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I blink back tears. “Those were rumors, though.” It still hurts to speak, my throat tender and swollen. “This is all true.”
“Glad they’re true,” Donnelly chimes in, not letting any tense silence fall. “It’d be a shame if your stories weren’t real.”
A shame.
It’d be more of a shame if they never existed at all.
I stare right into his blue eyes that rest so comfortingly on mine. He’s reaching into all of me and cradling the pieces that’ve been broken by people online. Donnelly has a way of lifting me beyond Earth’s sky, taking me to the galaxies of my dreams.
And now he’s making a heart with his hands.
And he points at me.
My lungs flood, and my lips inch up.
Akara, Banks, Thatcher, Jane, and Sulli don’t seem too suspicious of anything more happening between me and Donnelly. They know we’re good friends. The kinda friends who dirty dance and share strange inside jokes.
Farrow and Maximoff know us a bit better, and they’re right to suspect we’re more than what we were since Halloween, almost a week ago. I just haven’t confirmed to my brother that I slept with Donnelly.
I didn’t want to tell anyone we had sex. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I’m still not ready to let anyone ruin the pure things in my life.
I wasn’t ready for people to tear apart my stories with the idea that they belonged to me. It’s making me even more protective over what I have with Donnelly.
I take a breath.
“Frog,” Akara is on the phone. “Hey, no…no, frack no. You don’t need to—Frog.” He glances at me for a brief second, then down to his computer. “Stay off the internet. That’s an order. Yeah, I’m ordering you…I know you’re my cousin.”
I hope she’s not blaming herself since she’s my bodyguard. Frog was on-duty when someone snapped a photo of me in the Bio lecture.
My phone has been buzzing on the table. I peek over at the screen. Tom and Eliot are texting, asking if I’m okay. They’re vague. Likely they’re unsure if I’ve seen the news, and I realize if they know about my leaked username, if Frog knows, then this might already be on mainstream sites.
Celebrity Crush.
I can’t resist the urge to look. Not anymore. I type the site into the search engine. My pulse is racing as I read a headline on the landing page.
LUNA HALE’S TENTACLE PORN: The Royal Leak is true! Read her dirty stories!
I try not to shake. There’s now more evidence to confirm a Royal Leak. More validity to what the Rochesters posted about online. What if this causes more people to believe Thatcher cheated on Jane? Which was a Royal Leak lie.
I’m hardly breathing as I click into the article.
Glazing over the words, I scroll down to the comments section, and panic courses through me in shockwaves.
I can’t believe people like this shit. It’s perverted.
The tentacle went inside her jfc. This girl needs help.
Dude, if she’s not a sex addict, then I’m Hercules.
I really, really, really hope her parents have her in therapy.
We all knew she was a freaky slut like her mom.
Luna Hale smells like hot dog water.
What a weirdo.
I can’t read through the flood of tears built in my eyes. Staggered breath wheezes inside my lungs.
“Luna,” Farrow says quietly, standing near me. He slowly shuts my laptop and he’s speaking more hushed to my brother, who’s also on his feet.
Tears suddenly spring forth, and before I bury my face into my T-shirt, Sulli calls out, “Here, Luna.” She waves a box of tissues, and with the strength of an Olympian, she accidentally chucks it at my face.
The box pelts me in the cheek.
“Oh fuck, fuck. I’m so fucking sorry,” she curses, near tears too. Hormones and all. “I’m really fucking sorry.”
We’re friends, and I love Sulli—and I just start laughing and crying uncontrollable tears. “Someone said I smell like hot dog water.”
“Someone said I smelled like hot dog water too,” Sulli laughs with me while she’s crying.
I laugh harder. “We both smell like hot dog water.”
She snorts into more laughter, and the tears start to dry between our giggles. Once the sound fades, we share a quieter smile.
“Awe Loo-nee!” Ripley suddenly runs with his little legs towards me, trying to say Auntie Luna. I like how he says my name.
Farrow does a double-take, seeing his son, and then eyes Moffy. “Did you let him out of his crib?”
“No, I thought you did.” Before Maximoff can go scoop up their son, I extend my arms to my cute nephew.
He hesitates, always a little tentative.
Baby snuggles are the best, but they only exist for a finite amount of time. They’re gone before a blink, turning into preteen coldshoulders and hopefully teenage hugs. I know this through my little siblings. Xander. Kinney.
“Climb aboard.” I pat my lap.
