Page 62 of Shattered Echoes

I want to call out to Colette, to seek comfort in her presence, but the urge to delve deeper into the digital abyss is too strong to ignore. With trembling hands, I type my name into the search bar, a sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of my consciousness.

What I find sends a shiver down my spine. Page after page of search results, each one a damning indictment of my past struggles. Articles detailing my battle with addiction, rumors of past trauma, and accusations of being a victim of abuse—all laid bare for the world to see.

Where is Antonio Amato? Is he still alive?

The story of Amato: Rockstar turned junkie!

I feel as though the ground beneath me is shifting, the familiar walls of my reality crumbling around me. The judgment from the posts suffocates me, and I struggle against the negativity that threatens to drown me.

I click on one link, my heart pounding in my chest as I brace myself for what I might find. The words blur together as I read, each sentence a dagger to the heart, tearing apart the constructed facade I've built around myself.

I want to look away, to shut off the screen and retreat into the safety of oblivion. But something compels me to keep scrolling, to keep searching for answers in a world that seems determined to tear me apart.

The vultures!

Minutes pass in a blur as I lose myself in the endless stream of information, my mind racing with thoughts and fears that I can't seem to shake. The screen's glow casts eerie shadows across the room, as though painting a picture of what lies inside my head.

The cursor blinks on the screen as I stare at the search results, feeling a surge of frustration and despair welling up inside me. This isn't what I expected to find when I dared to venture into the depths of the internet. I want to tear myself away from the screen, to escape from the relentless onslaught of information, but I can't. I'm trapped, caught in a web of my making.

My hands tremble as I navigate to the Twitter app. Maybe there's some shred of truth buried amidst the chaos, some glimmer of understanding that I've overlooked. And then I see it, a tweet that sends shockwaves through me. My ex-girlfriend, Cassie, she's dead. She killed herself.

Oh shit. Is this my fault?

The accusations fly, blame shifting like sand in the wind. Cassie is being vilified by the very people who once idolized her. My fans seem to be the ringleaders, but her fans are on the train as well. They accuse her of abusing me, of driving me to drugs, of being the reason for my downfall.

‘Fuck you for what you did to Antonio, Cassie,’ @Antonio_wife writes.

‘The witch didn’t deserve to walk among humans after what she did to Antonio,’ @CassieH8er1 adds.

‘I hope you rot in hell, bitch. Your songs were shit anyway,’ another quip.

My mind reels and I can’t see the usernames anymore as my vision blurs, struggling to process the flood of emotions crashing over me. Anger, guilt, sorrow. They swirl together in a chaotic dance, threatening to consume me whole.

Did I drive her to this?

I read the messages with a mounting sense of horror, my stomach churning with nausea at the venomous words that spill forth from the screen. How could people be so cruel, so quick to judge and condemn without knowing the full story?

‘I always knew she was bad for Antonio,’ another fan wrote.

‘Did you see she lied about having a kid and losing it? Hell has a new resident, I am sure!’

‘I just hope Antonio is safe and alive in all this. Good riddance to the spawn of Satan. She deserves to die!’

I want to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all, but I know it won't change anything. The damage has been done, the narrative set in stone. All I can do is bear witness to the fallout, to the wreckage of lives torn apart by hatred and misunderstanding.

I come across a Twitter page organized by one of Cassie’s friends where well-wishes and commiserations were supposed to be posted in her memory. However, the comment section is filled with more hate.

'Well wishes for this bitch? Hell no, she got what she deserved! ’

‘Only good thing she did was kill herself!’

‘Fuck you and your friend. Maybe you should join her.’

I feel a sense of helplessness washing over me, a profound despair that threatens to drag me down into the abyss. I'm overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation, the sheer magnitude of the forces arrayed against me.

As I set the phone aside and take a moment to collect myself, I close my eyes to shut off the pain that I feel. My mind races with a thousand thoughts and fears, each one more terrifying than the last. I'm overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the emotions.

Colette's face flashes before my eyes, her blue eyes filled with concern. She doesn't deserve to be dragged into this mess.

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