hello! time is going way too fast, and I've been glued to the upsetting and escalating situation in Ukraine for the past few days. I urge you to donate (if you can) to the legitimate appeals for those in desperate need, having fled a war no one asked for. 💙💛
To the guest who commented on my Edwards being the same because they have tattoos, only two do (ToI Edward and this Edward), all the rest are tattoo free!
Lastly, voting ends in the twificfandom awards tonight! Don't forget to vote if you haven't already.
Bella
I bite my lip. It's an idea—a good one—hopefully. I've done them before, so it's not super weird to be suggesting it. Or at least that's what I tell myself. I'm being helpful. Cullenary's predicament has been on my mind since this morning, when he effectively told me he wasn't employed. I can't imagine what a worry that is.
Masen: what would be fun?
So, I push ahead. If I can give him a helping hand, I'm more than happy to. When you have an audience, I feel like you have a duty to help and raise others up.
My fingers fly over my cell.
Bella: let's do a Live together.
Masen: a… live?
Bella: yeah, you know. On Instagram. You can come on my live stories. It's a great way of interacting with your audience; real-time reactions. You can check out some I've done with others; they're in my highlights somewhere. But it's basically like a Q&A session so people can get to know you better.
Masen: Are you sure your audience is gonna appreciate a non-vegetarian coming on your page? People can get v passionate about dietary choices...
Bella: hmm. I don't think it'll be an issue… it hasn't been in the past.
Masen: well, that sounds kinda fun? Idk. I'm awkward. Recording shit is bad enough, let alone with it being actually live, lol.
His brand of awkwardness is very cute, though.
Bella: everyone's awkward at times, me included. Do you want to zoom? We can run through some ideas and get a date/time sorted?
Masen: what the fuck is zoom?
Bella: Oh boy. Without sounding like I'm being patronizing, google it :) It's just a meeting platform we can video call on.
Masen: oh right. Lol. See? fucking awkward.
Bella: not at all, haha. So can you zoom now, or later?
Masen: can we do later? I'm on the subway home and then I need to feed myself and my roommate as he's spotting my rent this month. So… sevenish my time?
Bella: not good for me, unfortunately. How about ten your time, or is that too late? Sorry I've got a yoga class and a thing after. We can do tomorrow if that's better?
Masen: sure. Tonight's fine.
Bella: great! I'll send you a meeting code. Speak soon xo
Masen: looking forward to it
I'm flushed when I glance up and look at my reflection in my bedroom mirror. I'm not sure what I was expecting; him to say no?
No.
I'm glad he said yes.
I get up, stretching, looking at the dress I've picked out for dinner with Riley. It's red, and the skirt flares out from the hips. Pretty, I think.
I've got to leave straight from my yoga class for the airport to pick him up; then he's coming over and we have an early dinner planned for six. Riley's been doing some brand work in Vancouver the past week. He works for a company who manages people like me: influencers, social media stars. It's how we met; at the company I signed to in the early days, when things were just taking off first me, and we dated after I moved to LA. He was really sweet and we had a lot in common.
I'm kind of excited to see him. A bunch of flowers arrived for me earlier, with a message about how he can't wait to see me. Big Sur is kind of forgotten; although, the wariness still lingers. It's not so much him even liking other girls' pictures; it's that other people pick up on it, and the ensuing fallout of that. Messages in my inbox and under my YouTube videos and TikToks... like, hey did you know your boyfriend is liking pictures of models with actual tits? Sucks to be you.
I look down at my chest. My boobs are small, and I'm okay with that. Or I thought I was. Part of the confrontation with him down at Big Sur was that it made me feel inadequate.
My cell rings before I can dwell, and I smile. My little sister's picture fills the screen; it's from the summer and she's cuddling the dog Mom and Dad bought to replace me. A rescue that goes by the name Mr. Scruff.
"Hey, what's up?"
"School sucks." I hear Lottie sniff.
"Why?"
"Just everyone's obsessed with losing their virginity like it's the be all and end all of life. Do you know what happened to Lauren on the weekend?"
I flop down onto my bed, bracing myself for teenage angst. She sounds angry and upset so whatever it is it can't be good.
"What happened to Lauren at the weekend?"
"She went into Sam Sanchez's room at a party and got fingered by him and he recorded it, and now it's going round the whole school. She got called into the principal's office just now and I'm pretty sure she's going to be suspended. And they called her PARENTS. I saw them." The last bit is whisper-wailed, and I silently thank God that high school is long behind me.
"Breathe, Charlotte."
"I am breathing! But how am I supposed to find someone to do that kind of stuff with if they're just going to share it around?"
I flounder.
"You need to look for the nice guys. The quiet ones."
My suggestion isn't received that well. Lottie scoffs. "They're all gross. Every single one of them salivating over that video. Like, Jesus."
"There must be one?" I press. Listening to her huff some more. I carry on, anyway. "I mean if you don't think any of them are worthy, then you'll just have to wait until there is someone. Find someone who respects you. Maybe someone a bit older who's matured. But not now, because that would be illegal." I pause. "Maybe you can meet a nice British boy." I put on a faux English accent that I'm sure sounds ridiculous, but it finally makes Lottie giggle. "Harry Styles seems like the perfect English gentleman, don't you know? Maybe he can invite you for crumpets and tea with the Queen."
"As if I'm ever going to meet anyone half as dreamy as Harry freakin' Styles. Besides, he's into women older than him. Maybe even guys. Did you know there's Louis and Harry fanfiction out there? I came across it on Tumblr."
"I didn't, no. Really?"
"Uh huh, it's kinda hot."
I laugh, I can't help it. I'm not convinced.
"Sure. If you say so."
"I do. I'll message you a link."
"Fine. But, look... about the virginity thing? You're still so young. There's plenty of time. Either way, it's not a competition. You don't get any prizes for it." I shrug, even though she can't see it. "As for Lauren, that's a really shitty thing that happened to her, and Sam is the one who should be getting into trouble, not her."
"I know. It's so not fair."
"So, if she's getting into trouble, there's no harm in raising your concerns with a teacher, or the school guidance counselor, or the principal, or Mom and Dad."
"We were talking about that earlier, in the girl's bathroom. No one thinks it's right. Where's Sam's punishment? He's the one violating her. Such a dickhead."
"Exactly… Where are you now?" I ask curiously. "Skipping?"
"No. I'm freezing my ass off hiding under the bleachers and waiting for the bell to ring for Art... I'm due on my period, and I guess I just miss you," Lottie says. "I can't wait to see you next week for Thanksgiving."
"Me neither. Counting down the days."
In the background I can hear the faint trilling of a bell.
"I've gotta go, Bella. Love you, bye."
"Love you, bye."
…
Riley's flight lands an hour later than scheduled, and dinner is canceled. I try not to be annoyed because it's not his fault exactly, but his mood drives my insecurities. He's quiet as I park outside the block of condos where I live.
"What's wrong?" I ask him before he can get out of the car.
"Nothing, just tired." His eyes travel toward me and he smiles, hand coming to my thigh, squeezing. "Been a long week."
"Yeah, sure. Shall we order in? Or do you want me to cook, or—"
"Yeah, that sounds great." His reply doesn't answer either question.
"So, which one?"
His cell rings. He looks at it for a long second. "Sorry, gotta take this."
He exits the car with a "Y'ello?", slamming the door behind him and walking to the bottom of the lot, smiling faintly.
I make myself useful. I bring up his bag to my top floor condo and send a reply to Bree about which dress she should wear for Thanksgiving. Riley's gone so long I even have the opportunity to heat up a red lentil and coconut milk soup I have in the fridge, and put the oven on for par-baked rolls—I cheat with those and retrieve them out of the freezer, though.
"Smells good," Riley says, as he finally joins me—ten minutes later. He drops a kiss to my cheek and hangs his chin over my neck, but the weight is uncomfortable and soon I'm pushing him off so I can place the rolls in the oven. There's the scraping sound of his chair and, for some reason unknown to me, a tension between us. He's agitated, and it comes spilling out as he stares at his phone.
"Did you not upload anything this week to YouTube?" He's frowning.
"No." I think about the matcha cookies guiltily.
"Why not? People are asking in your comments why you haven't uploaded?"
"I tried filming it and wasn't really in the mood."
He nods like he understands, but then he pursues it, sarcasm dripping. "I'm sure people working nine to five every day can really sympathize."
He has a point, and yet I'm defensive. "I've still done content for the oat milk company, and put out things on TikTok and Instagram. It's not like I've just been doing nothing while you've been gone."
"Doesn't look like it," he says and his eyes flick over me.
My mouth drops open. "What do you mean?"
"You're not posting things, you look like you've put on a bit of weight—it looks good, but you can definitely tell—have you talked to Maggie? I'm surprised she's not picked up on this."
Maggie is my manager.
"Excuse me, are you being serious right now?"
"Yeah—how do you expect to maintain your platform—"
"Not about that, about the weight!" I snap.
"You look good!" he says, his voice rising. "What's the problem?"
"You're an asshole."
"Wait, what? So saying you look good because you've gained a bit of weight is me being an asshole, is it?"
I throw my hands up in the air in frustration.
"We both know that you slipped it in there as an insult."
"No, I didn't!"
"And now you're trying to dress it up as something acceptable!"
"I love you whatever you look like," he says, annoyed. "You're taking it the wrong way!"
We fall into a strained silence, where his nostrils flare and he's getting to his feet.
"I'm just gonna go," he says. "Call me when you're being rational."
The door shuts behind him, and the only sound I can hear is the slow bubble of soup on the stove and the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Tears sting my eyes, and it doesn't escape me that I should probably heed my own advice—the same I gave to Lottie earlier.
Find someone who respects you.