Despite everything, I smile slightly. “Deal.”
“And Bay? If anything is bothering you … If he is mistreating you, I don’t care how long I’ve known him. I’ll kill him.”
“Noted.”
We hang up, and I stare blankly at my phone. I’m so starved for care I barely recognize the feeling anymore, and the worst part is I can’t even open up to the one person who has been my safest place the longest.
***
I’m halfway through my eyeliner when my phone buzzes again. I almost ignore it, but Gretchen’s name flashes in my peripheral vision, stopping my hand mid-stroke.
GRETCHEN:Have you seen this?
There’s a link beneath it.
A slow, uneasy thrum starts in my chest as I tap it open. My paper girl animation reel fills the screen, and for a split second, I’m convinced I’m seeing it wrong; that nobody had recorded my laptop’s screen on their phone and made a viral YouTube video out of it.
The comments are vicious.
This is what she does instead of actual work?
No wonder Williams’s company is failing. He’s too busy fucking the help to notice she’s useless.
Cute hobby.
Something hot and cold at the same time washes through my body, like shame and fear are fighting over who gets to suffocate me first. My stomach bottoms out so fast I grip the sink to brace myself as I dial Gretchen.
“I know,” she says immediately. “I saw it twenty minutes ago. Bay, this is bad.”
“Who would do this?” My voice cracks. “Who hates me enough to—”
“I don’t know, but you need to report it.”
“It is already out there. Ten thousand people have already seen it. They hate it, Gretchen. It’s not good enough.” I’m crying now. “I’m a failure.”
“Fuck them.” Gretchen’s voice is fierce. “Fuck every single person who thinks they get to judge you. You’re brilliant, Bay. Don’t let them take that from you.”
But they already have. Gretchen doesn’t get it. They’ve already dug their nails in, and I can feel them pulling pieces of me away.
Because somewhere deep down, a terrible fear curls itself around my ribs:
What if they’re right?
***
I arrive at the office early, hoping to avoid people.
It doesn’t work.
The moment I step off the elevator, conversations stop. People glance at me, then quickly look away. Someone’s computer screen goes dark as I pass.
I keep my head high and my spine straight, pretending I don’t notice.
At my desk, I bury myself in work even though there is nothing to do. I reorganize my pens by height, rename my folders, and spend most of the day scribbling my signature repeatedly.
When that gets old, I unlock my phone and start scrolling mindlessly. Somehow, I end up on my period tracker. A little red notification is blinking at the top, “Cycle overdue: 14 days.”
Below it, the calendar shows last month completely blank except for a greyed-out circle where a period should have been.
