Then one of them posts a meme with a manatee with my face photoshopped onto it. A wedding veil and flowers sit on my head. The caption reads Paigatee.
The picture is hideous, the photoshop work clumsy and obviously done on the fly, but the effect still knocks the breath out of me. My face heats, and the area around my eyes prickles.
But Paigatee isn’t the end of it. There are more memes, each nastier than the one before, as though people are trying to one-up each other on the thread. Many of them also reference the sex tape, mocking my body because “who the hell would want to see a fat chick get laid?” Each comment comes with a “Report Abuse” button, but if I clicked all of them I’d give myself carpel tunnel.
Anger and resentment surge inside me like a tidal wave. My hands shake so hard, I have to curl them into fists. What have I done to deserve this kind of treatment?
A tight knot lodges in my throat, and I breathe audibly through my mouth. I need to calm down before I start hyperventilating and throw up.
The rational side of me understands that these people don’t matter. They don’t know me, and their opinions are ignorant and mean. They’ll move on when they find a new target. Really, I should feel sorry for them; they obviously don’t have anything better to do with their own lives than try to pick apart other people’s.
But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
* * *
Ryder
I get up later than normal. It feels like death to drag myself out of bed, but I have a meeting with Mira later in the morning. I stick my head into Paige’s room to see if she’s asleep, but she’s already gone, her bed neatly made. I sigh. Clearly, she’s taking this job thing seriously.
She can be so dense.
I stop by her office. Given the awkwardness between us, I should’ve told her to sleep in. I’m pretty sure pregnant women need more rest than usual, and until her doctor looks her over and says she’s all right, I don’t want her to really do anything. Besides, I didn’t ask her to be my assistant to actually make her work. It was just an excuse to have her back where she belongs.
“Hey, you should be taking it easy. Don’t bother with…” My voice trails off when I see her face.
There are tear-trails down her cheeks, and her eyes and nose are red. She’s biting her lower lip to keep it from quivering, but I’m not sure if she’s aware that’s what she’s doing. Her gaze is focused on her laptop monitor, and her fists rest in her lap.
I stride over quickly. “Paige, are you all right?” I glance at the laptop and see a crude meme with a dead whale on a beach. It has Paige’s face on it. The asshole who made it also crossed out her eyes with two Xs. THE ONLY WAY SOME WHALES CAN DIET, says the caption.
All of a sudden there’s a blood-red haze around everything I see. “What the fuck is that?”
Paige shakes her head, lower lip still caught under her teeth.
I kill the browser, nearly breaking the mouse along the way. Paige shouldn’t look at such vile shit. I’ve had my share of disgusting lowlife haters and psychos, and I’ve made it a policy not to bother with social media myself for that reason. But Paige doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of nastiness. Fact is, nobody should ever have to learn how to deal with it.
“What did I do that was so wrong?” It’s just a whisper, her chin lowered. “Why do they think it’s okay to be so mean to me?”
I kneel before her and uncurl her hands so I can hold them in mine. They’re cold and clammy, but I don’t care. “It’s not you. It’s them. They’re the assholes.”
She lifts her face and looks me in the eyes. “But they all hate me.”
The devastation on her face twists my heart, and I hurt for her. “There are more assholes than you realize.” I wipe her tears with my thumbs. “Paige, trust me, it’s not you. Not at all.”
“The attack outside Samantha’s office…and now this…” Her head turns to the laptop.
I take her face in my hands and gently—but firmly—turn it back to me. “Paige, listen. This is not your fault. It is not about you. It’s their ugliness, their smallness. And you know what? Their loss. Because when I look at you, I see a beautiful, smart woman who takes my breath away. And when you aren’t with me, I feel like I’m missing something vital.”
I’m not saying any of it to make her go ahead with our ceremony as scheduled. I mean every word, and I would gladly step between her and any ravening crowd to keep her safe and happy.
“Ryder…” she says tremulously. Her hands wrap around my wrists as she leans closer and rests her forehead against mine.