24
ALANA
Eden had his arm draped over the back of my seat as he was arguing with Professor Thompson about the impact of artificial intelligence on the future of work and business models.
While for once, I thought business class was almost interesting, I couldn’t concentrate on Eden’s arguments because the girls sitting behind us were chatting. Not just about anything. About me and Eden.
I tried my best to ignore their whispers, but it was hard to focus on anything else. Their hushed voices carried words that sliced through me like shards of glass.
I knew people were talking about us. More so ever since Eden posted a picture of us online last night. And probably even more after Eden reposted a story of us in front of the arena, kissing.
His friends meant well, I thought. But did theyreallyneed to take a picture of us kissing and post it online with the caption “Eden’s so fucked”?
A lot of Eden’s little fan club hated me because I was, apparently, stealing their man. If only they knew ourrelationship was entirely based on conditions and personal gains.
I stole a glance at Eden, who was still engrossed in his debate with Professor Thompson. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his eyes sparkling with passion.
God, he really loved business, didn’t he?
But I couldn’t help but wonder… Did he hear what they were saying behind us? Did he care?
Never mind, this was Eden. He didn’t care about anything. In fact, if he heard it, it was probably feeding his massive ego.
“He could have someone so much better,” one of the girls said, but I couldn’t make out which one it was.
“Bet he can’t even lift her,” another one added, laughing. “If he tries, she’s going to break the poor guy.”
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and my heart sank into the pit of my stomach as my eyes began to sting with tears.
Why did peoplealwayshave to make comments about other people’s bodies? I already dreaded looking into the mirror; there was no need to remind me what I looked like compared to other women.
Then again, these girls didn’t know me. They couldn’t insult me any other way.
My dad always used to say that if someone can’t insult your intelligence, they’ll go for your looks, no matter the size of your body.
It might’ve been the only time he had an actual point.
But the comments still hurt, and they were going to continue to hurt for a while.
As soon as Professor Thompson decided to include the rest of the class in this debate, giving Eden a little break, he turned to face me for a brief moment before his gaze fell on the girls behind us.
Guess he did hear them talk after all.
One of the girls shrieked and the other gasped when Eden looked at them over his shoulder.
I didn’t bother to turn around and look at them as I didn’t want faces to the voices in my head. If they stayed anonymous, I could always pretend it was me saying all those things to myself. That I was fighting against myself, not other people.
“It’s my birthday today, Eden,” one of the girls said. “You have to come.”
“I’ll pass,” Eden replied, his tone cold. I’d never heard him speak in such a harsh tone before. He turned back around, now wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
“You could at least wish me a happy birthday.”
A humorless chuckle slipped past his lips. “Nothing about your birthday is a reason to celebrate, Clara.”
Clara.
Why did he know her name?
