Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(31)
“You’re not gonna let me make a statement, are you?” I ask, eyes brimming with tears.
His are red-rimmed, and his nostrils flare like he’s as at war with the reality as I am. When he shakes his head, confirming the lack of response, a sharp, stabbing pain flares in my chest.
A knife that penetrates with little effort, twisting as it comes out the other side. Rending as much misery as possible.
“We’re going to ruin his life,” I whisper, a tear slipping over. Reaching up, I swipe at the liquid, the scar on my cheek rough beneath the pad of my thumb.
“I’m sorry, Riley. Really. I won’t stop trying to find another way, but for now… this has to be it. I have to keep you safe.”
His voice is strained. Desperate. I can see in his eyes that he feels solely responsible for my well-being, and after a lifetime of him letting me down, I’m not sure if I can stomach disappointing him right now.
I’m being ripped in half, my soul split in two, and I have no idea how to reconcile either decision.
Maybe this will blow over if they don’t have anything to connect the allegations with.
Resigned to my fate, I sit with Boyd and recount the entirety of the last twenty-four hours, creating a timeline and allowing my brother to offer me the only thing he’s ever been consistent with: security.
Because as much as I want to prove a strange man innocent… I can’t take that chance. Not when there are other people who might want to finish what my mother and her boyfriend started.
The fear inside won’t let me, even if I could get Boyd on board.
When I go to bed that night, even after he’s scrubbed the Internet of my picture and done his best to keep my name out of things, I go to bed knowing I’m the most hated girl in America.
If not by the whole country, then at least by one volatile gray-eyed man.
14
I used to think that outside hatred couldn’t touch you when your self-deprecation screamed louder.
Thought I was protected because I’d spent an entire lifetime despising myself.
Thought the opinions of others didn’t matter, because no one would ever be harder on me than me.
Then, I became an overnight Internet sensation—in the worst possible way—and learned that when you don’t have a buffer for yourself, negativity from other people acts like kerosene, fanning the flames you’ve spent all your time cultivating.
Eventually, you get to a point where all you want is to be doused in the fire.
Relieved of your sentence on earth.
In the days after the catastrophe that followed my class trip to New York City, I did my best to stay off-line. I swear I did, but the temptation to look and see if there were people on my hypothetical side always seemed to win out.
Every night before bed, I’d prop myself up against the headboard and scroll through social media on my laptop, scouring news articles who updated frequently, even though there was never anything new to report. Aiden went on an indefinite hiatus, suspending the rest of his tour and refunding concert tickets, until the investigation brought some sort of closure.
Because of who my brother is, not to mention his connections, there would never be any.
Sure, people speculate about the identity of the girl—even go so far as to pinpoint her as a tourist from Maine—but nobody is saying my name. And as far as us Kellys are concerned, that’s as good as a situation like this can get.
Still, guilt eats away at me, gnawing the frayed edges of my soul like parasites.
Maybe that’s why I check to see what people are saying; it’s as much of an honest form of punishment as my brother will allow, although if he knew I was searching the case online, he’d definitely revoke my Internet.
It’s been days, and still no word from the girl he supposedly raped? Yeah, okay. Red flag.
Just another groupie who got what she wanted and decided to exploit a celebrity. Shame, too—I love Aiden’s music. To Night And Fire are some of my all-time favorite songs!
I met Aiden James at Lollapalooza a couple years back. Nice guy. Don’t believe he’d do this.
Hope that lying bitch gets what she deserves.
A flurry of concern and empathy for the accused, and yet the support for the supposed victim doesn’t even compare.
Scrolling to the bottom of the page, I let their animosity soak to the bone, becoming one with my marrow until I can look at the next comment, no problem.
The shock of their magnitude of disgust never ceases to cut straight through me, no matter how many forums and articles I peruse. To these people, I’m not a girl caught in an impossible place, only trying to do what her brother says will keep her safe.
I’m not a starstruck teenager who had their dream night with their dream man completely ruined by a single rumor.
I’m subhuman.
Garbage.
Once again, proving my mother right.
When I shut down the laptop at night and shove my head beneath the pillows, it’s her whispering the comments in my ear.
Never letting me forget.
Not long after the incident—as those of us on my side are calling it—I ask Boyd to let me finish high school from home.
Most of my classmates at King’s Trace Prep seem entirely too suspicious of my identity, and while no one will come out and say it, I’ve been ostracized even more than I was before.