Been You

Chapter 47: Cheer Up With Me

ELYSANDRA'S POV:

It's Monday morning, and things are still bad. I can't go on social media without seeing "#hockeyslut," I can't walk down the halls of my dorm building without the glares and whispers, I can't do anything without being reminded that everyone hates me. I haven't left my dorm since the party on Friday night. Hell, I've barely left my bed. I was so stupid for thinking college would be any different than the rest of my life.

Now I lie in my bed, like I have all weekend. My eyes and nose are red from crying. My voice is hoarse. I feel weak. The only good thing I have right now is Justin. He hasn't left my side. Still half asleep with eyes still closed, he kisses my forehead. "Are you gonna go to class, babe?" He asks, his voice sleepy. I frown. The thought of going to class hadn't even occurred to me.

"I- I can't, Justin. I can't do it," I stutter fearfully. He pulls me in tighter.

"Babe, you're gonna have to go outside eventually... What's the worst that could happen?" He asks sleepily.

"Have you seen what people are saying about me?" I ask incredulously, holding up my phone. "People wish that I were dead, Justin! Dead!" Tears well in my eyes.

"I wish you would stop looking at those, E. They're just idiots who have nothing better to do," Justin answers, rubbing my back. I unlock my phone, searching my new nickname on twitter.

"I should rape the #hockeyslut, teach her a lesson about fucking with our season," I read aloud. Justin sits up, concerned. "If #Hockeyslut kills our chances at the playoffs, petition to kill her?" I read the next tweet. Justin's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Wait, who's saying these things?" He asks anxiously.

"Everyone, Justin! Everyone is saying these things. Everyone hates me," I cry. I haven't felt this low in a long time and I honestly feel like dying. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm better off dead," I say, mostly to myself.

"Don't ever say that, okay?" Justin says looking at me intensely. "I'm going to fix this, okay? It's my fault. I lost the game. I'll fix this, okay? I promise. I swear. You have my word."

"Justin..." I start, doubtfully.

"Ely. Trust me," he says, a serious expression on his face. He grabs his phone and unlocks it, holding it so that we both can see. He opens twitter and begins composing a tweet. To everyone harassing my girlfriend: 1.) fuck you. He begins a new tweet. 2.) you should be ashamed of yourself, she's done nothing wrong. I give him a small smile. His next tweet reads: 3.) if one more thing is said about her, you won't have to worry about our chances of winning the finals. I'll throw them. I don't give a fuck. Not about any of you, not about being signed, none of it. If my girl isn't safe, shit doesn't matter to me. I raise my eyebrows at him to ask if he means it. He nods, understanding immediately. His last tweet makes me giggle. 4.) if one more thing is said about her, I'll fuck you up personally. Dead serious. Just ask Ryan Butler (:

I breathe a sigh of relief. I still don't feel great, but I do feel a bit lighter. I lay back, exhausted from staying up all night reading the slander on social media. "Get some rest, babe," Justin whispers, kissing my head. I do.

I wake up to the smell of food, I'm not sure what it is, but it smells delicious. I turn to Justin, but he's not there. I get up to find him in the kitchen, making grilled cheese. He's so cute. "You really need to go food shopping," he advises when he sees me.

"No point, I'm almost never here," I tease, hugging him from behind. He flips the last sandwich in the pan onto the large plate with the others.

"Check twitter," he says. I can practically hear the smile on his face. I grab my phone to search the hashtag. All the tweets are gone. Absolutely nothing comes up.

"Thank you," I breathe, tears welling in my eyes.

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't take up for my woman?" He asks, mocking me from the other night. I grin. How did I get so lucky?