Page 26 of Ripple Effect

“Up to you.” He shrugs. “You’re the one who’s spoken to him the most. Do you think he’d mind?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I shake my head, slinking back into the couch. “He seemed to like talking to me well enough. Besides, we’re all at a big school in a tiny town. We’ve got to make connections where we can.”

“Alright,” he concedes, pulling out his phone. “I’ll text her for you, then.”

As Max taps out his message, Gracie and LJ exchange a subtle glance, a silent form of communication I can’t quite decipher. I’m sure they think they’re being protective of me in their own way, but they can save their judgments for someone else.

I know what I’m doing, and I’m certainly not afraid of a little challenge.

11

ELIO

Sapphire’s on my ass,and I can’t seem to catch a break.

She isn’t taking my rejection kindly. My inbox has been overflowing with her incessant demands, her ill-informed complaints, all week. She’s relentless, even roping in some of her friends to make the same requests, as if to catch me in some kind of lie.

It’s twisted, fucked-up how she can’t seem to grasp the simplest of concepts.

I’ve tried reasoning with her, explaining that there are boundaries I’ve decided not to cross—not with any subscriber, not with any client. But she exploded on me. The anger seeped through her messages, eventually devolving into desperate pleas and guilt trips.

So, I blocked her, hoping to put an end to it all.

But the internet is relentless, and she keeps returning—new accounts, fresh subscriptions, and more messages laden with different demands. It’s as if I’m being stalked in my own domain—well, Everett’s domain—and the pressure is starting to get to me.

It’s so bad that I’ve shut down this week’s web chat requests altogether. It’s the first time I’ve done something like that since I started my channel, but I need space. My professional cool is slipping, my detachment eroding.

My carefully constructed life—separate boxes for academics, AfterDark, and my personal life—is bleeding into one mess of a battleground. Now, just when I thought I was finally regaining my footing, I’m starting to lose control.

Even Bentley is affected by the changes. We’ve fallen into a comfortable routine over the past few weeks—our late-night strolls, our early morning walks—but all of that’s been thrown off now. And I can tell he’s just as unhappy about it as I am.

After another exhausting day of navigating through the chaos, I slump onto the couch, feeling defeated. Bentley jumps up beside me, his tail wagging as he nuzzles his head into my side. I stroke his soft fur, my movements slow and gentle, and it’s oddly calming.

“Hey, buddy,” I mutter, running my fingers along the length of his spine. “This whole thing is just ... It’s all a fucking mess.”

Bentley just looks up at me, his ears perked, his eyes wide and attentive as if he’s trying to understand. I know it sounds absurd, talking to a dog about my problems, but Bentley’s a great listener. He’s always there, ready to lend an ear without passing judgment.

He may be just a dog and only half-mine, but I’ve never been more glad to have him by my side. Over the past year, and especially now with Kaia gone, the good ol’ boy has become my rock.

When my older sister, Taylor, first asked me to take him in, I wasn’t certain it was the right choice for either of us.

I didn’t know if I’d be able to care for him the way he deserves, considering his old age and my busy schedule. But now, we depend on each other. I’ve tried my best to be there for him, to give him everything he wants and needs. And I’m happy, lucky even, that I was tasked with his care.

Because right now, with my world feeling more like quicksand than solid ground, I need him more than ever.

As I mindlessly talk to him, stroking his thick fur, I find myself gradually relaxing, the tension seeping from my shoulders. His eyes eventually close, his body goes slack against mine, and before long, we both drift off to sleep right there on the couch.

* * *

I wake up with a start,disoriented and cramped from an uncomfortable night. Bentley’s half-sprawled on top of me, his snoring filling the quiet living room. Wriggling out from under him without disturbing his sleep, I grimace at the stiffness in my neck and back.

Mental note: Never sleep on the fucking couch again.

I grab my phone off the coffee table and squint at the too-bright screen. It’s just past seven in the morning, and there’s already a new message waiting for me. My pulse kicks up a notch as I open the text, worried that Sapphire’s already found another way to track me down.

Thankfully, it’s not from her or any one of her other creepy pseudonyms. It’s from someone I’d never expect to be seeking me out.

Unknown

---