Fuck that.
“Do you mind if I log in to my Instagram?” I ask Kai, not having been on social media since I arrived here. I’ve been avoiding it since I know it’s going to be filled with shit about Sean and me. Mostly about Sean, but enough about me that I don’t want to see it.
“Go for it.”
As soon as I do, the notification number is out of control, but I don’t bother to look. That’s not what I’m on here for.
I’m about to blow things up, and I can’t wait.
Clicking on my profile, which has always been set to private for my own peace of mind, I make it public. It’s a risk, but I’m willing to take it, knowing I won’t bother looking at what happens once I make this post.
I haven’t signed that NDA, but there will be no point after this. Sean’s world is about to be totally fucked even more than it already is.
Changing my username from Quinn Bateman to Quinn English, and then I tag Sean and the band in my bio, adding the hashtags: gaslighter, abuse, manipulation and divorce.
And then I upload the pictures of the splintered and broken chair, my shattered phone, the bloody knuckle prints on the lime green wooden siding, the ruined grass with the deep tire marks.
The caption is simple and to the point.
This is what happens when you won’t sign an NDA.
Again, tagging Sean, the band, each bandmate separately, Sean’s manager and several of Sean’s ex-girlfriends that I know were forced to sign.
I’ll be their voice when they can no longer.
He doesn’t get to silence me.
Quinn shows me what she’s done, and I smile. “Well, that’s gonna rile him up,” I say.
“Do you think I should take it down?”
“Hell, fucking no,” I say, shaking my head as I open the fridge, grabbing us a couple of beers. “That asshole deserves to have this shit made public. Let people see who he really is.”
“He’s going to be pissed,” she says, taking the beer from me.
“Yeah, but fuck him,” I tell her, curling my arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “He doesn’t get to dictate your life anymore.”
She shakes her head, a determined look on her face. “Nope, he doesn’t.”
“You’re allowed to stand up for yourself, Quinn, and I, for one, am fucking proud of you for posting it.”
“Really?” she asks, looking up at me.
I smile, dropping a soft kiss to her lips. “Yes, really,” I tell her. “I think you’re amazing.” She scoffs, and I silence it with another kiss. “I mean it,” I say. “It takes guts to do what you did, Quinn.”
“Hmmm,” she hums, and I can tell she isn’t used to getting compliments, something she’s gonna have to get used to from me. “Are you hungry?” she now asks, changing the subject.
I chuckle, shaking my head. We ate at Miles and Daisy’s in the end, spending several hours at their place. “Nope, I’m good,” I say as she lets out a yawn. “Maybe time for bed?” I suggest.
“Yeah, maybe.”
The next morning, I wake to the sun streaming in through the open windows. Quinn is lying on her stomach beside me, still asleep. It had taken her a while to fall asleep last night, the two of us lying here talking about everything we’d discussed with Miles and Daisy before she eventually drifted off.
I fucking hate that this is all happening to her, that her asshole ex has brought this ugliness to our island. But I will do everything I can to protect her from it.
Quinn blinks her eyes open, a slow smile on her face. “Hey,” she says, her voice husky with sleep.
“Hey,” I whisper, curling my arm around her waist and pulling her close. She’s wearing nothing but a tank and a tiny pair of undies, and all I want to do is peel them off her.
