Trying To Heal

Chapter Fifty-Five

April

Derek visits me twice a month. He cooks food and prepares them in containers, which lasts for two weeks — that helps me to save my student money. He offered to give me loans. I told him I want to fend for myself. He understood that.

The public knows about our relationship. We have both ensured it is private.

I received a lot of hate comments. Most are racist.

Whitest brown girl I have ever seen.

He wants a girl smelling of curry?

Nahhh, this gotta be a joke.

Bffr.

Ever since I put myself first, ever since I started to love myself, men have been chasing me. They crawled into my messages. I have blocked many, and they would create new accounts to get my attention. It is so pathetic, so embarrassing for them, but the harassment really frustrated me.

When I posted a mirror picture of Derek and myself, him tall and dark in a handsome-black suit behind me, his hands on my hips, his face concealed in my hair, and me in a black dress, my phone covering my face, those same men called me a slut. A whore.

I laughed at each comment.

Aw, someone is insecure.

Someone is annoyed.

In October, Derek took me shopping at Self-Ridges, a luxurious shopping centre in Oxford Circus. Some people recognised us, and one guy approached me, his phone recording, and cussed me as a gold digger.

Derek was at the till, ordering hot chocolates for both of us. I was holding bags of Victor Bonheur — his company is the only luxurious one I trust, especially after those scandals in the fashion industry. "He has enough money to not care about that," I muttered to the harasser.

Money is not even a reason why I love him. It never was, it never will be.

It is just something I got lucky with.

Derek cleared his throat.

The man turns. There were eyes on us.

Derek gave the fucker the harshest glare, and it was difficult to sustain my laughter.

If there was a resting-bitch face competition, Derek would win.

"You are in my way," he tells the asshole. "Move."

He brought his Dobermans, and when the man did not comply, the dogs growled.

Outside, Derek throws me a grin. "Brilliant of you to say that."

"Say what?"

"That I do not care." Derek shrugs. "A secure man will not. An insecure man will."

We are the new light. It was like how the world fawned over Alexandra and Samuel Matthews. If you type up my name on search engines, there are pictures of me, pictures of Derek and me in the streets, at cafes, of me getting in his car. Sometimes, it's just me alone, walking in the parks, holding shopping bags, my head down to avoid the paparazzi.

It was hard at first. Now, I am accustomed to it.

Curses and blessings, right?

Derek does love-bomb me with gifts. At the beginning of each week, I have someone to deliver me a bouquet of roses and white lilies. He started to draw because of me, and now instead of flowers, he sends me sketches. They were awful at first. Sometimes, I giggle at his attempts. But they are cute. I brought a photo album to fill it with his art. He does not always use his money to show his love — that is the best thing. He knows how to love me, in a million ways. I know how to love him, in a million ways.