I know the answer to that, but it isn’t my story to tell. Logan told me how, one day when he was seventeen, he suddenly realized how messed up everything he’d experienced had been. He’d convinced himself it was normal, but when he couldn’t lie to himself anymore—that he’d been abused and assaulted—he became angry, angrier than he’d been with the years of bullying, the biphobia, all the shit he had to survive on his own. It’d been silently building until he finally couldn’t keep the rage bottled up anymore. I’m quiet, but Phil and Julie don’t seem to notice.
“That—well, that film he posted,” Julie says, lowering her voice. I know she means the one when he was eighteen. “He was always sarcastic, but he never went out of his way to be hurtful, or controversial for the sake of controversy. After that, it was like he became a different person. It was hard to be around him, especially as he started to pull away for no reason. I tried to see if there was something I could do to help him, you know? But some people can’t accept help from others. They need to save themselves. We can’t be responsible for another person when they need to learn how to be better.”
I feel like she’s trying to say something to me, specifically—and yeah, maybe she’s right. Even if Gray isn’t really my boyfriend, I’ve felt like it’s my responsibility to help him. Phil is watching me quietly.
Julie puts a hand on my arm. “I’m going to get another drink. Do you want water?” she asks me. I love that she remembered I’m sober and is kind enough to offer without judgment.
“I’m okay, but thank you.”
She leaves. Phil and I are silent for a second. I wonder if that’s why Julie suddenly became thirsty—to leave me and Phillip behind and give us a chance to talk more. Julie’s been smiling at us all evening, like she thinks we would make a much better couple than me and Gray. She might be right. We’d certainly look better together, anyway. Compared to Gray, I know the public would prefer Phillip Desmond as my boyfriend, with his clean-cut look and easy smile. Plus—well, he’s white.
“She’s right, you know,” Phil says. “You certainly deserve to be treated better.”
The fact that he’s white would make people think of him more highly. They would automatically see him as more attractive. Logan was right, earlier, too. The history of colonialism would also mean that people would say Phillip’s accent is “sexy.” People would like Phil much, much more than Logan Gray, with no hesitation.
I’ve gotten to know Logan. I’ve learned that he has layers, hurts and pains that he hides from the world—this world that has enjoyed attacking him for entertainment for most of his life now. If Logan wasn’t half-Black, and had two white parents, would everyone have treated him differently? Would they have had more patience and tried to get the full story? If he was white, they might’ve tried harder to learn about his past, his history with being abused in this industry. They might’ve had more compassion from the beginning, and he wouldn’t have had to spend his entire life fighting, growing in anger and fear until he learned to push everyone else away. I’m angry at Logan, while I’m also angry for Logan.
Phillip sips his drink. “I broke up with my boyfriend a few months ago,” he says. I wish Logan were here. He would’ve smirked and met my eye. Not everyone can be as amazing at flirting as Gray is, apparently.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. It was a little hard for us, I think, with me coming all the way to Los Angeles, and him staying in London. We decided we weren’t fit for a long-distance relationship.”
I’ve gotten the sense that Phillip’s been flirting with me on and off all night. He slowed down once Julie told him that Gray was my boyfriend. He said he didn’t usually keep up with the tabloids and social media, so he didn’t know, but I’m not sure if I believe him.
“You mentioned Logan was your ride home,” Phil says. “Do you need a lift?”
He’s still smiling, but his eyes are luring, too. I’m pretty sure it’s a silent invitation.
I hesitate. “No, thank you,” I say. “I should probably get an Uber or something.”
He laughs. “Your driver will be excited to find Matthew Cole sitting in his backseat.”
Shit. How do I always manage to forget that I’m a celebrity? “Right.” I laugh a little with him. “I think I still have the number for the car service that takes me to set.”
I pull out my phone to check. I have twenty missed messages. Most are from Emma. I frown. “Excuse me,” I tell Phil. “Sorry, my sister’s trying to get in touch.”
Phillip nods. “No worries.”
I step away, pressing the dial button and putting the phone to my ear. Emma picks up on the first ring. “Mattie,” she says. “Where’ve you been?”
“At an industry event. What’s going on?” I ask. The panic in her voice is scaring me. “Is everything okay?”
“The news. Have you looked at the news yet?”
She tells me to hang up, to go to social media and look at the trending topics right away. It’s an emergency. I frown, telling myself she’s probably just being dramatic, but my heart speeds up as I think about Gray, leaving the party by himself…He’d been drinking. Did he get into an accident? Is he hurt? I should’ve stopped him, but before I could take a step in his direction, he was already out the door. I open the Twitter app, and I don’t need to see any of the trending topics, because I’ve been tagged hundreds of times already. People ask, over and over again: What do you think of this? Are you going to say anything?
Briggs Stevenson is tagged a lot, too. He usually plays minor roles on TV shows, but he’s famous enough that I recognize him immediately. He’s posted a video. The still frame has him bloodied and bruised. I frown as I walk across the floor, to the balcony. I can feel people’s stares following me. Gossip has probably already spread here, too. I put the video to my ear.
Briggs’s voice is hoarse. “I just left the home of Logan Gray, where I was physically assaulted. Gray had been drinking. He attacked me. Look at my face. Look at my fucking face.”
I turn the video off. My hands are shaking. Would Logan really do something like that?
“Mattie?”
I spin around. Julie walks onto the balcony behind me, phone also in her hand. She looks tentative. “Did you see?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
I look back at the screen. “I’m not sure. I—I think I need to go see Logan.”
She hesitates. “Maybe that’s not the best idea. If he’s already attacked someone, then…”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just need to hear what happened from him.”
She still seems uncertain, but she nods. “Okay. I can drive you.”
We’re quiet on the ride over. I can’t stop scrolling through the comments—hundreds of thousands of comments, building with every minute. Most people are calling for Logan to be arrested. He could be, technically, if he’s really assaulted someone. It wouldn’t have been his first time, either. There’ve been multiple videos of him getting into fights with strangers. But this—it really looks like someone put this Briggs Stevenson’s face through a meat shredder. Like Logan was trying to kill him.
Julie pulls up to his apartment building after I’ve given her the address. I’m not expecting her to get out of the car with me.
“I’m not letting you go up there by yourself,” she says.