A man loading boxes into his truck paused and pulled out his phone, angling it toward me like he was taking a picture.
It wasn't like I was famous outside of the bit of gossip going around, but that last part got me a bit flustered.
I ducked into a bookstore, grateful it was quiet and there weren't many people inside.
The clerk was a young man with headphones in, and he barely glanced at me as I made my way to the fiction section where I picked two novels my father would enjoy and a cookbook for my mother, then headed to the register.
As I paid, a woman entered the store and stopped when she saw me.
She was in her sixties, wearing an expensive coat and carrying a designer handbag.
Her auburn hair was styled perfectly, though reeking of hair coloring, and her brown eyes were cold.
"You have some nerve showing your face in public," she said to me as soon as she was close enough.
The clerk pulled out his headphones and looked between us, confused. I felt embarrassment burn in my cheeks.
"Excuse me?" I managed.
"You heard me. Parading around town like you have any right to be here after what you've done." She stepped closer, and I caught the scent of her perfume.
It was overpowering and made me want to gag. "You're a hussy—a woman of the night. You have no business using your body to sway men's opinions."
"I don't know what you're talking about." I looked down into my purse, searching for my wallet as much as trying to distract myself so I didn’t feel the sting of shame she was laying on me.
"Don't play innocent with me. I saw the news." She gestured toward the door. "Everyone knows who you really are now."
I grabbed my bag from the counter and slapped a few twenties on the counter, more than enough to pay for the books.
Then I turned and rushed out, feeling completely mortified.
The clerk called after me, asking if I was alright, but I didn't stop.
I burst onto the sidewalk and walked away from the bookstore as fast as I could.
I knew better than to do my shopping right here in Beacon Hill, but I had hoped by now, most of this would've gone away, especially with my taking a break from work.
More people were staring now.
Some openly, others pretending not to watch while clearly focused on me.
A group of teenagers giggled and pointed and I felt the same shame today that I felt years ago in San Diego.
And it only got worse as I passed an electronics store and glanced through the window.
Multiple television screens filled the display, all tuned to the same local news channel.
My face was on every screen.
I stopped walking, gawking at the screens like I was in a horror show.
The images weren't recent.
They showed me younger, my hair a different length and color, auburn instead of the darker shade I'd dyed it after moving to Boston.
I was wearing a California State University sweatshirt in one photo, laughing at something off-camera.
My stomach dropped when I realized these images were from my old social media account, before Brad's horrifying cyber bullying.
