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Wednesday brings the brave ones. A guy from Accounting whose name I don’t know asks me how my day is going in the elevator. His eyes keep drifting to my chest.
“I’m fine,” I tell him succinctly, hoping he catches the impliedplease leave me alone.
He lingers. “That must’ve been wild, yeah? Saturday night?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Five million bucks, though.” He grins in pervy delight. “What’s a girl have to give up for that, huh?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
His floor arrives and he ambles off. But I hear him cackling with his buddies as he goes.
On Thanksgiving Thursday, I figured I’d have a respite from the madness. I go in to work even though it’s a holiday because I’d rather save up my days off for something fun. But the devil takesno vacation time, apparently, because I return from lunch to see that some ballsy asshole has left a copy of thePoston my desk. On Page Six, there’s a blurry photo of me on stage, mouth gaping open, eyes wide with fear. The headline reads:LAZAREV FAMILY DRAMA: Billionaire Father Outbids Son in Shocking $5M Auction Win.
I don’t read the article. I throw it in the trash and hope that’ll be the end of it.
But by Friday, it’s everywhere.
My phone buzzes at 2:15 P.M. with an email from an address I don’t recognize. No subject line, just a link. With my heart in my throat, I click it.
It takes me to the online version of the article, straight to the comment section. The things I see there make me want to vomit.
Too ugly to be a gold-digger, but hey, good on this chick for trying
Who the fk is this bitch?
probably sleeping with half the city lol
she looks terrified. kind of feel bad for her tbh
Don’t. She knew what she was getting into. Girls like that always do.
anyone else notice her nipples poking through that dress? What a whore!
I close the browser and feel my eyes start to water.
The whispers have been bad enough. The stares, the not-so-subtle questions from people who have no business asking. But seeing it written down, seeing total strangers pick apart my body and my choices and my life…
Something in me snaps.
I shove back from my desk. My chair rolls into the wall with a thunk. I charge up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Tears blur my vision, but I keep climbing, up and up and up, until I reach the top.
The roof access door is heavy, but I slam my shoulder into it and stumble out into the cold.
Outside, it’s predictably miserable. Late November in New York, who woulda thunk it? I forgot my coat. I don’t care.
I walk to the edge and grip the railing. The city fans out below me. Tiny cars. Tiny people. All of them going about their tiny lives, completely oblivious that mine is falling apart.
“Mom,” I whisper to the wind, “Dad… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
The wind doesn’t answer. It never does.
“I thought I was handling things. Gideon’s getting better. That’s something, right? The bills are paid. I’m keeping my head down and working hard.” I let loose a soggy laugh. “But what good has all that done? I’m on Page Six. People I’ve never met are calling me a whore in the comments.”
A pigeon lands on the railing a few feet away. It cocks its head at me like it’s listening.
“You’d hate him,” I continue. “Lukas, I mean. Dad, you’d probably try to punch him. Bad idea, but you’d try. And Mom, you’d give me that look, like,Rae, honey, what are you thinking?”
