be sunshine and rainbows.
He drops his head in his hands. When he comes up for air, it feels like the entire apartment has been sucked of all oxygen. I’ve completely crushed him. Dug my heel in and stomped.
Instinctively, I reach forward tepidly to pull him into a hug. He draws in a prolonged sigh, pressing his forehead to mine. I memorize his woodsy scent and the secure feeling of being near him. I try to hold on to this moment for as long as I can.
I close my eyes, and unexpectedly, his lips crash into mine. It’s not gentle or smooth. It’s anguish. Our tongues fight against each other’s, in turmoil. In anger, sadness, and love, all spun up in a tornado of chaos.
Before I open my eyes again, he tears himself from me like he’s been burned. He runs his hand through his hair, unsure of what to do next. Our teary eyes meet again as he lets out a strained breath. “Crystal . . . do you even love me?”
I want to tell him Yes. Badly. That I’ve known I love him for weeks now. But what’s the point? It will just make things harder. “I’m so sorry.” My voice comes out in a whisper.
I meet his gaze, and all I see is sadness. It’s like I’m witnessing his heart crumple and split in two. And mine’s quick to follow. It’s like the full weight of a kettlebell dropping onto my chest, shattering the bone.
When the realization settles that I’m not changing my mind, he turns away.
There’s nothing left for me to do but leave.