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“What’s wrong?” I ask, reaching for the front door and pulling it open.
“Buttercup, we need to talk, and I think it’s best we stay outside for it.” Henry and Mel share a look as my eyes travel between them, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Okay, someone needs to start talking before I start to freak out,” I warn, the uneasy feeling rising inside me with every passing second that they stay silent.
“Honey,” Mel starts. “For the record, I want to remind you that what I’m about to show you isn’t that big of a deal and isn’t the end of the world. It could be much worse.”
Before I can think of what she could possibly mean, Mel takes the large yellow manila envelope from Henry’s grip and hands it to me. What strikes me first are the big block letters that spell out my first name. Second comes the fact that documents in envelopes like this never mean good news. At least that’s what they teach you on TV.
I hold it carefully between my hands as I open the top, meeting Henry’s eyes that are filled with pity. My stomach rolls because that look never leads to anything good.
My fingers take hold of the few pieces of paper from inside the envelope and the moment I see what’s in my hands, every breath I had inside my chest disappears and I see red. My hands start to shake as I try and concentrate on the pictures in front of me.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be real.
All the photos are from the week before Josh left on his road trip, the one where we were less than decent in an abandoned parking lot. Fuck, these are the types of pictures celebrities are hacked for, and here I am standing on the street outside my gym with my palms filled with them.
Shit.
“What the actual fuck,” I whisper to myself, sifting through the photos one by one, hoping I’m dreaming and this isn’t my reality right now. Henry and Mel obviously hear me because they both form a protective circle around me. “How…” I mutter. “Why…” I can’t speak in coherent sentences to save my life right now and I hate it. I hate that these photos are flustering me, I hate the idea that someone took these photos, looked through them and then printed them. It makes my skin crawl.
Fuck.
These are naked pictures of me.
Hard copies, which means that there are digital copies owned by someone who can look at them whenever they want.
Jesus Christ.
I flip through the photos once again, one at a time, and cringe as they get worse and worse the more I look. There’s one of Josh with his hand down my pants outside the truck, there’s one where Josh’s hands are in very inappropriate locations, but the kicker? The last photo has my shirt pulled up, breasts exposed as my head is thrown back in ecstasy.
I crumple the photos in my hand, shoving them back into Mel’s hands. “What the hell am I supposed to do with those?” I ask because I honestly have no idea what I’m supposed to do here. It’s not every day that you get naked pictures of yourself handed to you by your best friend and uncle. “Where did you find them?” Wondering if anyone else has seen them and witnessed me in the throes of an orgasm.
“Taped to the front door,” Henry says as our eyes meet and there’s a mixture of pity and disappointment in his gaze.
The cracks in my armor start to widen as the tears start to fall.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know who I’m apologizing to, Henry or myself, but all I know is that this is all my fault. “I should have known dating Josh was going to grab attention. I just never thought it would be this type of press,” I admit, wiping away the stray tears from my cheeks. “What am I going to do?” I ask as Mel hands the crumpled pieces of paper to Henry as Mel wraps her arm around my shoulder.
“Well, you need to talk to Josh.”
I hold up my hand, shaking my head. Nope, that is the last thing I want to do.
“No, I’m not involving him in this.”
Mel freezes and lets me go, shifting so she’s facing me and looking me straight in the eyes.
“Harper, I know you’re feeling pretty vulnerable right now, but you need to think rationally for a second.”
I shake my head as she takes my shoulders and shakes me lightly.
“Josh deserves to know that these pictures exist. You know this. You know this affects him just as much as it affects you.”
I know she’s right, but I can’t even begin to understand what telling Josh would be like. I don’t even want to think about it.
“No, having that kind of burden on him when he’s already having a hard season… I can’t do that to him. He’s already stressed enough, and he doesn’t need this added on top of it all.” These pictures could ruin his entire career, these pictures could ruin one of the best things in my life right now and I’m not ready to let that happen.
