Daisy must see it all on my face because she reaches over and shuts down my computer.
“I was afraid this would be a bad idea. You can’t fight the trolls. You can’t control what they say. But you can control what you do. Don’t give them power over you. Stay away from the online bullshit, especially the comments sections. You checked once, and now you never need to do it again. Promise me.”
I promise her, praying my words are true, that I’ll be strong enough not to seek out that vitriol.
But the damage is done. I’m shaking. I can’t get it out of my head, the ugly words of strangers that have seeped into my cozy living room, creeping across my soft couch, winding their way through my home like insidious poison.
None of it is real, I remind myself. I’m not even on social media except for my bookish accounts. I barely watch television. I don’t read tabloids. I just need to pretend that sick alternate world full of trolls and haters doesn’t exist.
Despite her protests, I tell Daisy I need to be alone. Pretending to be okay is too hard right now. She nods, even though I can tell she wants to argue.
“Fine, I’ll go,” she says reluctantly. “Rest, and I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Chase will fix this.”
I nod with a weak smile and shut the door.
When she leaves, I lean against my door and close my eyes, relieved to be alone, relieved not to have to try to hold it together anymore. I mostly feel numb and just want to crawl into bed and sleep until I’m anonymous again.
Now, I understand what Chase told me about the dark side of fame. Why he was so adamant that he didn’t want a relationship. If this was the public reaction to one photo, I can’t imagine the hate a girlfriend would get.
I thought he was being high-handed. Or overreacting. Or just making excuses because he wasn’t interested in me like that. But this small taste of dubious fame has shown me his scary reality. I had to experience it firsthand to truly understand. And he was right. It’s daunting to think of withstanding that world for the long term.
Even worse, this is what Chase has to live with on a daily basis. He goes through it all alone. Who’s there to comfort him when it gets too much? He worries about protecting others from this damaging force, but who protects him?
When I finally fall asleep, I dream fitfully and wake in the middle of the night.
I’m still floating in and out of wakefulness when I see something flicker at the edge of the room. I think it might be a trick of the light, but goose bumps erupt on my skin. “Hello?” I say, my voice coming out so tight and constricted, it’s barely a whisper of fear.
I can’t see the door. A glow of dense haze fills my room, illuminated by the streetlight filtering through my lace curtains.
My lungs fill with smoke, thick and acrid.
Smoke? How?
I cough uncontrollably, trying to draw in enough breath to scream, to do something, anything, before the black mist overcomes me and the world fades into a heavy blanket of nothingness.
CHAPTER 21
Chase
It’s been two weeks since I said goodbye to Olivia.
And I’m in hell.
First, because I miss her every damn day.
And second, because I think I’m in actual hell. I’m shooting a film in the Amazon, getting eaten by bugs the size of my fist, swimming in a crocodile-infested river, or, rather, a caiman-infested river, which is basically the same thing. I’m running from floodwaters and living off chicken breasts and air for every meal because, in the movie, I’m supposed to have zero body fat. All in the name of art.
We’ve been working long days and longer nights to get this shoot done as quickly as possible. We all have places we’d rather be, and every day, the production is bleeding money.
Working on this film is an unexpected whirlwind. I’d returned to LA, believing I’d have a month off with just some meetings and promotional tasks and way too much time thinking about Olivia. But I got a call to be a last-minute replacement for a supporting character in the Oscar-bait film of the year. The actor who was cast originally broke his leg a few days before shooting. His bad luck was my gain—from a movie perspective. Though, after filming here for two weeks, I’m beginning to believe the actor’s freak accident was deliberate.
To avoid the insects, I think as I smack another mosquito. But mosquitoes are just a small part of it. They have bullet ants. And assassin bugs. And the feared Amazonian giant centipede. I shudder.
The other thing that sucks about shooting here is the lack of regular phone or internet.
Thankfully, I shoot my final scene today, and then I get to fly far, far away from this place.
“Hey, Chase.”
I turn to Cassidy. She’s also in this movie and suggested me for the part.
Cassidy has a genetic mutation that causes her to look incredible, even in the heat of the jungle. She’s an Aussie, so maybe that’s part of her secret. Her straight brown hair, bright blue eyes, and wide smile are as gorgeous as ever. And she doesn’t even have one bug bite on her smooth, tanned legs.
At one time, I’d been infatuated with that beauty. She’s also charming and fun, and we had a good time in the beginning. Our relationship felt shallow, though that probably wasn’t all her fault. But despite our past, when I look at her now, I only feel vague nostalgia.
She sits down next to me, her hair falling over one shoulder. Now that she’s closer, I can tell she’s been in hair and makeup. Her look for the jungle is “natural,” but it still takes hours to achieve that perfect glow and flawless no-makeup look. I know because I sit in the same chair every day, despite being a guy. We all need a little enhancement, especially when being filmed in high-definition.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask. “I haven’t seen much of you since I arrived.”
Though we ended things amicably years ago, it’s still awkward. Before, we’d had a casual friendship—joking, laughing, and hanging out—now, not so much. Since I arrived, she’s kept to herself, which surprises me because she suggested me for the part. But it’s further proof that going from friends to lovers is a guaranteed way to lose a friendship. Something I need to remember.
She holds out her phone and points to it. “Did you check your phone lately?”
“Not since yesterday when I managed to get a few minutes of reception. Why?”
She chews on her bottom lip and blows out a breath. “So, you haven’t seen it…”
“Seen what?”
“I’m not sure whether to show you this, but I thought you’d want to know.” She passes me her phone. I glance at the picture of a couple standing in the rain, embracing. The photo on her screen is too small to make out details.
“Someone reenacting our scene again? So?” I ask. It’s not unusual. Fans do that all the time, just like couples on a boat always do the famous Titanic pose.
“No, Chase. Look at it.”
I look more carefully, and my stomach would have dropped to my shoes if I’d been wearing them. “Fuck.”
In my life, I’ve rarely felt helpless.
Sure, I’ve been in plenty of shitty situations, one after the other, since the moment my mom died to today. Through all of it, I always had an unshakable certainty in my ability to manage, perhaps due to being challenged daily from a young age and surviving.
But that’s only when I’ve had to worry about myself. Now, this isn’t just about me.
Fear grips me, imagining how Olivia must be feeling, having the attention of the world—the haters, the trolls, the paparazzi, the unstable fans—all directed at her. And me being so fucking far away, I can’t protect her. This is the beginning of all my worst-case scenarios.
I hold the phone so tight I think it might shatter.
“That’s—”
“You,” Cassidy supplies.
“And that’s—”
“Not me,” she says.