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“Show. Me.”
I wasn’t backing down on this. I wanted to see the comments that made her so upset. See the people who had left them. The anger started boiling inside of me, and I was pretty sure that I was on the verge of exploding.
“You know I can just look them up myself, right?”
Her lips press together. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d find it adorable. “I hate it when you get bossy like this.”
“Then do as I asked, and there won’t be a need for me to be bossy.”
She leans to the side and grabs her phone from the top of the piano. Penelope unlocks the device and hands it to me. “It’s not that bad.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I mutter as I open her Instagram app and go to notifications.
True to her words, there are thousands of new followers and comments waiting for her. My stomach twists with unease, my whole body going rigid. How many of those were my fans? How many hateful, insensitive words were written by people claiming to support me?
The pit in my stomach grows larger as I open the first comment.
Hundreds.
Hundreds of comments.
I knew they were my “fans” because they mentioned my name. Telling her she’s not good enough for me. Telling her I’d leave her sooner rather than later. Telling her she’s a faker who’s only looking for attention.
I’m not sure how long I keep scrolling through the comments when Penelope’s hands cup my cheeks, lifting my head up. “They don’t matter.”
How could they not?
“The things they said…” I shake my head, unable to wrap my head around it.
How could somebody do that? How could they say things like that to a person they don’t even know? It was crazy.
“They don’t matter,” Penelope repeats.
“They made you cry,” I remind her. I could still see the remnants of tears staining her face.
“Because I was surprised. I didn’t expect they’d find me. That they would bother. I’m nobody.”
She was everything,I wanted to protest, but the words were stuck in my throat. Like they didn’t convey just how important she’s become to me.
“It reminded me too much of…” her tongue darts out, sliding over her lips. “Before.”
Before.
Back when she was bullied.
“Why were you playing that song?”
It was one of the songs on my first album. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s not good, but I had way more popular songs out there. Most fans didn’t even know the songs on my debut album, much less try to play it.
“It’s the song I always play when I’m feeling down. It…” She lets out a long breath, her fingers clasping around the leather bracelet covering her left wrist. “I heard that song when I was in a really bad place. I connected to it, so I’d listen to it every time that little voice in my head grew too loud.”
Fucking hell.
I didn’t have to ask her what she meant by a “really bad place.” When she was bullied so much, she thought about taking her life. That’s what happened today too. People—my fans—took her back to that time when she thought about ending it all.
I tighten my grip on her, pressing my forehead against hers. That sweet scent of rose tickles my nostrils as I suck in a long breath.
“Tell me you’re not thinking about it.”
