The Brightsiders

by Jen Wilde

  The bartender hands me back my card and I slip it into my purse.

  “I’m gonna go,” I say.

  She slams her fist on the bar, and I jump.

  “You’re gonna leave me again?” she says. “Fine. See if I care. Run off to Alfie and spend your whole life waiting for him to love you. But he won’t ever love you like I do. No one will.”

  My bottom lip quivers. “That’s not true.”

  “It is!” she yells. “No one will ever love you like I do!” Everyone within a few yards of us goes quiet, listening to our public meltdown. I see more than a couple of phones turn toward us. People are filming. Like this is entertainment. Jessie glances at the people videoing us, and I wait for her to snap at them, but she doesn’t. Instead, she smirks, then glares at me.

  I may be drunk, but I’m still smart enough to see what’s happening here; she’s trying to make a scene. She’s trying to punish me by airing all our private business in public. My chest tightens in fear.

  Chloe appears next to me. “Everything okay, folks?”

  All I want to do is fall into their arms and cry.

  Jessie snorts. “Yeah, everything’s fucking amazing.” She says it loud enough for nearby cameras to pick up, and I wince.

  Chlo puts an arm around me. “Em, what’s wrong?”

  Jessie pushes them off of me. “Why don’t you go ask Casanova over there?” She points to Alfie, and everyone turns to look at him.

  Chloe doesn’t fight back, but I can tell by the look on their face that they’re furious. “Excuse me?”

  Jessie flicks her hand, ushering them away. “You’re excused.”

  A wave of nausea washes over me. I throw up in my mouth and my hands fly up to cover it, then I swallow it back down.

  “Shit,” Chloe says, helping me off the barstool. “Time for a bathroom break.”

  We leave Jess at the bar and weave through the crowd, acting as neutral as possible. Some people put their phones away, but others don’t seem to care if I know they’re filming me.

  The second Chloe opens the door to the bathroom, I run into the closest cubicle and barf hard. Chloe closes the cubicle door behind them and holds my hair back. Once I’m all puked out, I close the toilet lid and sit on it, crying uncontrollably.

  Chloe crouches in front of me, looking at me with worried eyes. “Emmy, dude. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  In between choking gasps for air, I tell them they were right about Jessie all along. Then I tell them the whole messy story about me and Alfie. They squeeze in next to me on the toilet, hugging me and listening for what feels like an eternity.

  “And…,” I say after I’ve finally let it all out, “now I’m in love with him. But he’s … he’s not.”

  Chloe stays quiet for a while, holding me as I run out of tears. People float in and out of the bathroom, doing their business around us, no doubt hearing snippets of my drama-filled monologue. But I’m too drunk, tired, and heartbroken to care anymore.

  “I’m so sorry,” Chlo says, sighing. “I don’t even know what else to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “How about this,” they say. “I’ll order us a Lyft, and we’ll go back to my place, order a pizza, and watch a Leo movie. Or we can binge Bob’s Burgers or something. I think we both need a break from the world for a few hours.”

  For the first time all night, I smile. “That sounds like exactly what I need.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  When we walk back into the bar, our friends are on the dance floor.

  “I’ll text them to say we’ve left when we get in the car,” Chloe says. “Let’s go out the back exit. If the paps see you like this, there’ll be a circus.”

  We duck into the back of the bar, but not before Jessie spots us.

  “Hey,” she calls after us. “Emmy, wait up!”

  I try to stop and wait for her, but Chloe keeps ushering me forward.

  “She’s sick,” they say to Jessie. “I’m taking her home.”

  Jessie snatches me by the elbow. “I’m not done talking to her yet.”

  “Ow, Jess,” I say, pulling out of her grip.

  She takes my hand instead. “Em, I can’t believe you were just going to leave. I’ve been sitting at the bar waiting for you for, like, an hour. I was worried.”

  “Sorry,” I say, training my gaze on the floor.

  Chloe sighs. “Em, you don’t have to apologize.” They turn to Jessie. “If you were really worried, you could have just come into the bathroom to check on her.”

  “Hey,” I mutter. “Please, no more fighting. I can’t handle it.”

  Charlie runs over to us, grinning. “Hey! Why are you all hiding back here?”

  Chloe gestures to me. “Em’s not well. I’m taking her home. Jessie was just saying good-bye.”

  The tone of Chloe’s voice alerts Charlie to the tension around us, and she nods.

  “Hey, Jess,” she says with a sweet smile. “You wanna go dance or something?” I love her for trying to diffuse the situation.

  Out of nowhere, Jessie pushes Charlie into the wall. “Fuck you! I said I’m not done talking to her yet!”

  “Hey!” I yell, stepping in between Jessie and Charlie. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on my friends, you hear me?”

  Just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Alfie marches toward us, with the rest of our friends following on his heels.

  “Did I just see you push my girlfriend?” Alyssa asks Jess. She’s pissed, and I don’t blame her.

  Charlie puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  Alyssa backs off, but then Alfie gets in Jessie’s face. “You need to leave.”

  Chloe puts their arm around me and steers me toward the door. “Everyone just needs to chill. I’m taking Emmy home before this really gets out of control.”

  They open the door into the back parking lot and FLASH, cameras surround us.

  “Emmy! Chloe! Em! Emmy! Chloe! Chlo! Hey, Emmy!” they all shout at once, hurting my ears. Chloe pulls me closer, and I hold my hand over my eyes to shield them from the lights.

  “Emmy!” another voice calls, and this one I recognize. Jessie has followed us outside.

  Chloe and I try to walk faster, but there are too many photographers in between us and our ride.

  I feel Jessie push me from behind, and I stumble onto the concrete, scraping my knees. Chloe tries to help me up, but the paparazzi are getting in their face, too.

  “Security!” Chloe calls while paparazzi holler and snap pictures of us.

  “What the fuck?” another voice yells. Alfie. “Don’t touch her!”

  “Back off, Alfie,” Jessie spits. “Go entertain your fangirls somewhere else.”

  Alfie storms past her and wraps an arm around my waist, lifting me to my feet. Security appears then, trying to keep the cameras at bay while I try desperately not to cry. Chloe runs ahead of us to wave down our ride.

  “Are you okay?” Alfie asks, lifting my chin so he can look into my eyes. All I do is look at him, and he seems to know the answer. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Emmy!” Jessie calls. “I love you! After everything I’ve done for you, you’re just gonna leave me like this?”

  Hearing that makes me so angry that I turn around and march right up to her. Paparazzi be damned.

  “After everything you’ve done?” I growl. “Like what? Spend my money? Constantly talk down to me? Embarrass me in front of my friends? Pressure me into doing things I never wanted to do? Is that what you mean?”

  Paps circle us like vultures, provoking us, taunting us, screaming at us to fight and kiss and scratch each other’s eyes out. Some of them even meow and hiss, and it only heightens my rage.

  Then, spurred on by the crowd, Jessie takes my hand and pulls me into her, trying to kiss me. I dodge it and wrestle my hand from her grip, staring at her in shock.

  “Seriously?” I say, so surprised that
I’m almost laughing. “Nope. Not happening. I can’t believe I was ever with you.”

  She looks around us, frowning at the cameras like we’re in our own soap opera or reality TV show. “But,” she says, pouting, “I love you.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “That might be true. But would you love me if I weren’t famous? Would you still want to be with me if I lost all my money and no one knew my name? Would you stay by my side even if I couldn’t get your name to trend?”

  Her mouth hangs open, but she doesn’t say anything. Her silence answers my questions. Chloe reaches for my hand, and I take it, letting them and Alfie take me away.

  “You never loved me, either!” she screams from behind us. “How could you love me if you were fucking Alfie the whole time we were together?”

  Oooooohs and whoooooas ripple through the growing crowd.

  “That’s right!” she adds. “She cheated on me with Alfie! She’s a fucking whore! Your little girls worship a slut! She’s bad for them! She’s bad for the world, that ho!”

  Alfie groans. “I can’t listen to this anymore.” He turns around, ignoring Chloe’s calls for him to leave it alone, and gets in Jessie’s face.

  “Get out of here!” Alfie yells. “Emmy doesn’t love you anymore, so just move on. Stop trying to mooch off her accomplishments and go find your own life to live. I’m so goddamn sick of you abusing her like this. Stop torturing her.”

  It’s not just paparazzi documenting this epic blowup now: People have spilled out from the bar to see what all the commotion is. Everywhere I look, people are holding their phones up, staring at us in disbelief, whispering to each other while they livestream the drama.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t stay neutral. I can’t stop my tears.

  “Hey,” Jessie says smugly, “you’re the one torturing her now.”

  Alfie rolls his eyes. “Stop with the lies, Jessie. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  Jessie looks past him, straight at me, and smiles. “You wanna tell him, or should I?”

  “Jessie,” I say, giving her a pleading look. “Please. Just stop.”

  Alfie looks at me, then back at Jessie, then back at me. “Tell me what?”

  “Yeah!” a pap yells. “Tell him what?” They all chime in.

  “What do you need to tell him, Emmy?”

  “Tell him!”

  “Be honest, honey!”

  “Speak your mind!”

  I wave Alfie over. “Can we please just go? Please?”

  Alfie starts walking toward me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I just want to go home.

  “Alfie,” Jessie calls in a sing-song voice. “Emmy is in love with you.”

  Alfie stops walking. Even with the lights flashing in his face, he barely even blinks. He’s standing a few feet away, in between Jessie and me, still as a statue. He’s staring at me, but I can’t read his expression.

  “She’s lying,” he says. “Right?” He steps toward me. “Emmy. Right?”

  I pinch my eyebrows together, wondering why he’s acting so surprised.

  “It’s…,” I start, then take in a deep breath. “Of course I’m in love with you. What else would you expect from a fuckup like me?”

  Alfie just stands there, shocked, while the crowd converges around us. We start getting shoved around as the paparazzi fight for the chance to get the best photo.

  My heartbreak is going to make a lot of these people very rich tomorrow.

  “We gotta go,” Chloe says. Alfie still doesn’t move, so Chloe and I elbow our way through the mob, leaving him and Jessie on the other side. I look behind me, searching for his face.

  I can’t see him through the blinking lights, can’t hear Jessie anymore over the people screaming in my ears, asking me questions about my heart, my body, my bed.

  Finally, we break through the wall of people and jump into the Lyft waiting for us. Chloe gives the driver their address, and we speed away. I catch a glimpse of Alfie storming back into the bar, while Jessie continues screaming into the void. I don’t talk to Chloe the whole drive home. I’m too busy crying.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I hate how badly I want to text Alfie.

  I’m lying in bed, in that weird state of mind that means I’m too tired to stay awake but too awake to fall asleep. Chloe is fast asleep beside me, not wanting to leave me alone in my wasted, distraught state.

  I hate how much I miss having his arms around me. I hate that he’s not spooning me right now, that I’m not falling asleep to the sound of his breathing.

  Jessie texts me for the eleventh time in an hour. I don’t read it. If it’s anything like her previous messages, it’s an all-caps novel-length assault about how evil and trampy and disgusting I am. I block her number and hope that’s the last I ever hear from her for the rest of my life.

  The internet isn’t being much nicer, to be honest. I know, I know, the last thing I should be doing right now is scrolling through Twitter and Tumblr, but I can’t stop myself. Gossip blogs have already posted videos from multiple angles of our argument, along with pictures and transcripts. The top three worldwide trends on Twitter are “#EmmyLovesAlfie,” “Emmy is a whore,” and “Bar161.” Fans keep tagging me and Alfie in their tweets and posts, congratulating us on getting together. That’s awkward.

  Others are sending me death threats, telling me that if I break his heart they’ll hunt me down. I want to send them gifs of me rolling my eyes and tell them there’s no chance of me breaking Alfie’s heart. But I can’t say anything. I can’t explain, can’t defend myself. Anything I say will just make things worse. All I can do is lurk online, and shift between laughing and crying and laughing again at some of the ridiculous things people are saying.

  Trolls are on high alert. In the last five minutes, I’ve been called a homewrecker, a greedy bitch, a cheating whore, and so much worse. Men in my replies offer me their penises while calling me a slut.

  What really hurts, though, are the comments about my sexuality. People are saying I only said I was bi so I could sleep around. More say I’m adding fuel to the garbage fire of stereotypes that bisexuals are burned with every day. Straight and gay people alike are using me as an example of why they would “never date a bisexual.” I’ve been branded a bad bisexual. Everything I was afraid of is coming true.

  And the headlines. So many headlines.

  JESSIE LOVES EMMY LOVES ALFIE!

  CHEATING SCANDAL! YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHICH BRIGHTSIDER IS A HOMEWRECKER!

  EMMY KING “BAD FOR THE WORLD”! STAR’S EX TELLS ALL!

  IS JESSIE TELLING THE TRUTH, OR IS SHE A CRAZY EX-GIRLFRIEND?

  LESBIAN DRAMA! CLICK TO SEE THE LATEST EMMY KING LOVE TRIANGLE!

  But it’s not even true. I didn’t cheat on anyone. I’m not what they say I am. They see pictures and headlines and videos and assume they know the whole story, when those are only a few pieces of the thousand-piece puzzle that is my life.

  * * *

  I don’t get a wink of sleep. By the time Chloe wakes up, I have a splitting headache, a heaving stomach, and a heart that hurts more than both of them combined. People keep calling, texting, and emailing me, but I ignore every ping of my phone, instead replaying last night’s mistakes in my mind over and over again.

  Regrets. Too many regrets for one night. I broke all my rules, my sobriety streak went from six and a half weeks back to zero, and I can’t even begin to think about the damage I caused the Brightsiders. I crawl into the bathroom and throw up for the sixth time … only now I don’t know if it’s from alcohol poisoning or pure anxiety.

  “Damn, Emmy,” Chloe says as they rub my back. “You must’ve downed all the tequila in the bar last night.”

  My groans echo off the toilet bowl. “Feels like it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” they say, “about everything that went down with Alfie.”

  Ryan walks in with an ice pack, and I sit against the tiled wall and hold it over my eyes. I don’t exactly remember when he arrived thi
s morning—somewhere between the third and fourth time I stuck my head in the toilet—but I’m glad he’s here.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he says. “If I had known how you feel about Alfie, I would never have made you promise to stop being with him.”

  “No,” I mumble. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I lied, and I’m sorry I’m always getting myself into trouble. I’m the one who threw the match into the dumpster, and now I have to burn in it.”

  “It’s not that bad, honey,” Chloe says. “You can handle it.”

  I frown. “But I fucked up huge this time. And I don’t know how to unfuck it. I feel like I’m never going to be enough.”

  Chlo claps their hands loudly, and I jump. “We made a promise that we’d stop trying to please everyone. So no, you’re never going to be enough for some people. None of us will be.”

  “Pfft,” Ry says. “Fuck those people.”

  “Exactly,” Chloe adds.

  They’re right. People are always going to have an opinion about everything—from my queerness to my hair color. And for some, it will never be enough. I need to figure out what’s enough for me.

  “I know what I need to do,” I say. “But first I will require a lot of ice cream.”

  Chloe laughs. “Maybe wait until you stop puking first. Then we can spend tonight eating Ben and Jerry’s and watching cheesy rom-coms about people who soothe their heartache by eating Ben and Jerry’s.”

  That makes me laugh. I suck in a slow, deep breath. “Thanks for being here, my loves.” I rest my head on Ryan’s shoulder. Knowing I have my friends to support me makes me feel like I can actually get through this. This is what true family feels like. They’re here with me, caring for me, loving me, laughing with me, at my worst. They are my ride-or-dies.

  Chloe’s phone buzzes, and I hear them gasp.

  “What?” I say, peeking out at them from under the ice pack.

  “Um,” they say, reading something on their phone. “Jessie got arrested this morning.”

  Ryan and I gasp. “WHAT?”