Page 13 of Beneath the Fame

To further drag me down.

Was Bronx Boy—freakingBernard—catching any real heat for what occurred between two legally consenting adults? Of course not.

If anything, he was being applauded for it.

Again.

Meanwhile, everything about my body, from my stomach to my thighs to mybodily fluidswas being picked apart and analyzed, for the whole world.

Bywomen.

Not just them, of course, but I wouldn’t front—it hurt so much worse seeing women who were visually identical to the majority of my fan base with the absolute worst to say.

All because Idaredto be wanted by their wanna-be boyfriend.

It wassick.

And I was sick over it.

It was a tough decision, but I ended up arranging not to go on set as planned, even though I knew I was fucking up the schedule.

I just needed a little break, needed to not go to work surrounded by people who had no doubtwatchedme bust it wide open for everybody’s favorite rapper.

I just…needed a safe space.

And my house wasexactlythat—my sanctuary, stocked with any and everything I might need.

After I made my arrangements to not show up to work for the day, I’d gone back to bed, so emotionally drained that it didn’t even take much for me to fall asleep.

When I woke up, I’d slept away most of the day.

My phone was filled with all the same kind of notifications I’d woken up to when the interview clips dropped—the people who gave a shit about me checking in. My PR team was already hard at work, had already released a statement I didn’t even see before it was posted.

I wanted it that way.

My biggest wish was that none of this was happening—the closest I could get was playing pretend.

It’s not a big deal.

People have seen sex before, it’s fine.

You’re going to be perfectly okay.

Shit.

That last one was pushing my ability to suspend disbelief a little too hard.

I dragged myself out of bed, still wearing the pajamas I’d changed into after my life blew up between getting in the shower and coming back out. It was supposed to be a good day—an interesting one at the very least, and then…sex tape leak happened.

Wonderful.

I’d already been nervous about the hot-as-sin hate fucking Alec and I were supposed to portray on screen. While I was worried about feeding into theall she’s good for is sexnarrative, Charlotte’s writing was so masterfully fluid that it didn’t feel gratuitous.

It just felt like…what happened.

It wasn’t about putting something there for shock value—itactuallyserved the story.

So I was okay with it.

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