Page 107 of Deep In Love
“I’m taking the video down,” Jett says. “I’m so sorry, Blondie. If I knew—”
“Keep it up.”
My voice is strong, resolute, which is surprising because I’m one moment away from crumbling to the ground.
Every self-deprecating thought in my head is on the screen, making each one real. It’s been easy to forget them on the boat, but this is a bubble. This isn’t the real world.
The comments—that is the real world.
And now Mateo has a taste of how the real world perceives me.
The phone is pulled from my death grip while my hand shakes. Anxiety coils in my chest like a cobra poised to strike as Mateo tips my chin with his thumb. It takes everything I have to fight the tears. I don’t want to crumble, not here, but he surveys me with unease, and my lip quivers.
The room closes in, and then I’m running away, my phone ringing as I fly down the hallway, trying to escape every thought chasing me.
I’m not soft in the way Mateo deserves. I’ve always had hard edges, but after my accident, I became jagged, sharpened to a point. He deserves someone gentle, who makes him homemade chicken noodle soup when he’s sick and can carry his burdens.
He doesn’t need someone who wakes up thrashing after a nightmare, someone whoisthe burden.
I tried to be that person—the one who takes care of him.
My phone rings again, and I answer Amy’s call with shaky fingers, crouched in the room’s corner where it feels safe.
“Charlie, are you okay? Mateo called me. He said…”
She trails off when I peer into the camera. I shake my head, words clogged in my throat. No, I’m not okay, not when I may be falling in love with Mateo, but there’s no way this will last in the real world when he realizes I’m more than he bargained for.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, and for the first time since she began asking the question, I change my answer.
“Yes.”
“All right.”
I stare at Amy through the phone screen, focused on the pieces of hot-pink hair falling out of her bun. I can’t carry this on my own, but maybe I don’t have to.
“Mateo sent me the video,” she murmurs. “None of what they said is true, Charles.”
“It feels true,” I croak, pointing to the center of my chest, where pain twists every time I breathe. “It’s nothing I haven’t told myself or others have said to me.”
Tears stream down my cheek, and I press tighter into the corner, hoping I’ll melt into the walls and escape the demons chasing me.
I don’t want to be this way. Don’t want to look in a mirror and wince. Don’t want to hide in a crowd or dodge the stares of children who know nothing more than curiosity. I don’t want to question Mateo every time he calls me beautiful or deny his words.
And I’ve tried so hard to battle the whispers and stares. I’ve fought the self-deprecating thoughts with affirmations in the mirror. I’ve stepped so far out of my comfort zone and let someone else see my scars, but it’s done little to rebuild the confidence I lost.
The confidence that was stripped away from me with a few callous words on a screen.
It was foolish to think I could curl my hair, put on makeup and a nice outfit, and pretend everything was normal—thatIwas normal.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” I admit, my voice cracking with the confession.
There have been slivers of time where the thoughts shut off and I wasfree.I want to feel the shine that Amy talked about, and I want to believe Mateo when he compliments me. I want to be confident enough to ignore the stares in public.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want to look in the mirror and hate the reflection.” The words are out, and the floodgates open on everything I’ve been holding in and allowing to grow until it consumes me. “I want to be strong and brave, but I feel weak and powerless. I wish I had thick skin and could brush the comments off, but I don’t know how to let it go, because theyhurt. Those words burrowed deep into my bones, right to the marrow like bone-eating worms, wherethey’re devouring what self-esteem I have left. A few comments tore me apart, and I’m letting them.” My voice cracks. “I’m letting strangers destroy me, but I don’t know how to stop because part of mebelieves them.”
“They only have the power if you give it to them,” Amy says. “But you are beautiful and strong, and there are days I wish I had your confidence and intelligence, because maybe I wouldn’t be a barista with a useless art history degree and a mountain of student loan debt. Everyone has something they don’t like about themselves. And if they say they don’t, then they’re liars.”
