Girl After Dark (5 page)

Shattered

Have you ever felt your heart shatter into a million and one tiny pieces?

Well, I just have.

Right now I feel like I’m surrounded by fragments of my old life, each one no bigger than a button.

I tenderly pick up each broken piece to examine it: here’s our first kiss — in the rain outside that bar where he worked, and here’s the time he surprised me with a bunch of honeysuckle on a particularly bad day. Here’s the house in Hampstead that we were hoping to buy together, and here we are, our hands intertwined, grown old together …

Some of these pieces are real, and some hadn’t even happened yet.

But what does it matter now?

All that’s left to do with my memories, my hopes, my dreams, is to sweep them all up into a box marked ‘Past’ and forget all about it.

I’m sorry this blog post isn’t happier, dear readers. I’ve just had a bit of bad news. But don’t worry. I’ll be sure to try and make my next entry a little more upbeat.

Much love to you all,

Xoxo,

VintageHoney

§

It’s been a whole week since I last saw Will. I’ve been trying my best to get over him; trying to remember that he doesn’t
deserve
my tears. And it’s funny — this whole week, I’ve felt like I wasn’t quite being honest with myself somehow. Then I realized that there was someone
else
I needed to let know about what happened, too: my readers.

They feel like my friends, you see. And I just know they’ll understand.

Since that night, I’ve cut off all communication with Will. I know my silence will speak louder than anything I could possibly say to him. He’s been sending me messages, calling me, he even rang Katy. I don’t think he was expecting
quite
so much of a dressing down as he received from her.

So, since that night, I’ve been making a complete inventory of my life.

I’m going to take control.

My philosophy has always been, ‘There’s Nothing You Can’t Solve With a Good List’.

So I’ve reorganized my wardrobe,
and
my makeup drawers.

And I’ve taken down every single picture of Will, and replaced them with ones that mean something to me: a picture of my mum when she was young in the eighties (she looked totally amazing — dressed in a pinstripe power suit, nipped in to show off her tiny waist, her hair, browny-blonde hair just like mine, swept to one side in a mass of curls, because this was the eighties and of course she had a perm!), a picture from the time Katy and I stayed in a caravan in Cornwall together (our first holiday when we were sixteen; it rained all week but we still had the best time), and a picture of me and my dad together just before he moved back to the States.

But as I climb into bed and pull my super-soft baby blue sheets around me, no matter
how
perfect my room looks right now, I just still can’t help but wish I didn’t have to sleep alone in it.

And I’ve got to admit it.

Right now, I
do
still miss Will, despite everything.

§

I dream of a large swarm of bees. It’s kind of pleasant at first. They’re whirling and buzzing around the most beautifully colourful flowers I’ve ever seen and I feel relaxed and comforted and warm.

But then the buzzing doesn’t stop.

In fact, it gets louder and louder, more and more insistent with each passing second.

And then suddenly, I’m wide awake, and I realize that that buzzing sound isn’t coming from a swarm of bees, but from my
phone
, whirring and buzzing on my bedside table from notification after notification after notification.

But I’m not worried, this isn’t the first time this has happened. And actually? It’s usually kind of a good sign …

Wow
, I think.
My ‘Shattered’ blog post last night must have been really popular! I just knew I was speaking to every other girl who’s had her heart broken. It must have really struck a chord …

I look excitedly at my phone, scrolling past what seems like
hundreds
of Facebook notifications, Instagram messages, emails,
but on top of that, there are also twelve missed calls from Katy, too.

Weird …

She doesn’t usually call
this
early in the morning. I hope she’s okay?!

And that’s when I make the mistake of logging into my blog and reading over the very most recent comments, all left in just the last few minutes:

xxSarah Mayxx
: Oh my god! VintageHoney is a total slut!!!

Max_W_1986
: Woah, what a babe! I never thought I’d get to actually *see* what I’ve been fantasizing about all this time.

Jennifer_Carlito
: I’m disgusted. My daughters are twelve and fourteen years old. They looked up to you. How could you do something like this?

That’s just the first three. The comments continue — hundreds of them, thousands even, all saying variations on the same thing.

What the hell is going on?
I think, my head swirling with worry and confusion.

And in the sea of unread emails, I spot one from [email protected], too. I open it, feeling a sinking sense of dread before I even read it.

Dear Melissa,

We are sorry to change our plans at such short notice, but we are now unable to run your interview in the next edition of Teen Vogue, as planned.

Best,

Clara Edwards

They’ve pulled my interview?
I think in panic.
Why on earth have they pulled my interview?! And what’s everyone going on about? What do they think I’ve done???

And I’m about to hit reply to find out what’s going on when, just then, my phone springs into life: it’s Katy calling, thank goodness.

“Oh my God,” she says, the moment I answer. “I’m
so
sorry. I mean, I knew he was a total slimeball but I never thought he’d stoop
this
low.”

“Wait, wait,” I say. “What are you even
taking
about? Everything’s gone crazy, Katy. What’s happened? What’s going on?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“No, no, I don’t. Please tell me! Everyone seems to hate me and I don’t even know why.”

There’s a long pause, and I hear Katy sigh then take a deep breath before continuing.

“Okay, brace yourself,” she says solemnly. “I think you might have sent a certain video to Will? Something that you wouldn’t want anyone else to see?”

Oh no
, I think.
Not that
.
Please … Anything but
that
.

I remain silent and wait for her to say it — for her to say the thing that I’m suddenly dreading more than anything else in the whole wide world … 

“Well, he’s put it online, Melissa. It’s already going viral.”

Viral?!

That’s all I need to hear.

“I’ve gotta go,” I say, feeling myself grow suddenly dizzy.

I hang up, my fingers trembling as I open my laptop, hurriedly click on Google, then type in my blogger name: VintageHoney.

But instead of the usual links to YouTube and my website, links to gross
weird
sites fill up my screen. There are mixture of cheap gossip sites and worse — a number of actual
porn
sites, all promising sleazy ‘amateur’ clips.

And on each and every one of them, there’s apparently the same clip, prominently displayed and titled:
VintageHoney Bares All!

I click on the very first link, which takes me to some creepy site called Amateur Nude Babes, then press play.

Sure enough, there I am: dressed in my pretty satin underwear.

I give the camera a cheeky little wink and then begin to dance, my fingers timidly tracing over my slim body, then over my breasts, before hooking beneath my bra straps as I begin to slide them slowly off my shoulders.

I slam the laptop closed, my heart pounding.

I don’t need to see any more. 

After all, I know
just
how far this video goes. I’m the one who filmed it. 

And now the whole world has seen … well …
everything.

So that’s how it happened: how I lost my reputation, not to mention my livelihood.

Because suddenly nobody wanted to know me anymore. I got dirty looks in the street, from all the girls who used to excitedly ask to take a selfie with me. And the only offers I was getting now were from x-rated websites, all wanting me to strip off — and more. To go
even further
than I’d gone in that stupid video that I didn’t think anyone but Will would ever see. 

In fact, it’s been a whole week now since I’ve dared set foot outside my flat. I just can’t take the sneers anymore, the giggling, the eye-rolling. Nope. I’m just going to hole up here and wait for the whole thing to blow over, even if it takes the rest of my life.

Just then the doorbell rings.

The very same sound that used to bring me so much happiness: cheques, samples, gifts, fan mail … Now filling me with dread.

But, after debating for a while whether to even answer the door, I’m glad that I do. Because it’s Katy, carrying bags of shopping; all the everyday essentials she’s guessing (correctly) that I’ve run out of.

I feel an intense rush of tenderness when I see my friend. “Thank you
so
much,” I say feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I lead her into my flat, which is way more messy than she’s ever seen it before. “I don’t know why you’re even being so nice to me,” I sigh, sadly.

“Hey,” she replies confidently, piercing me with one of her
don’t be silly
looks. “You did
nothing
wrong here, Melissa. Okay? Remember this. Will betrayed
your
trust.
He’s
the one who should be hiding at home right now. Not you.”

“Thanks,” I say, again so thankful to have such a good friend.

“And I was thinking,” she continues. “Can’t you just get it taken off the internet?”

“Oh, I’ve tried,” I sigh. “But it’s no use. There’s nothing I can do. Those websites don’t care about me. They just want traffic. No. I’ll just have to dye my hair, try to get my old job back, and hope that nobody recognizes me
ever again
.”

“Look,” Katy says, as always the voice of reason, “it’s not
that
bad. You’ve been making crazy money the past year or so, haven’t you? I know you’re smart enough to have put at least some of that away.”

“Yeah, actually,” I explain. “I did put quite a lot of it away in savings. I’d done quite well, in fact ... I was saving up for a deposit, for mine and Will’s dream house. Stupid, eh?”

“There you go, then,” she says with a knowing smile. “Do something with that money. “

“But what?” I sigh. “Get plastic surgery so nobody knows who I am anymore?”

“No. Just take a step back and think about it for a moment,” she continues. “You’ve got an option the rest of us don’t have, Melissa. Your dad … Your dual nationality … Why don’t you go to the States for a while, at least until this all settles down?”

And while it’s still dawning on me just what she’s suggesting, the doorbell rings again.

Before I can even say, “Don’t open it!” Katy has skipped over to the door.

“Melissa?” she calls from the hallway. “I’ve got something here that I think you might need? Something more useful maybe than the emergency supplies I just brought round?”

I barely have time to question what she means before I look up and there’s my mum.

§

“I’m so sorry I let you find out from the stupid internet, Mum,” I sigh. “I just couldn’t bring myself to call you and tell you what happened.”

“Oh darling,” Mum says, stroking my hair gently. “I just wish I could have been here for you. I had no idea you’d even broken up with Will.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you that either,” I reply. “You always liked him so much.”

“Yeah,” Mum says with a sad little laugh. “Well, it wasn’t the first time I’ve been wrong about a man, and it probably won’t be the last either.”

“But how could I have got it so wrong, Mum?” I persist. “I really thought Will was The One.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she replies, pulling me into her for the kind of warm hug that only she can give. “I did like Will, I really did. He was your first serious boyfriend! And he always seemed so sweet. But I never saw you ending up with him. Not really. He seemed, well, maybe a little … wet? A bit indecisive? He never seemed to study unless you were there working right next to him. I always saw you with somebody a bit more driven. Someone who
suited
you a little more.”

“What about Dad?” I ask. “Did you think
he
was The One?”

At this, Mum smiles as her mind casts back to her youth in the eighties: to meeting my dad.

“Of course I thought he was The One, darling!” she laughs. “He came into my life like a whirlwind. I don’t think I’d even ever
met
an American before. He was so confident, so intelligent, and yes … so handsome. It didn’t work out, sure. We ended up going in different directions. He was never truly happy over here and I could never flourish living in the States. Life came between us. It happens. But you know what? In one big way, he’ll always be The One. Because without
him
, I wouldn’t have you!”

She strokes the hair from my face and kisses me tenderly on the forehead.

“And of course,” she adds lightly, “because all the men I’ve dated since have been a total disaster!”

At this we both laugh.

I’d be lying if I said I instantly felt totally better.

But mum’s words
are
making me feel a little happier.

“If
I
haven’t given up hope on meeting The One,” she continues, “then you shouldn’t either. You
will
meet him. And when you do, you’ll know. You’ll
really
know. And he will never betray you like this.”

§

Last Blog

I guess that was a pretty big shock for you guys. It was a shock for me too. I’ve been thinking about how to say this for days. I’ve tried writing this blog post over and over again. I’ve written about how sorry I am that I’ve let you guys down and how sorry I am that I’ve let myself down, too. But you know what? The thing is, that’s not quite true.

You see, I was the one who was let down, and from this moment on, I refuse to be ashamed about it anymore.

The man who posted that video of me was my boyfriend, Will, and I loved him deeply. We’d been together for almost three years. I thought we had something special. Something deep. Something lasting.

I trusted him when I made that video.

That video was
private
. It was filmed just like my other videos, in the privacy of my own home, but unlike my other videos, I didn’t choose to share it with anyone but him. That was my right.

But then he posted it online as an act of revenge. It was posted there specifically to damage my career, to ruin my reputation, and to destroy my friendship with you guys. I’m so sorry that it worked.

Goodbye.

Xoxo,

Vintage Honey