Page 35 of Heartbeats and Hashtags
As much as I want to stay in his embrace, I know I have to figure out a way to wriggle out. But right now, all I wanted to do is savor the warmth and smell of him, be comfortable in his arms for as long as I can. His gentle breathing in my ear and warm large hands on my arms makes me feel safe.
Just as I am beginning to relax back into sleep, Cole stirs, murmuring something unintelligible into my hair. This brings me back to reality with a jolt.OK. No more cuddle time, I have to get out of his arms before he wakes up.
Gently, I try to wriggle out of his embrace, but he pulls me in tighter and holds me close to his chest. I try again, this time successfully. His breathing pauses, and I freeze, wondering if I’ve woken him. I sigh with relief as he resumes his breathing. I cautiously move aside and tiptoe away, taking care not to make any loud noises.
Stretching, I grab my phone from the nightstand, scrolling through notifications as I try to shake off the cobwebs of sleep. Emails from brands, texts from friends I need to get back to, and online follower requests pile up. Yawning, I make my way into the bathroom, the cold tiles kissing my toes.
Social media used to energize me, but lately just keeping up with it all has felt like a chore.I wonder how much of the change is because of Cole calling me out.When I first started out, it was all about sharing my fitness journey — my quest for strength and my path to body positivity. Now my feed is an endless parade of #OOTD shots at trendy restaurants and perfectly curated lifestyle moments. It just doesn't feel as meaningful anymore.
Social media started as a way to hold myself accountable. A daily journal of my workouts and nutrition, ups and downs on the journey toward strength and self-love.
Somewhere along the way, people started paying attention. First, just other fitness accounts offering encouragement in the comments. Then there were strangers relating to the struggle, thanking me for being open about how hard it can be to stay motivated and how life sometimes derails even the best intentions.
I prided myself on keeping things real, not trying to paint a perfect polished picture. My photos were untouched — belly rolls, sweaty gym selfies, days when I just couldn't bring myself to exercise displayed honestly.
The more my following grew, the more news sites and influencer roundups lauded me as “real” and “raw.” Unfiltered, unafraid to be imperfect, a breath of fresh air in the highlight reel world of social media.
But their praise began to feel like critique. My honesty was recast as imperfection. My unwillingness to hide my flaws confirmed that I lacked the discipline and dedication of other influencers.
Their carefully curated feeds showed only the successes, the results, and the aspirational finished product. No one needed to see the difficult process it took to achieve it. I couldn't compete with their perfection.
So my own content started changing too. The unposed gym shots and cheat day indulgences gave way to polished OOTD shots and marketable lifestyle moments. I learned to angle just right, filter just so, and project the version of myself that followers now expected. Cole is right. I don’t share the real bad days anymore. Sure, I sometimes post a photo when I don’t look my best. But it’s still an act. I still plaster on a smile the next day and start again.
The pressure to constantly improve while making it look effortless is immense. My body and life feellike public property,open to endless critique and commentary. People say it's all my fault because Ichosethis. But did I? Isthiswhat I wanted? I wonder what it would be like to delete it all. Erase myself. But I've made this into my career now, and I can't picture doing anything else.
I check my analytics with a grimace. Engagement has been down for the past few weeks. I've been so wrapped up in this trip and stalker drama that I've fallen behind on my content.
Freshening myself up with cold water and a hairbrush, I hurriedly snap a few selfies, filtering through to find one that seems good enough for now. I upload it with a vague inspirational caption about today being a great day and wishing everyone a good morning before scheduling a few pre-planned posts for later. It's not my best work, but it's something.
I peer back into the bedroom and sigh a breath of relief I didn’t realize I was holding. Cole is still asleep. I have a few more moments at least to gather myself before I speak to him.
Just get through today, I tell myself, then things can get back to normal when we’re in Miami.
My time away has given me clarity in one regard — this online persona I've created no longer fits. It's time for a change. I just need to figure out what that looks like, who I want to be, and what really matters most to me. And hopefully put some physical and emotional distance between me and Cole in the process.
“Please proceedto Gate 15 for the 12:30 flight to Newark,” the voice booms over the speakers. The airport is busier than usual due to the delays over the weekend, but we've managed to find some comfortable seats in a coffee shop while we wait to board.
“Everly.”
Cole's deep voice rumbles through me as we quietly eat our lunch.
“About last night...” he begins again after a heavy pause. My shoulders tense, gaze still carefully averted from his. Heat creeps across my cheeks at the memory of waking beside him, leaning into his solid warmth.
“I apologize,” Cole says. “It was unprofessional for me to accept your offer to share the bed. But I do appreciate your kindness in extending it. So...thank you.”
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I have a chance to glance at him. His chiseled features are etched into a serious expression, crystalline green eyes meeting mine. The sincerity in them catches me off guard.
“Um, no problem,” I mutter, dropping my eyes away quickly, equally unsettled by this temporary thaw in our dynamic.
Cole shifts in his seat, the leather creaking faintly beneath his muscular frame. The awkwardness hangs tangibly between us, like humidity before a gathering storm. He clears his throat.
“And about the kiss, I?—”
I interrupt him before he can embarrass us both.
“No need, Cole, already forgotten. One time mistake. I got it,” I assure, trying to sound convincing. I swear I see a flash of sadness in his eyes before he nods.
“Let's just focus on staying alive till we find out who this stalker is, and then we can both get back to our lives, right?” I chuckle awkwardly.
