Mum always said my legs were my best feature. She’d be really happy to know TMZ apparently agrees with her.
My mouth dry with shock, I take a gulp of my coffee before clicking on the comments box under the article.
There are 264 comments.
And pretty much all of them arehorrific.
Within the space of the next five minutes, I quickly learn that I am, in no particular order:
Short.
Ugly.
Like, really,reallyugly.
Not good enough for Jett Carter.
Far too old for him.
Not nearly as pretty as his other “girlfriends”.
Like a “snaggle-toothed troll”
Just after Jett’s money
A “stupid, deluded bitch” if I think he’ll ever love me.
Obviously good in bed, because I have nothing else going for me.
Did I mention ‘ugly’? Because I’d hate for anyone to forget how hideous I apparently am.
And those are just thenicercomments.
The other ones are… are…
Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick. Actually, scratch that, I think I’m going todie.
Getting shakily to my feet, I push back my chair with an ostentatious clatter, which makes everyone in the coffee shop stop what they’re doing to look round at me curiously.
Oh, don’t mind me; I’ve just been completely and utterly eviscerated on the Internet. No biggie.
My eyes swimming with tears, I stumble my way to the door of the cafe, desperate to get back to the safety of home, where I can attempt to digest all of this in private. (And also where I can put on some makeup. Because if those photos are what I look like without it then I’m never leaving the house again, I swear to God.)
Before I can reach the door, though, a few things happen simultaneously.
First, someone in the back of the cafe jumps up and starts filming me with a cellphone. Just standing there, arm out, brazenly recording my stumbling path to the door, as if he has every right in the world to invade my privacy. As if I don’t even get a say.
Secondly, I see some of the paps across the street peel away from the rest of the group and start to cross the road towards me.
Oh no. I completely forgot about them.
As I push open the heavy door of the cafe, I’m surrounded by the sound of car horns and the click of camera shutters. There’s a flash of white light right in my face, and I’m vaguely aware of someone shouting my name. Which makes no sense at all, because how would any of these men even know it?
The flash sends an explosion of stars into my vision, momentarily blinding me. I try to turn round to go back into the relative safety of the shop, only to find my route blocked by Cellphone Guy, who’s still holding his phone up, grinning with the look of someone who knows he’s going to go viral on TikTok any time now.
I feel a sob of panic work its way into my throat as I spin frantically around, looking desperately for a way out. The shutters continue to click around me, giving the whole scene a surreal, nightmarish quality. The cry is about to burst free. I can feel the hysteria start to take over as I turn frantically around again, this time tripping over the dangling strap of my shoulder bag, which somehow manages to thread itself between my ankles, almost whipping one foot out from under me.
The scream I’ve been holding onto finally escapes my mouth as I pitch dramatically forward, the pavement coming rushing up to meet me before, all of a sudden, my body jerks to a stop, a pair of strong hands looping themselves under my arms and pulling me upright.
