Page 186 of The Exit Strategy

“That fissure that happened when I was eighteen, my first love and my first bully, all converged in a mess of tangled limbs that spread six years of pain. Natalie, like Grace, only told you the version of the story that gave her the outcome she desired. She didn’t mention that she attached her name to stolen designs. She didn’t tell you that she stole my private moments, pilfered from my home when she was there as a guest. She didn’t tell you that every time I react, it’s because I’ve been pushed to the point of destruction. Social media is a powerful tool, but it also carries the weight of total loss and despair that keyboard warriors often ignore.”

Nana Mae breaks down, but she doesn’t stop watching.

Fen spliced the video again here. It’s something from Junie’s teenage vlog.

Fuck me. It’s from my birthday party.

Tears fill my eyes as she hands me her gift. A cup she painted at a local pottery place. She meant it to hold my charcoals. I have it upstairs.

The video scans and lands on Natalie.

Rage like I’ve never experienced rips from my chest in a roar that no one questions.

“You’re pathetic,”Natalie hisses.“You should have died instead of your mother.”

Every man in the room lunges for the screen—our only outlet for a pain we didn’t know existed but are now seeing with our own eyes.

It’s devastating.

The video returns to Junie, but none of us takes a step back. We stand shoulder to shoulder as though we can carry her pain.

“She didn’t tell you that while she’s creating campaigns, I’ve been silently filling out forms, applying for grants, and ensuring that her brother, an innocent in all of this, did not pay for her poor choices. I’ve lived that pain—he shouldn’t have to.”

My stomach heaves, and I nearly double over.

Junie’s protecting Marcus. She’s doing the exact thing I’ve been trying to do for her for six years, but better, faster, without the possibility of anyone getting hurt.

“He’ll be fine,” Nolan says quietly.

“Once again, you only had part of the story. Theirs. Now you have mine.”

“Jesus, Junie.” Nolan’s voice falters.

When I glance around the room, I understand for the first time just how Junie’s confessions have shattered us all for different reasons.

“And when I sign off today, it will be without social media. Natalie and Grace can continue with their false narratives that make them feel powerful. But I won’t be part of it. From this moment on, I’m removing myself from their stories, and they can find a new villain to blame. And now, you can decide the truth. I’m at peace with mine.”

The video ends.

The black square that sits on the TV where Junie’s face was a second ago is the loudest thing in the room.

Hudson stares at his hands.

Fenway studies his blank iPad.

Nolan’s eyes are closed, as if he’s trying to block out the pain we just witnessed.

Nana Mae holds a hand over her mouth.

None of us knew that this is what Junie’s carried.

I find myself standing at the window, staring at nothing, because the collective guilt in this room is suffocating.

“I—I need help.” My voice cracks like a wheel that hasn’t been greased in fifty years. I don’t try to correct it. “I’ve spent the last six years fighting for her from afar. Now, I need—please help me fight to get her back.”

I turn to face them.

Each of my friends has a melancholy type of smile, like they’re remembering the girl she used to be before the world stole her spark.