My phone immediately rings and I see Caryn’s name appear.
“I just need to take this,” I say to Andrew, and answer, grabbing my salad bowl and heading to a stall by the window.
“Caryn, what’s up?” I put the phone on speaker and rest it on the table as I pull out the salad container.
Samantha and Heidi from the HIIT class wave at me as they pass the window.
“Have you seen what Alexander’s just posted?”
I stop, my hand resting on the lid. I put the bowl down and grab my phone, opening up Instagram and going to Alexander’s page, but there’s nothing new there. I switch over to TikTok and the first video that greets me is one of Alexander staring straight into the camera. He takes a deep breath, his lips moving, but no sound comes out.
“Christopher? Are you still there?” Caryn asks.
“Let me call you right back.”
I hang up before she has a chance to respond.
I feel like I’m about to have an aneurysm. Why do all the men in my life cause me such stress, such anguish? I take a deep breath and go back to TikTok, reaching into my pocket for my air pods, and sliding them into each ear.
Please don’t let this be bad.
Please don’t let this be bad.
I take another deep breath, press my lips together tightly, and press play on the video.
15.Alexander
Thursday
Razor blades are clawing at my throat and there’s a pounding in my chest, and that’s before I even get to the throbbing migraine. The simple task of recording one video now feels like a mammoth undertaking. The first two attempts left me with hives all up my left arm, now hidden under a black hoodie as I wait for the antihistamines to kick in.
“Come on, Alexander, you can do this,” I say out loud to my phone staring back at me. “Third time’s the charm.”
A layer of protection, in the form of concealer, hides my blotchy skin and the dark set circles under my eyes that no amount of rest seems to erase.
I readjust my phone, held in place by my laptop, and make sure that only the top half of me is exposed. The table shields my restless legs bopping up and down and the fidget spinner twirling in my right hand.
I take three long, drawn-out breaths and look at the script on my laptop screen before I reach out with a trembling finger to press the Go Live button, this time opting to live stream on TikTok rather than upload a video. If I don’t do this now, while Istill have access to my TikTok, I’ll never do it. I take one more deep breath and press the button.
“Hi everyone. I want to start by saying thank you for all your messages. All your words of support while I’ve been away. It means the world to me.”
Hearts fly up the screen. Over five thousand people are already watching, just in the first ten seconds. The razor blades are still clawing at my vocal cords and a burning sensation floods my throat as I inhale again.
“Apparently, there’s been a lot of speculation flying around the internet over the past couple of months and I wanted to clear the air on a few things.”
One finger slows the fidget spinner’s spin as another intertwines with the drawstring from my hoodie.
“Back when I started my career, I was still a minor, and that meant I was required to have a tutor on the road with me to keep up my education and ensure I got my high school diploma. A friend of my father’s was a teacher, and my team thought it would be better for me to have someone we knew. So, for the next two years, as I toured the world and got to meet so many of you, he helped me with my studies.”
I take another deep breath and remind myself of the mantra Lee taught me to help heal my wounded inner child:
He can’t hurt you anymore. We’re safe now.
He can’t hurt you anymore. We’re safe now.
“Unfortunately, the man, who I’ve decided not to name, took advantage of me. Repeatedly. For nearly two years. Initially, he groomed me. Then he molested me. Day in, day out.”
A deep exhale and a rapid succession of blinks does little to push down and fight away all the emotion bubbling up inside. But that’s what got me here in the first place. Keeping everything bottled up inside.
