“It’s not good.”
I frantically pull upSlick’s page and see a billion comments about my “take your own road” post, that I absolutely, positively wish I could take back. How stupid I sound in it. How naïve.
And the comments are brutal.
You couldn’t even make it the full month for Solo February? Are you that desperate for validation?
Or…
I can’t believe I believed you when you talked about empowerment. You were just using it to get with someone. How pathetic.
And…
I believed in you. You let me down.
How could you? Seriously! How could you?
You should be canceled. Immediately.
Hate this. Hate you.
Quitter.
Liar.
Fraud.
It’s no wonder you can’t ever find anyone to love you. You’re pathetic.
The warm community I’d built has turned cold and horrible and mean. All the people who held me up are now tearing me down. I never thought they’d turn this fast. There are hundreds of thousands of dislikes.
“You’re going to have to fix this.” Arial sounds stoic.
“Let me work on it. I’ll get you something in a couple of hours.” What, I have no idea.
“Good, because… I don’t know, Sora. If we can’t do damage control now, then no job. No benefits.”
I actually don’t know that I care. TheSolo Februarypeople hate me. Jack betrayed me. My life is desolate and empty. Who cares about a job that I’m not sure I even wanted in the first place? Larry licks my elbow.
“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it,” I say anyway, even though I’m not sure how.
I hang up with Arial and immediately head to my feeds. It’s getting ugly fast.
#GoSoloFraud is trending. Wow, it’s brutal out there. Part of me knows I deserve it. But… ouch.
A hard knock comes on my door. Larry barks, confused. There was no buzzer, so he’s not sure what to make of the knock. A small part of me hopes that, somehow, it’s Jack. Another, larger part of me, dreads that possibility.
I head to the door, Larry on my heels, and peer through the peephole. Pam stands on my welcome mat.
I sigh. Really, universe? I crack open the door. Pam literally jumps back when she sees Larry. Maybe she really is afraid of dogs, and it’s not just some hate vendetta she’s got with me.
“He’s really friendly,” I try to explain.
“I’ve got your dog food box.” Pam shoves a dented farm-to-table dog food box at me, and I grab it.
“I can’t believe you brought me Larry’s box,” I say, shocked. I would’ve thought she would’ve taken this directly to the dumpster out back, given her hatred of dogs and Larry in particular.
“Just trying to be a good neighbor.” Those are the words I said to her a few weeks ago. And she’s not being sarcastic. Wow.
