Page 33 of Mayhem

All I can do is explain myself. There is no defense.

“Once I realized my mistake, I took it down everywhere. But obviously the damage is already done,” I say, feeling small and defeated.

“I see,” is all she says, letting the words hit. And they do. Right in the heart. The disappointment in those two words just compounds with my own, and I feel like I’m drowning. The surface where all the air is grows further out of my reach.

“Really, Eliza. I don’t normally make mistakes like this. I got caught up in the moment, and thought it was something to bridge the gap with the fans. And the initial response was exactly as I’d hoped…but then…” I drift off, not wanting to remember all the vile comments that started pouring in.

“Then people happened,” she sighs.

“Well, people…and Brad.” I wince, picturing the protective anger in his beautiful features directed at me. “He was especially not happy.”

“Rightfully so.”

“Exactly,” I agree. “He has every right to be mad at me right now. It was a horrible idea. I shouldn’t have posted that without his permission.”

My stomach twists into knots as I internalize everything. Every negative emotion hurled my way right now is deserved, and I know it. Using a child to sway public opinion is the lowest of the low, and I can’t believe I did it.

Me – a so-called professional.

I nearly teeter off the curb I’m balancing on when Eliza says, “Here’s the thing – it worked.”

My pacing stops abruptly. “What? What worked?”

There’s a sly smile in her voice that I was not prepared for. “You haven’t checked the aftermath, have you?”

“No…?” I’ve barely had time to register what I did, let alone look to see what’s being said about it. It’s been a whopping twenty minutes since I deleted the post. If that.

“It’s still early, obviously, but people are already posting screen grabs with reaction videos, raving about seeing an intimate side of Brad. It’s struck a chord with the fans.”

My emotions crash into each other violently at this news. Part of me feels triumphant that my initial instinct was correct, but another part – the larger part, hates how it came about. How I betrayed an unspoken trust with Brad to protect his daughter. I hate that any success might come out of me fucking up so badly.

“I see,” I say flatly, repeating Eliza’s words back to her. I really can’t think of anything else to say. I can’t say, “Good,” because it’s not. It’s not good at all. In fact, it’s downright horrible. There are now echoes of my mistake floating around the internet.

It's now eternal. Immortal. It’s never going to end.

As fast as this conversation with Eliza came to be, it only proves the point that anything posted on the internet is forever. I’ll never be able to escape this now.

And neither will Charlie. Or Brad.

“Look, most people say this about God, but the internet truly works in mysterious ways,” Eliza says, interrupting my self-destructive thoughts.

“But Brad?—”

“Will get over it.” Her confidence in her words is so magnetic, I almost believe them.

“I’m not so sure about that, Eliza,” I say, knowing in my heart there’s more truth in my words than hers. Plus, I’m supposed to be a social media expert. I do know how these things work. Brad and Charlie will now have to deal with this for a long time to come. “You didn’t see him leave just now.”

She sighs thoughtfully before saying, “I’ve worked with a lot of musicians. Hell, I even married a couple of them. I know how they tick. They’re all emotions. But here’s the thing, those emotions change. Frequently. They’re ready to punch walls one minute, and reciting poetry the next. It’s whiplash in its finest form. You just need to be able to navigate it and hang on for the ride. Trust me, he will get over it.”

I feel the truth in her words, as I’ve seen it myself with Brad on our date. The switch in his emotions when Gina showed up and then back again was dizzying but is also part of what attracts me to him. Is that normal?

This situation is totally different.

“But this is about his daughter, Eliza,” I say, cringing inwardly at my own shame. “He’s not going to get over that.”

“Let me talk to him,” she says after a pause.

“Wait. So, I’m not fired?” I ask, my brain still playing catch up to this entire conversation, let alone the situation itself.

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