Page 261 of Daddy, Take Me Away
It seems like hours before Amadeo gives up, but he does and I’m finally able to sneak back to my villa and pack. I know he cares about me. He wouldn’t have spent so much time with me if he didn’t. But damn, his words hurt. And as much as I wish they weren’t true, they are.
Grabbing my phone to book an early flight back home, I see I have a bunch of missed texts and calls. Several of them are from my sponsors.
Swallowing hard, I open my voicemail.
Heart pounding after the first one, I open my social media accounts and see I’m trending, just like my sponsors said.
Splashed everywhere is news that I’m a fake.
Plopping down on the sofa where Amadeo did things to me I’ll never forget, I read the shit people are saying about me.
Zoë Wayz gave me the courage to get off my butt and do the things I always wanted despite my worries. I’m saddened by the news she’s nothing but a faker.
I loved this chick. Would have married her. Glad I found out she sucks.
She seemed so real and down to earth. She wasn’t some star athlete, she was just like me, a book nerd but she did the things she read about, or so I thought. I’m crushed by the news she’s a liar and a cheater.
Beneath that comment is a picture of me and Amadeo together at the falls. My chin wobbles at how happy we look in the shot. I want to reply to the comment and defend myself, but it wouldn’t matter. No one would believe it. Once a faker, always a faker.
I read on, but don’t even make it much farther before I’m curled in a ball crying my eyes out.
Amadeo promised he would keep my secret and I believed him. How could I have been so wrong?Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe there was never anything between us.
I hear a pounding on my apartment door before my eyes have even opened. Someone else has obviously slipped past security and found their way to my condo.I blink at the clock. It’s two in the afternoon.
Ugh. Go away.
It’s happened at least three times a day for the last few weeks; I just wish they’d stop waking me up. All I want to do is sleep. Like doctors put severely injured people in comas to heal, my heart is severely damaged, and if I can sleep through the worst, maybe I’ll make it. I certainly can’t function as I am now, bawling myself into dehydration every second of the day while hiding in my condo as far away from any social media as I can.
I wonder if the Mennonites would take me in? There’s no social media there. No television either since the local news station has picked up the story now too.
I stumble past the living room, glancing at the balcony where my television, computer, laptop, and cell phone sit, and make my way into the kitchen for some water.
I should be showering in it, because—I sniff myself—I stink. But I only take a few sips to wet my dry throat so I can yell at whoever’s at the door.
“Go away, Zoë’s not here.”
“Zo! It’s me. Let me in.”
Grinding my teeth, I walk to the door, looking through the peephole to see my own face staring back. I take my time looking around to make sure no one else is lurking near my sister, waiting to pounce.
When I’m satisfied there’s no one, I turn the lock and open the door. “What do you want, Fiona?” I glance at her a little closer and my heart suddenly drops. Her eyes are red and swollen, maybe even worse than mine.
“What’s wrong?”
“I broke up with him.”
“What?”
“Mark and I are over.” Before I can ask why, she bursts into tears, pushing past me into the condo.
Shutting and locking the door, I follow her. “I’ll make us tea. Here,” I say and hand her a nearly empty box of tissues. “Tell me everything.”
“He what?”
“He’s the one that leaked that you were a fake. He’s a jerk. A big evil jerk.”
“I am a fake, Fi.”
