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“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I figured that out.”
She spends the rest of the morning consoling me, and even drives me to school.
“Ignore literally everything that comes out of anyone’s mouth today. People are stupid,” she warns me. “And will absolutely make this worse before it gets better.”
“Great,” I say. “Love that for me.”
By the time I get to campus, I’m already tired.
Not physically. Just… tired. The kind that sits behind your eyes and makes everything feel like too much effort.
The first person who sees me goes quiet mid-sentence.
The second one stares.
By the third, I know. It’s everywhere.
Whispers follow me down the hallway. Not loud enough to confront. Not quiet enough to ignore.
“That’s her—”
“Is it true—”
“I saw the picture—”
“Can you imagine—”
I keep walking. I keep my face neutral.
“No one can be that desperate, Jesus. Guy’s like a thousand years old,” someone else says. “Maybe she had daddy issues.”
Despite myself, I feel tears fill my eyes.
I keep pretending I’m not hearing any of it. Inside, I’m burning.
By the time I reach class, it’s worse. People don’t even try to hide it. They look at me directly. Some with curiosity. Some with something like pity. A few with something uglier.
One guy actually leans over and says, “So, like… is it a contract thing or—”
Simone slams her notebook shut so hard the sound cracks through the room. “Don’t,” she says.
He backs off immediately.
I don’t even thank her. I just sit there, staring at the board, not hearing a word of the lecture.
At some point, I have to leave. I tell myself it’s because I feel sick. It’s not. It’s because I can’t breathe in that room anymore.
I end up in the bathroom, hands braced on the sink, staring at my reflection. “You’re fine,” I tell myself.
I look like a liar.
The door opens behind me. Anika. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over and stands beside me. “They’ll get bored,” she says quietly.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon is soon?”
