That’s not all.
Even after a few months together, he continues to pretend Marissa doesn’t exist in our relationship. I barely know a thing about her. And, he has access to my finances, but I know nothing about his other than what he’s told me. He didn’t trust me about the birth control until three months into our relationship.
I rationalized all of it. Love is blind, they say, and it’s true. Being madly, deeply in love is like allowing the sun to blind you just because it also keeps you warm.
“Another?” the bartender asks. I look up. I’ve finished my glass. He passes me a cigarette and a book of matches.
I shouldn’t. I feel good, though. Angry and hurt, but also lightweight, nice. Blunted like a pencil that’s been pressed to the page too hard. “Sure. I’m just going to run out and smoke.”
He nods, and I pass back through the dining room to the exit. I don’t see Finn, but I’ll only be a minute. Outside, cold air nips at me as I light the cigarette. I take my first drag and manage not to cough. I don’t like smoking, but sometimes it feels just right, like now, when it goes straight to my head.
I get out my phone. Seeing the numbers rise—followers, likes, comments—it soothes me. It makes me somebody worth listening to and looking at and that’s hard evidence nobody can take from me. I was saving our last photo for tomorrow, but I decide to post it now. So we’ll hit our goal a day early—even better. It probably won’t technically happen until after midnight, and then I can show it to Finn in the morning for his birthday.
The app takes a few seconds to load before it crashes. I open it again, and the login page pops up, even though I never sign out—I haven’t even used my own account in months. I type in our username and password, but I get an error message, so I try twice more in case the alcohol’s making my fingers fat. It’s not that, though. The password’s wrong. I haven’t had to use it in a while, but I would never forgethalstondecember.
Did Finn change it?
My hand begins to shake. I tryhalstonjanuary,halstonfebruary, and finallyhalstonmarch.
Nothing. I was online in the cab on the way over here, so I know it worked before dinner. Which means . . .
He locked me out—ofouraccount.
I’m not sure I really believe Finn doesn’t want to share credit with me, but here’s my proof. He’s gone out of his way to make sure I don’t reveal my identity tonight.
Nearly vibrating, I shove my phone in my purse and stamp out the cigarette. Whipping open the door to the restaurant, I head for the dining room. My eyes laser onto Finn near the bar, where he’s talking to the bartender. Probably trying to find me so he can tell me how to live my life just like everyone else. But it’s far worse when he does it. At least Rich and my dad didn’t pretend to be something else to get me to trust them.
“What did you do?” I ask, my heels clicking the wood floor faster and faster.
Finn turns around. “It’s just temporary, until—”
“So it’s true? You changed the password?”
He glances behind me. “Only to prevent you from making an irreversible mistake.”
“Amistake.” The word makes me shudder. “Don’t you realize that makes you sound just like them?”
His face falls. He doesn’t need me to elaborate. He knows thethemI’m referring to. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he says. “This is for your own protection.”
I snort. “My dad thinks I can’t take care of myself. Is that what you think too? That I need to be monitored and manipulated and closed out of somethingIbuilt.”
“Of course not.” His eyes dart over my head. “Please, Hals. They can hear us.”
“You know how important this is to me.”
He steps forward. “And that’s why I’m trying to keep you from ruining it. If you go public, it changes everything. People know who you are and how to find you. People will be looking atyou.”
“Newsflash: they’vebeenlooking at me. You didn’t seem to mind when praise for your work was filling up your inbox.”
“That’s because right now, you’re a fantasy to them,” he says, his voice rising, “and if you take that away, you’re just you, my girlfriend,myHalston, on display. It’s not safe, and it’s not happening.”
“I don’t need you to protect me. That didn’t work out so well for Rich, did it? Is that what you’re doing? Saving me from myself?”
“I’m theoppositeof them.” He sounds strangled. “I’ve tried to be everything to you they’re not, to give you what they can’t. I’m not them.”
“No. You’re worse.” Tears fill my eyes, and I steady myself on a barstool. “You pretended to care. You lifted me up to get what you wanted—for what? Your career? Was it even an accident, running into you at the coffee shop that day? Or did you follow me there like you did to the art gallery, so you could convince me to do this with you?”
“I . . . that isn’t the reason, but—” He grabs his hair in a fist. “It wasn’t an accident. I was waiting for you.”
