Page 57 of Burning Bridges Duet

“Come on Liv, spill the tea,” she wheedles, grinning, but I shake my head.

“Nope. That’s all you’re getting.”

“Fine,” she says, pouting. “But you better tell me everything next time.”

“We’ll see,” I say with a laugh.

Chris goes back to her magazine, and after a while, she releases a heavy sigh of sympathy.

“Poor girl,” she mutters softly to herself.

“Who?” I ask, intrigued.

“Stella Voss, the pop singer, you know her?” she replies. When I nod, Chris continues, “She’s having a hard time. She broke up with her boyfriend, and now the paparazzi are following her everywhere. She already made a post on social media to answer questions and ask to respect her privacy, but they don’t give a shit.”

Hearing about Stella’s situation tugs at my heartstrings, and I can’t help but think back to before I moved here.

“How’s your week going, Olivia?” Jessica, my therapist, asks me. She tries to create a friendly atmosphere by insisting that I call her by her first name, but talking to her always makes me feel stressed. It’s not her fault, but the topics we discuss always remind me of everything I want to hide from. Still, I know that I have to go through this to feel better in the future.

“It’s been okay,” I reply, wringing my hands nervously.

“Did you get any more letters from Liam?” she asks.

“One, like every week,” I answer, sighing. “But I never open them.”

“Just like we discussed,” she says with a smile. “That’s good, Olivia. Did you do anything this week, like going grocery shopping?”

“I tried,” I say, feeling my eyes well up with tears. “I even wore the hat and sunglasses, like we talked about.”

“That was brave, I’m proud of you. How did it go?” Jessica asks gently.

“Horrible,” I reply, starting to sob. “I was in the store when a woman recognized me. She started yelling at me, asking if I ever really loved Liam. She yelled so much that she attracted attention, and other people started to come over and accuse me of being a liar and a fraud.” Now I’m crying fully. “They surrounded me, and I tried to push my way past them, but they wouldn’t budge, then one of them grabbed my arm and held me there. I have bruises on my arm from his hold.”

“Did you call out for the manager of the shop or call the police?” Jessica asks, frowning. “Olivia, you cannot let the public treat you like this. When they’re getting handsy, it’s dangerous. Maybe we should look into a security detail for you.”

“A security detail won’t help with the problem,” I say, shaking my head. “It’ll only make me stand out more. They’ll just continue to hurl questions at me and drag me through the mud. It doesn’t matter where I go, there’s always someone who’ll recognize me.”

“That comes with the fame. You guys were Canada’s sweethearts, and everybody loved you,” she says, sympathy in her eyes, but I huff.

“Everybody just loved him—Liam. How they’re treating me after what he did proves that,” I say, and Jessica nods understandingly.

“It’s been nearly a year now, Olivia. Don’t you think it gets better over time? Have you noticed fewer comments on social media?” she asks, but I shake my head.

“I still haven’t looked at my social media or the YouTube channel since it happened. If they want to leave bullshit comments, they can. I don’t want to burden myself with it. I can’t even bring myself to delete the channel. Just thinking about logging in makes me shudder.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “So, no. I haven’t noticed any improvement. There are still people in front of my house all the time. I don’t know if they’re paparazzi or fans, and it’s not as many as there used to be, but I still can’t open my blinds.” Jessica looks at me sadly.

“I’m sorry to hear that. It must be hard to feel like you’re constantly being watched.”

“It is. I just want them to leave me alone,” I say with a nod, wiping away my tears. Jessica leans forward.

“We’re going to work together to help you get to a point where it doesn’t bother you anymore, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I give her a small smile, but I know that at the end of the day, I’m very much alone in this.

“Thank you.”

We spend the rest of the session discussing coping mechanisms and ways to handle difficult situations in public. Afterwards, I leave her office and approach my black Audi A1, but my heart drops when I see the tires slit and the windows shattered. Pink spray paint on the hood reads, “Go kill yourself.” It’s another reminder of how much hatred is out there, directed at me for something that wasn’t my fault. I started driving on my own again, thinking that I could handle it, since there were fewer people in front of my house, but this incident proves that I can’t do anything without being harassed. Except staying at home doesn’t provide solace either, as my mind is constantly torturing me with memories of that night.

I need a fucking change, or I won’t make it out of this alive.