Oh my god. The realisation of what we’ve just done rushes in. We kissed. I kissed my therapist. My therapist kissed me. What have we done?
My horror is mirrored plainly on his face, and I feel the now-familiar crush of abject humiliation.
We stare at each other for another long moment, and then I turn on my heel, rushing out the front door and running for my car. I don’t stop until I’m inside and driving away, the satnav telling me to do a U-turn as soon as safely possible.
‘I’d really fucking love to do a U-turn’, I mutter to myself as I try to steady my breathing.
That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And I’m including the time I had a public meltdown over a tiramisu and went internet famous.
I kissed my fucking therapist. What the hell is wrong with me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘Oh my god, are you okay?’ I’m barely in the front door, my stomach sloshing with acid, sick with dread, when Sam is on me.
‘Yeah, sorry, I was—’
‘Oh mate.’ She gathers me up in an unsolicited hug for the first time in living memory. ‘I’ve been really worried, you poor thing.’
‘Whoa!’ I say, feeling suddenly afraid as she squeezes me. Why is Samira hugging me? She can’t know what just happened with Edward, can she? Surely she can’t. Maybe I just lookedthatmiserable.
‘Why am I a poor thing?’ I squeak from within the embrace. She pulls back, studying my expression.
‘Crap, you haven’t seen it,’ she says quietly. I stare at her, and she stares back. After a second she continues, ‘I’m really sorry, Liv, but there’s another TikTok video. Another one from that night in the restaurant with Justin.’
‘No!’ I cry out hoarsely. ‘No! They can’t do that! The madness and hate has only just started to die down! They can’t!’
‘I think some horrible idiot was holding onto it for that very reason,’ she explains softly. ‘To start it all up again as soon as interest started to wane. It’s filmed by the door – by the cloakroom – as you were leaving. When you…’ She looks awkward. ‘… when you put your coat on and sat back down on the floor.’
‘No!’ I wail again. ‘It’s not fair! I’ve done my time; I’ve served my punishment. I’m on suspension, I’m having the therapy—’ I stop myself there, knowing with certainty that I won’t be able to have any more sessions with Edward. Not after that stupid thing we just did. We’ve only had four rounds – I’m not even sure that fourth session will count since it was cut short – and there’s no way we’ll be able to get through two more sessions together. Not after what just happened. So even if this new video wasn’t enough to end my career for good on its own, Spencer will be able to use the fact that I’m not completing the six-week course as an excuse to sack me. This is all that little arsewipe needs to terminate my employment for good.
It isn’t fair. My life was slowly returning to normality, and now… this. Why? It’s not fair, it’s not.
‘Come and sit down.’ Sam leads me into the living room and runs to fetch me a glass of water. She hands it over, then frowns. ‘Or do you want something stronger? There’s some leftover red wine or pink tequila in the fridge from Friday?’
I shake my head, feeling numb. What’s going to happen? How much more can that one night upend my life? And how many more videos are out there, waiting to ruin everything? Every time I try to get back on my feet, will some spiteful restaurant goer be ready with yet another humiliating video? Are there more out there?
I take a big gulp of the water. I’m too numb to be able to taste much of anything but I can feel its coldness travelling down my throat.
To be honest, it doesn’t really matter if there are any more videos of me anyway, because there’s no way my career is going to recover from this now. I’m done withMorning Tea. I’m done with the book. The therapy collective will have to kick me out. I’m done, finished, finito. That’s it. Everything’s over.
‘Do you want to watch it?’ Sam asks, examining my face.
‘No,’ I say simply, then shrug my acceptance. ‘Okay, yes.’ Why not watch the horribleness? Why not lean into this sick feeling; this pit in my stomach. Why not self-flagellate and self-harm. Everything is over. ‘Show me,’ I add, and she pulls out her phone, taking a seat beside me.
On the small screen, I watch myself in the dim light of the restaurant, stomping over to the cloakroom in that special dress I’d chosen so carefully. I hand over a ticket with resentment. There is cheesecake on the front of my dress and some in my hair. I can just about make out the broken nail on my right hand. There I am, angrily yanking on my coat. And then I see a change come over my face. I remember thatfeeling of fury as what had happened hits me all over again. I remember that sense of injustice at the world. At everything. I remember how fuckingangryI was. How unable I was to shut it down like I usually do.
And there I go. There’s me, sitting down on the floor, where I start to rant. It’s all coming back to me now.
‘I can’t watch anymore,’ I say, pushing Sam’s phone away. I can hear myself chuntering embarrassingly away on the device, probably insulting Justin’s poor mum some more and talking about the joys of cheesecake. Sam jabs at the screen, trying to stop the video and, at last, silence descends.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks nicely, and I raise my eyebrows.
‘What isokay?’ I reflect back. ‘My career is over. Mylifeis over.’
‘No, it’s not!’ she says fiercely, putting another arm around me. Her alien affection is making everything seem that much more terrifying. ‘This will blow over. Things will get back to normal soon. Everything will be boring again in a few weeks.’ She tries to smile. ‘It’s not even that bad. You make a really great speech in the video.’
‘Sure.’ I roll my eyes. ‘I think they’d probably run out of cheesecake by then, so nothing could shut me up.’
