How am I supposed to escape when the thing I want to escape from is myself?
I walk aimlessly and at some point I realize that I’ve ended up near my studio.
I head up the stairs, walking past a couple of the other artists working on the first floor, and I give them each a small wave.
I get into my small room and shut the door gently behind me, dropping my bookbag to the ground. I sit down on the floor in one corner, closing my eyes for a moment and breathing deep.
The faint scent of oil paints has always been calming.
Finally I muster the ability to grab my phone and scrollthrough the rest of the notifications, and when I open up social media, the world around me feels surreal.
There are posts people have made about me.
And other people are commenting underneath them, as if they don’t even realize I would see what they’re saying.
Is he with Logan, you guys think?
No, no shot. You think Logan Stone would be with a guy like this? He ends up with a movie star.
Why would Logan Stone work with a nobody? He’s hot as fuck, I admit, but he’s just a rando… idk.
None of the comments really touch me. When you grow up knowing that you’re unwanted, getting negative attention just feels like you’re coming back home. Sometimes, when my father hurt me, it made things finally feeleasier, because at least the pain was predictable, and I no longer had to worry when it was going to come.
This is worse.
Because this is my fault. I would still have a job, if I were more careful. I would potentially be working with one of the best photographers in the city, if I were less forgetful.
I scroll, and scroll, like I’m holding my arms open to a barrage of input. Some people love my work, and are complimenting me up and down. Others are using me like a punching bag.
One of the posts looks innocuous enough. It’s the picture of me and Logan from the gallery show the other night, stitched next to one of Logan’s pictures from our shoot.
But the second photo afterward makes my heart drop.
It’s an old one of me.
A bad one.
And after I read the caption, I feel a tear drop down across my cheek before I even realized I gave a fuck.
I lock my phone and drop it to the floor.
I bring my knees up close to my body, looking out over the room full of my art, and I vow something to myself.
This is going to be the first thing I ever keep from Logan.
I can’t ever let him know.
I can’t show him this.
He has to think that I can handle anything, and everything, even if the truth is that right now I can’t.
CHAPTER 27
LOGAN
I know it’s bad when Chase doesn’t send me any of his usual little messages throughout the day.
I know it’s worse when I get back to the hotel suite and he’s not there, and my note to him from this morning is still left on the coffee table.
