In Case You Didn't Know

Chapter 37

I'm mindlessly scrolling through my Instagram notifications when I see something that not only makes my blood turn cold, but also makes my stomach churn with nausea. It's a comment left on my last post. And it's not so much the person that wrote it '@laurencarlson' that has drained all the color from my face, but the contents of the text itself 'Is she as good at writing as she's at stealing boyfriends? Doubt it.'

My heartbeat is thumping in my ears as I tap the little circle with the picture. The pieces of the puzzle click together immediately as I look at the profile picture. It was her. It was her, it was her. Of course, that's the shitty thing that I did. The raven haired woman that approached me at the café last month. Nathaniel's ex-girlfriend. The urge to empty my stomach intensifies as I go back to the comments, likes and a few inquiring messages already surrounding it.

This is a dream. I have to be dreaming. My overactive imagination surely is playing games on me again. Surely. My instincts make me delete the comment, and for a second, it almost feels like it was a dream, a product of my subconscious perhaps, lurking around the room with its battleaxe head, accusative as always.

"What's wrong?" I look up, meeting Nathaniel's gaze from the other end of the couch. I must have been looking truly concerned, given the deep frown contorting his own face.

"Nothing, I need to make a call." Promptly, I get up and rush towards the bedroom. Forcing myself to take big inhalations of air, I dial Charlotte's number. It was a comment, just a comment. This doesn't mean anything.

Of course, the rational part of me wants to believe that, but the other half, the one that has watched a plethora of movies and spends an indecent amount of time reading gossip news on the internet, knows that I have a good deal of things to worry about.

It wouldn't matter, you see, if it were only me, Alexia. Alex. Not Alexia M. Saunders, the published author. The public figure. One slip on the internet and you are done. I might not have an insanely big following, but the numbers are still there, and the chirping of my phone with new notifications tells me I have something to worry about.

"Charlotte, we have a problem. I have a problem." The words roll out of my lips the second that she picks up the call.

"Enlighten me."

The nausea is the more pressing as I think of where to start. She's my publicist, surely she will need all the information there is. Biting the inside of my cheek, I proceed to give her all the accounts of my relationship with Nathaniel; for she knew we had dated before, but not the circumstances that surrounded it. Of how the entire book is about him, of how it is him in every letter. I tell her about Lauren. Of how she was his girlfriend, of how I knew; of how I carelessly ignored it. But he broke up with her, so none of that matters...right?

"I'm hoping you already deleted the comment."

"Of course, but what if there are more?" My hand tightens around my phone, already dreading what others might be saying, thinking, about me in this precise moment.

"Block the account. I need to know, is there any compromising information that she could share? I'm talking pictures, e-mails, text messages."

"Not that I know of." But I also didn't know that it was her that approached me all those weeks ago; blame me for not being stalkery enough. Nor did I ever think that she'd do something like this.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about anything yet."

Charlotte insists that it was nothing, that I saw it in time, that perhaps no one will care. I can't live with perhaps. I must be certain. After promising that she will taste the waters and make sure that no more undesirable messages appear on my social media, Char hangs up and I collapse on the bed, letting out a big sigh.