Page 31 of Made for You

Then Andy is off. I look at Josh and bite my thumb, wishing I could recover the moment we lost right after his quick kiss.

“I’d better get back up there,” I say with regret.

“Wait.” Josh leans in and whispers, “What do you say? You and me tomorrow? For the next one-on-one date?”

In all the chaos of the attack, the filming of Josh’s dating decision got put off.

“Really?” I say, pulling back a little to look into his eyes.

He smiles, dimples deepening. “I really like you.”

“Even after all this drama?”

“Especially since all this drama. The way you handle yourself is so...classy. And—” His breath smells like mint. Our faces are inches apart, his words only for me. “Is it weird that this proved to me you’re, like, a real person?”

“Not weird at all,” I say as joy blossoms in my stomach.

How wonderfully ironic that the attacker, who wanted to hurt me, ended up drawing Josh and me closer than ever. Now Josh can see that I’m not a cold machine, but a person who can bleed like him. Maybe I had to bleed, to earn his love. And right now the bruised shoulder and handful of scrapes seem like a small price to pay for this. For him.

I’m staying on the show.

Josh said, She’s with me now.

I couldn’t be happier.

NOW

I’m not safe. I’ll never be safe, I’m telling myself as I shampoo my hair, trying to wash away the disquieting realization that the woman who attacked me in LA is here in Southern Indiana. It can’t be a coincidence. Did she follow me from California after the show? And yet, Josh and I have been here for nearly a year, and I’ve never seen her before.

There has been plenty of anonymous vandalism to our property. Was she behind any of that? Watching from the woods—waiting for her chance to finish the job—

I scrub deeper into my scalp in response to my quickening heartbeat. I’d get a restraining order, if the sheriff’s department was willing to do its job. Security did identify her; I wish I could remember her name. I bet Andy does. I should call Andy.

But this brings another wave of stress. I don’t want to talk to Andy, because then I’ll have to question him about his meeting with Josh.

Hot water, just south of scalding, streams down my weary body. The shower is normally a place of refuge for me, of resetting after a stressful day, of feeling safe and pampered. But now it’s reminding me of my weaknesses. I don’t even mean my No Harm coding—it goes deeper. I need rest. Sleep. Food. I want to search for Josh through the night, I don’t want to stop until he’s home safe...but I can’t. Not even my love for him is strong enough to bypass these needs.

It’s hard to imagine, after my shower, going to bed, sleeping under these circumstances. But I have to face it: I can’t do anything more tonight.

Can’t.

A fascinating, terrible, maddening word.

I rinse and watch the shampoo rush toward the drain in a bubbling white river.

I’ve never minded my dampers. Eating just like Josh, needing sleep just like Josh, getting tired, needing breaks, zoning out—all those things made me feel like a person to Josh. My one-hundred-fifty-million Instagram followers love seeing me in this light, too. My most-liked post to date is a recent selfie captioned Messy house, happy life, with me looking like an exhausted wreck, my unwashed hair in a sloppy topknot and the kitchen in ruins behind me courtesy of Annaleigh’s first experience with applesauce.

Weakness. There’s something about it that draws people in. I’ve known that since the attack in LA. But today, I don’t have any of my usual sweet feelings toward this reality.

I squirt conditioner into my palm and work it through my long hair. What would it look like to remove the dampers from my programming? To root out all my weaknesses?

I could take care of my baby with infinite patience, because I’d never be tired...search for Josh all night...walk the woods without fear, because I’d be stronger than anyone I could possibly meet...

I imagine my hands around Sheriff Mitchell’s neck. Watching his veins pop out, his eyes bulge. Counting down the final lurches of his heart as his mouth opens and closes helplessly. I feel my lips lifting in a snarl. Three, two, one...

Oh my God—stop it! What kind of sick, twisted fantasy—

I’m a monster, something dark within me answers. My daughter needs a strong protector, there’s no one else, I have to be willing to do whatever it takes—

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