by Jen Wilde
“Nope,” they say sternly. “Nope. We’re not having that. You know I’m the first one to tell you when you’ve fucked up, but this isn’t one of those times. I won’t watch Jessie or your parents gaslight you anymore.”
I cock my head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“It’s an abusive tactic,” they explain. “People treat you like shit, and when you call them out on it, they act like you’re crazy.” They sigh and look down at their hands. “I know I don’t talk about my mom much, but there’s a reason for that. Our relationship is … complicated. You know she’s white, right?”
“Yeah.” It’s rare for Chlo to talk about their folks. I got a vibe from Chlo that family was a sensitive subject for them, so I never asked much about their mom and dad. I remember seeing photos of them on Chlo’s Instagram. Their mom is tall, thin, white, and blond. Their dad is black and even taller than Chlo’s mom, and Chloe has his wide, beaming smile. Other than that, all I know about their parents is that they got divorced before Chloe was even five years old, and their dad moved across the country for work so they’ve never been that close.
“Okay, so,” Chloe continues. “My mom never wanted to acknowledge my blackness. Except for when she uses me as a shield to prove to other white people that she’s not racist.” They roll their eyes. “Whenever I try to talk to her about my experience as a black person in this country, especially lately, she dismisses me. It makes her uncomfortable. I make her uncomfortable. She’ll say I’m being too sensitive or I’m just imagining the racism or transphobia or whatever other thing some bigoted asshole threw at me that day. Last time I saw her I was wearing my Black Lives Matter T-shirt and she acted like I did it just to make her mad. She said I was being disrespectful to her. We got into a huge fight, and I haven’t spoken to her since.”
I rub Chloe’s back. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful.” I feel my blood boiling with anger, and all I want to do is call up Chlo’s mom and scream at her.
“And then,” they add with a quick breath. “There’s her subtle homophobia and not-so-subtle transphobia. She refuses to respect my pronouns. But when I call her out over it she calls me melodramatic and tries to guilt me, acting like I’m trying to hurt her. That would have worked five years ago, but not now.” They run a hand down their face, rightly frustrated. “Don’t even get me started. Anyway, my point is that sometimes, parents can be toxic, and sometimes, we’re better off without them.”
I pull them into me, wanting to shield them from pain forever. “You know what? Our parents suck. But we have each other. And we have Alfie and Ry and Kass. They’re our family, okay? Our chosen family.”
Chloe pretends to move hair out of their eyes but is really wiping away tears. I pretend not to notice.
“Chosen family,” they say, smiling again. “I like it.”
They clear their throat. “Now you know why it’s so hard for me to see you blame yourself for what’s happening. The doubts you’re feeling aren’t the truth. It breaks my heart to see you like this.”
Then we can’t fight it anymore and we both start crying. They reach for the Kleenex on their coffee table. I take one and twist it around and around in my fingers while everything they said hits me. Hard. I’ve heard of gaslighting before, but it never even occurred to me that I would experience it.
All the shitty things my parents have said and done run through my mind. Then I think about all the times Jessie was just as mean and manipulative.
“How did I not see it before?” I whisper, almost to myself.
Chloe strokes my hair and cries with me. “It’s hard to see a storm when you’re in the eye of it.”
I cry so hard my throat hurts.
“Listen,” they say once our tears soften. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. This isn’t on you.”
I nod and wipe my cheeks on the back of my hand.
Chloe smiles through their tears and pokes me in the side. “It’ll be hard to move on from this, but please don’t let me find you texting Jessie in a fit of regret, okay?”
I laugh. “I’ll delete her number right now.” I pick up my phone and do as I said, and then Chloe gives me a celebratory high five.
“I know it hurts,” they say. “But honestly, I think this is good for you. I mean, yeah, feel shitty all you want right now. It’s your right as someone who just got her heart crushed by people you trusted to feel shitty and mope around and whatever, but I think you’ll soon see that this is a fresh start for you.”
They pat me on the leg. “Hey, remember last year when Paris broke up with me and I was all set to try to win her back? And you sat me down and told me to wait it out, see how it feels to be apart from her and then decide if a relationship was what I wanted?” I nod. “And what happened?”
I sigh. “You realized you were happier without being in a relationship.”
“Exactly. So take your own advice.”
I close my eyes and let out a dramatic groan. “Fiiiine.”
“You and I have the same problem, you know that?” they ask.
I chuckle. “Yeah, we’re surrounded by assholes.”
They laugh, nodding. “Okay, so maybe we have two problems.” They count on their fingers. “Surrounded by assholes, and people pleasing. You know what happens when you combine the two? You get taken advantage of. You try to save people. You become a helpaholic.”
I don’t try to deny it. It’s not the first time someone has called me out for being a people pleaser. Kass would always try to get me out of the people-pleasing habit in school. I was that kid who was so desperate to be liked that I lent people money, gave them the answers to all the tests, let them copy my homework. Once, in ninth grade, a girl stole one of my photo prints for photography class and handed it in to the teacher as her own, and I did nothing because I wanted to be her friend.
Kass wanted to kill me when she found out I gave my parents money last year. She always said I let them walk all over me.
And now that I’m famous, people are falling over themselves to be friends with me, and yet all I do is exhaust myself trying to please them. I don’t know why, maybe I’m just super insecure, but I have this intense need to be liked. If someone doesn’t like me—or even expresses a different opinion than me—it makes me judge myself. I know it’s unhealthy and screwed up and destined to be a massive failure, but my self-esteem is entirely dependent on what other people think of me.
“We need to stop,” I say. “Like, right now.”
“The dating assholes or the people pleasing?”
“Both.”
Chloe fake cries. “But assholes are always so hot!”
I laugh. “Hey, hotness fades. Assholery is forever.”
They laugh and slide closer to me, resting their head on my shoulder. I stare at the framed print of Marilyn Monroe on their wall, deep in thought about how I’m going to get through this.
“No more trying to save people,” I say.
“No more being helpaholics,” Chloe says.
“I wish there was a rule book,” I say. “Like, Rules for Recovering People Pleasers and Asshole Magnets.”
We laugh some more, but I’m dead serious.
“Rules for Recovering Helpaholics,” they say, writing in the air with their index finger.
“Or,” I say. “Rules for Recovering Trainwrecks.”
“Mm-hmm.” Chloe nods. “I would read that book cover to cover.”
“Same.” I push my hair off my face. “We could always make our own rules, you know?”
They grin and clap their hands. “Yes! Rule number one: Self Care Comes First.”
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes, yes! Love it. Number two: umm…” I tap my fingers on my chin. “Oh! Follow Your Heart.”
Chloe giggles, and I blush a little.
“Too corny?” I ask.
They laugh louder. “Maybe just a little. How about: Go with Your Gut. We won’t do anything just because someone else wants us to.”
“Perfecti
on,” I say. I’m starting to get excited about this. “Okay. Three: No Doubts. We gotta stop doubting how we feel.”
“So important,” Chloe says, nodding. “And that includes not questioning our own ideas and talents, yeah?”
“Yep.” But even as I say it, doubts start to creep in. Are we being silly right now? Could I ever live up to these so-called rules? What if I fail? “Ugh, this is going to be hard.”
“Hey,” Chloe says. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
I stick out my bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’ll get called a diva. Or a bitch.”
“Pfft,” they say, waving it off. “So what? You’ll be a happy bitch.”
I groan and lean back against the fluffy couch cushions. “I need a change. Like a tattoo or a vacation or something. I need to get out of LA for a while.”
“Ugh, saaaame,” Chloe says. “Too much time in this town destroys my soul. We should do it. Just get the fuck outta here.”
I shake my head. “Everywhere I go right now, cameras will follow. I’d rather just lay low. Crawl under a rock and wait it out.”
They purse their lips. “Well, that sounds super healthy.”
“Super,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But I’ll take that over sitting on a beach, worrying about people hiding in the bushes to get a photo of me just so trolls can body shame me online.”
Chloe cringes. “I hear you. But you can’t hide forever.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I hum to myself as I walk down the stairs the next morning. It’s my birthday, and I’m buzzing with excitement. What’s that saying? Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Well, I’m eighteen today, and that’s exactly how I feel. As of today, my parents don’t have a legal hold on me. I leap over the last step and almost trip over suitcases stacked in Chloe’s hall.
“Huh?” I mutter as I take a closer look. “Chlo? You going somewhere?”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Chloe, Ryan, and Alfie yell as I turn into the living room. I scream and jump a mile, right into Alfie as he jumps out from behind me.
“Ow! Motherf—” he curses, cupping his hands over his face. Blood drips down his chin.
“Alfie!” I gasp. “You’re bleeding!”
“Yeah,” he says as he hurries over to the kitchen sink. “Happy birthday.”
I follow him and tear some paper towel off a roll on the counter. Chloe runs to their freezer for some ice. Ryan’s too busy wetting his pants from laughter to help.
“Shit,” I say as I hand Alfie the towel. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all good.” He tries to give me a smile that says it’s okay, but his teeth are stained with blood. “Wait, Chloe, don’t let this ruin the surprise.”
I glance from Alfie to Chloe and back again. “Huh? What’s happening?”
Chloe smiles and hands me their phone. On the screen is an email from Hawaiian Air, confirming a flight to Hawaii that leaves tonight.
“You’re going to Hawaii?” I ask, grinning.
They shake their head. “Nope.”
My eyes narrow. “It’s way too early for my brain to figure out what’s happening right now. I’m going to need more information.”
“We are going to Hawaii!” They wave Ryan and Alfie in closer.
My jaw drops. “Wait. What? We? What we?” I can’t even manage a full sentence, and Chloe laughs.
“Hey,” they say. “We want you to have a birthday you’ll never forget. Anyway, you said you wanted to get out of LA, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I say, still in disbelief.
Chloe raises their arms in the air. “Well, we made it happen. We leave tonight, so get your butt upstairs and pack a bag, or four.”
All three of them stare at me, eyes as wide as their smiles. I stand in front of them, dumbfounded. I look at Alfie, knowing that if this is one of his pranks, I’ll be able to see it in his face.
“For real,” he says, like he knows what I’m thinking.
Ryan bounces on his heels excitedly. “It’s a done deal. Charlie, Alyssa, and Will are coming, too.”
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m speechless.
“Em?” Chloe says, trying to meet my gaze. “You okay?”
Alfie chuckles. “I think she’s in shock.”
I nod. “But what about paparazzi? And everything that’s happened … Is this really what I should be doing? Does Sal know?” The questions roll off my tongue so fast they can’t answer them.
“Whoa, relax,” Chlo says, flattening a stray hair on my head. “Everything’s taken care of.”
“Yeah,” Alfie says. “Sal’s cool with it. We all think getting out of LA is exactly what we need. And we’ve arranged it all in secret, so the media won’t know until we’re gone.”
“Chill,” Ry says. “It’s all organized.”
“Come on,” Chloe says as they start running up the stairs. “I’ll help you pack.”
My shock turns into excitement as I follow them. I don’t know whether to jump with joy or ugly cry. All I know is that I have the best friends in the entire freaking world.
* * *
“Hey, y’all!” Alfie calls from downstairs an hour later. “Our Lyft is on the way!”
“Coming!” Chloe and I call back. I zip up my suitcase and run into the bathroom to put on some lipstick. “Which color should I wear?” I turn to Chloe, holding out five different shades.
They think for a moment, then say, “Go with Your Gut.” They wink at me, reminding me of our rules. I tap my foot on the bathroom tiles as I look from one color to the next. I really love the purple, but I’ve never been brave enough to wear it outside of a concert setting.
“Fuck it,” I say as I drop the others back in my bag and untwist the purple one.
“Ooh,” Chloe says. “Nice choice.”
They watch my reflection as I slide it on thick. “Thanks!” It dries into a matte look, bright and bold.
“How do you feel?”
I straighten my back and admire myself. “Tough. No one messes with the girl wearing purple lipstick.” Oh, that would make a killer line in a song. I look at Chloe. “Do you mind if I write something on the glass?”
They raise an eyebrow, looking intrigued, then nod. “Go for it.”
I pop open my purple lipstick and scrawl it on the bathroom mirror.
DON’T MESS WITH THE GIRL WEARING PURPLE LIPSTICK.
The words stare back at me, and I smile.
Chloe claps their hands. “Bad. Ass. I need to snap this.”
We take a collection of mirror selfies, making sure to get my purple writing in the shot. Then I grab my suitcase and backpack and we run downstairs, meeting Alfie and Ry in the car.
* * *
A few hours later, I’m staring out the window of the plane as we lift off the tarmac. Chloe is beside me watching Veep, and Alfie and Ryan are seated in front of us, playing a video game. Our friends Will, Charlie, and Alyssa are meeting us in Hawaii in the morning.
Alfie shifts in his seat in front of me, resting his head on the window as he hits the button on the video game controller. Seeing his disheveled hair gives me an idea. I open Snapchat and slowly reach a hand out to him, preparing to take advantage of his fear of spiders. I hit the record button and tickle the back of his head, moving my fingers over his hair like spider’s legs. He sits up with a start, whipping his hair around and messing it up with his hands. He stands up and flicks his hair forward, shaking it out.
Ryan leans away from Alfie’s haphazard hair flicking. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks.
“I felt something in my hair,” he whines. He shoves his head in Ryan’s face. “Do you see anything?”
By this time, I’ve recorded three Snapchat videos and posted them. But I can’t hold my laughter in anymore, and I erupt into a fit of giggles.
Alfie turns to me, spots the phone in my hand and the tears of laughter streaming down my cheeks, and slumps. He tries to glare at me, but his lips twitch into
a smile.
“That’s how you wanna play it, huh?” he teases. He kneels on the seat and leans over it, trying to snatch my phone from my hands. I slap his hand away and hold my phone above my head, laughter pouring out of me.
Chloe groans next to me. “Children,” they say, “if you don’t calm down, I swear, I’m going to turn this plane around.”
Other passengers in first class side-eye us, but I ignore them.
Alfie grabs my phone and starts filming himself. “Emmy doesn’t know it yet,” he says, “but that was an act of war.” He narrows his eyes dramatically. “All the Frightsider pranks I’ve pulled before will be nothing compared to what’s coming. This time, it’s personal.”
He hands me my phone back, giving me an evil grin.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m so scared, Alfie.”
“You should be,” he says. “I’ve got six hours to sit here and come up with a way to get you back.” He slowly sinks down until all I can see are his eyes. He widens them, waggles his eyebrows, then sinks lower until he’s disappeared from my sight. I shake my head, chuckling to myself.
But soon I find myself staring at the black screen in front of me, unable to relax. I thought I’d be more excited by now, but I feel strangely ashamed, like I don’t deserve this. And to top it off, I can’t stop thinking about Jessie, leaving her behind to deal with the tape scandal without me. Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I don’t want her to be happy.
But then I remember all the cruel things she said, how she treated me like I was nothing to her. I force myself to admit that she has always treated me like that, from our very first date. I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see it at the time. I put her up on a pedestal the size of the Empire State Building, convinced she could do no wrong. Every time she belittled me or made fun of me, I laughed it off. Every time she made me pay for dinner or drinks or her plane ticket to London so she could be with me. I did it all willingly, just because I wanted her to love me. Even the sweet things she did for me benefited her more than anyone else. Maybe Chloe was right—maybe Jess and my parents have been gaslighting me this whole time. Maybe I just didn’t notice it because it was all I’ve ever known. Feeling worthless has been normal my whole life.