Innocence
Preston closed the trashy tabloid and closed his eyes. The pictures had been doctored, but well enough that not many people would notice. Even less would care. But I cared, and so did Macey, even if she would never admit it. Everyone who thought they knew her had different ideas of who she was and she believed everything they said about her. But he didn't think she saw herself clearly enough to know herself.
The filthy reporters made stories up about her all the time, seeing her as fodder for their trash. They saw her as a wild child, using her actions and cries for help to sell their magazines. It sickened me, and what was worse, she believed them.
Preston's mother thought Macey was a slut. She made no effort to hide that fact other than to keep her opinion from the tabloids. Officially.
Her friends didn't believe the tabloids, they knew better than to trust the rags and felt that they knew her better than anyone. But they still saw her only as the strong and confident girl she was most of the time. They didn't see her vulnerability or her self-consciousness. In this way, they were as blind as everyone else was.
And Macey? She believed all of them at the same time and that confused her. She believed that she was simply a mess, that all of them were right, and their definitions were the only things it was okay to be, and none of them fit her correctly.
Preston understood that his own perception of her was probably just as skewed as everyone else's was, but he still believed his view was the most accurate of all. He thought that all of them were correct, but each only saw a small facet of her identity. He saw all of her, and the only thing he saw was innocence.