Page 85 of Set on You

He’s called me on his way home from work, just as I’m midway through reading a random email from a journalist at BuzzFeed News.

Dear Crystal,

I’ve been a longtime follower of your Instagram account, CurvyFitnessCrystal. I’ve been inspired by your journey and I couldn’t help but notice your recent post with your new boyfriend. I know you’ve received a lot of attention on the post and a lot of negative comments. I’m writing an article about it, if you wouldn’t mind answering a few of my questions? I have five hours for my deadline, so I’d like to hear your side of the story before the article goes live.

Best regards,

Daphne Jenkins

Health & Lifestyle Contributor

My eyes burn lasers into my phone. What fresh hell? An article about my photo? On BuzzFeed News? Is this a joke?

While this journalist appears to have good intentions, broadcasting the issue draws even more unwanted attention to the negativity. The very fact that someone has deemed it newsworthy only reinforces the ridiculous idea that me being with Scott is somehow “controversial.” So much for slinking away into the shadows.

My hands tremble again as I try to blink myself back to the moment. “Sorry. I zoned out. What did you say?”

“I asked if you want to stay in. You still in a sushi mood? You were saying you were craving it the other day.”

I cringe, hoisting my blanket up to my neck like a protective shield. I don’t want any company, particularly from Scott.

“I’m actually not feeling too well,” I say, panicked. My excuse to deny a sushi dinner needs to be believable, or Scott will be suspicious. I make a muffled retching sound, grimacing when it comes out like the distressed cries of a wounded cat.

“Are you sick?”

“I think so,” I say weakly, which is a half-truth. I’m void of all energy from the emotional roller coaster of the past day.

“Tell me your symptoms. I’ll come over and make you better,” he teases suggestively, obviously not picking up on my tone.

“Sore throat. Runny nose. It’s not a big deal.” I literally face-palm myself when I realize I’ve made a rookie mistake feigning illness. Scott has a paramedic certification as a firefighter.

“I’m about ten minutes away. Can you stay alive until then?”

“No,” I squawk. I’d rather swim in shark-infested waters than be face-to-face with Scott right now. I’m not ready to witness hishumiliation, nor am I ready for the inevitable pity. “I mean, don’t come. I might be contagious. I don’t want you to get sick too.”

“I don’t care if you make me sick. I’m bringing you soup.”

“I don’t like soup.”

He snorts. “Yes, you do, you liar. You eat it all the time when we go for lunch.”

“Scott, listen to me. I don’t want it.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, fine. You sure you’re okay? You sound mad. Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No, you didn’t.” My voice is pained. I almost wish he had done something so I could justify being such a frosty asshole right now.

“I obviously did. Are you upset I smeared icing on your cheek at the wedding?”

“I’m not mad at you,” I say, tone clipped.

“Okay... Is there anything at all I can do for you?”

“No. But I appreciate it. Really.”

More silence. “Uh, alright. I guess I’ll go back to my place?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” My entire body aches from that call. I can’t even fathom the thought of sleeping alone tonight, knowing this journalist is writing an article about me. I end the call, holding my phone to my chest.

---