Instead, I see that one of my social media posts has been shared by an actress named Jameela. My heart skips a beat when I read her words.
They asked. They are listening. Thank you @LilaParksAtTheBookstore for reminding us all thatwe aren’t alone. Powerful stuff from powerful women. I stand with you all.
She has nearly four million followers.
I come to a stop at once, reading and rereading her message. My body flushes with heat as I realize my post has gone viral. I didn’t think to check it this morning, I was so absorbed in the website itself.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
There are over two hundred thousand likes, twenty-four thousand shares, and four thousand comments. It’s impossible, and yet…it’s real.
I have less than a thousand followers. I never imagined my post would amount to anything, but it did. People are listening. They’re talking. Sharing their stories here too.
It starts right now, with us, because as it turns out, so many of us have just been waiting for a chance to tell our story to someone who will listen. And the more stories that are shared, the more comfortable others will feel coming forward, too.
One brave voice is all it takes to start a ripple, and that ripple can become a roar that shakes the very ground underneath our feet.
It strikes me then, the sad truth in all of this. They’ve made us all feel alone because when we feel alone, when we are told to let it go enough times, we start to believe it really isjust us.
We’re easier to take down when we feel crazy.
I finish my run in a fog, my mind racing with the buzzes bringing new stories I haven’t yet had the chance to read. Whatever happens, I have to do something with these women’s bravery. I have to make this mean something.
When I get back to my dorm, I’m breathless and trembling, unable to move fast enough to quiet my mind. Half of me wantsto spend the day in bed, reading through the stories. The other half wants to turn this into action. To collect the stories and to demand more eyes on them.
I rush up the stairs and reach for my key to unlock the door, but?—
No.
No.
A block of ice lodges itself in my throat, the cold seeping down into my chest. My door is cracked open. Unlocked.
I left my laptop alone.
My pulse ratchets up.
I definitely closed my door, didn’t I? I’m sure I did, but then again, I was still half asleep, with my head firmly on the website and the stories I’d just read. I suppose it’s possible I was distracted and simply forgot.
“Lila?” The faceless voice coming from just beyond my door makes me freeze, quieting all thoughts. It’s smooth as marble. As smooth as all of her lies.
I stand, stomach tight, contemplating turning and running, but just as quickly as the thought crosses my mind, she opens the door, and there she is. Ralston’s wearing a black wool coat, her hair slicked back and curled, and that familiar maroon lipstick. She smiles at me—a viper behind her eyes.
“What are you doing in my room?” My eyes dart to the nightstand, to where my laptop rests.
“Can we talk?” Her voice is calm, but something tells me it’s not a request.
“Did you break in?” I demand. “You have no right to be here. I could report you.”
Though if I did, we both know it would go nowhere. She doesn’t even flinch, just holds up a key. “You didn’t answer the door.”
I would argue, would tell her how ridiculous that is, howillegalthat is, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care, and I don’t have the energy. “It was you, wasn’t it? You stole my laptop before.”
A corner of her lips upturns, but she doesn’t respond. Of course she’s the one who stole it. Thinking quickly, I lower my hand into my jacket pocket, taking hold of my phone.
“Why?” I demand. “What did you do to it?”
