17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

911

I wake up with a start, the sunlight streaming through the window, casting a harsh glare on the reality that comes crashing down on me. My heart pounds in my chest, my breath coming in short gasps as the realization hits me like a freight train.

The thoughts race through my mind, a whirlwind of emotions and implications that leave me reeling. How did I not see it before? The pieces fit together so perfectly, the subtle hints, the insider knowledge, the way the posts seemed to echo the sentiments of someone I knew.

Carlisle.

The name echoes in my mind, a bitter taste on my tongue.

Holy shit.

Betrayal stings, a sharp pain that reaches deep inside.

I thought she was my friend. How could she have done this?

No, I have to be wrong.

Except…I think I’m not.

I trusted her, shared my secrets, my fears, my dreams. And all this time, she was hiding behind a screen, using my life, our lives, as fodder for her gossip account.

The anger surges within me, a hot, fierce emotion that threatens to consume me. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil within. I want to scream, to shout, to demand answers, to make her see the pain she’s caused.

But beneath the anger, there’s a sense of hurt, of loss. The realization that our friendship was built on lies, that the trust I placed in her was misguided. The memories of our shared laughter, our late-night talks, our plans for the future—they all seem tainted now, marred by the knowledge of her deception.

I take a deep breath, the air shuddering in my lungs as I try to calm the storm within me. I need to think, to plan, to decide what to do with this knowledge. The implications are vast, the potential for destruction immense. Tanglewood Tea has the power to make or break reputations, to expose secrets, to shatter lives.

I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling as I type out a single message.

I know what you did.

The words stare back at me, stark and accusatory, a declaration of war. I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over the send button, the weight of the action pressing down on me. But then I think of the pain, the betrayal, the lies.

I delete them and type again. Call me. 911.

And press send.

I wait, my heart pounding, my breath coming in short gasps, for the explosion that is sure to follow. The silence is deafening, the wait agonizing, as I stare at the screen, willing a response to appear.

I’m not sure what I expect, what I want, what I need. An explanation? An apology? A denial? A confession? The possibilities swirl in my mind, leaving me dizzy and disoriented.

My phone buzzes almost instantly, Carlisle’s name flashing across the screen. I pick up, my heart pounding in my chest, the anger and hurt bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Anne,” Carlisle says, her voice breathless, urgent.

“I know you’re Tanglewood Tea,” I say, my voice steady, firm, despite the turmoil within me. “I know you’ve been using me, using us, for your gossip column. I know that you’re the reason why William Stratford almost died.”

There’s a pause, a moment of silence that stretches out between us, heavy with the weight of the accusation. Then, finally, she speaks, her voice soft, resigned.

“I’m not going to deny it,” she says.

Tears of frustration and hurt spring to my eyes. I didn’t want it to be true. I wait, the anger simmering, the hurt burning, for her to explain, to justify, to make me understand.

“But I never wanted to hurt anyone. It started off as a joke.”

“My life is a joke to you?”

“It was a joke about me . God, the way people followed me, taking photos, not even having the decency to pretend to be doing a selfie or reading on their phones, just holding it up, snap-snap-snapping, trying to get the best shot so they could post it.”

“I was there for some of it,” I say, having seen it on the campus tour.

“I know. That’s why I—” A small, halted sound. A sob?

My heart clenches. “Carlisle—”

“No, I need to explain. You deserve that much.”

“Yes. I do.”

“I wrote a post about me, how vapid I am, how vain. How much of a joke it was for me to be at Tanglewood University, a real place of academia, when I was just a pop singer who relies on glitter and Auto-Tune to be popular.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, more resigned than protective. Her voice is like an angel. Even pissed at her, I can admit that.

“I couldn’t even know if that’s how I got admitted, because of my actual talent or because of my fame. I wasn’t like you and Daisy, who are coming on full scholarships because you beat out thousands of people for those spots.”

My stomach clenches. The scholarship was a gift. It felt deserved…and also, not deserved. Because I shouldn’t get an education at the expense of someone else. The entire system is set up as some kind of dark academia Hunger Games.

“I took a photo of me at my worst, looking faux glamorous. And I wrote a post that was real but also fake. I published it under the most ridiculous name I could think of. Nothing happened for a week. I forgot about it. Then I guess someone found it. It got shared and shared and shared. I thought about taking it down.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because it was real, somehow.”

I shake my head, not quite understanding but also not refuting it. She’s never lived with my problems, but I’ve never lived with hers. “It sounds masochistic.”

A short, bubbly laugh from over the line, and it feels like we’re friends again.

Then the smile fades from my lips.

“Yes,” she says. “It probably was. I didn’t post that often at first, only when I wanted to make fun of myself. Then I saw this kid on the football team get away with roofie-ing some girl’s drink, and I posted about it. And it grew into something bigger than myself, something huge… Something I didn’t always control.”

I listen, the anger slowly ebbing, replaced by a sense of confusion, of uncertainty. I think of the posts, the stories, the secrets exposed. The pain, the humiliation, the destruction. But also, the honesty—the raw, unfiltered reality of our lives.

“Did you control it when you posted about me?” I ask, the hurt seeping through.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice heavy with regret. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for them to out your name, but I was worried about you. People started sending tips to the Tanglewood Tea account. I heard about a professor and a student—and I remembered what you said to me. I thought he was taking advantage of you, using you when you were desperate to stay at the school, when you had no choice but to do what he said.”

That’s why she was so sure that the account hadn’t used my name. She’d been the one to write the post. I take a deep breath, the emotions swirling, the pain and the anger and the confusion all mixing, all merging, all blending into one. “You may not have meant for my name to get doxed, but that’s what happened.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“Is that why you called your fancy PR person? Because of guilt?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice hollow. “Partly, but also because I care about you. I still care about you. I hope you can forgive me. Please.”

“I… I have to think about it.”

A pause. “Okay. That’s fair.”

The call ends, the silence echoing, the void stretching out before me. I sit there, the phone clutched in my hand, the reality of the conversation, of the confession, of the truth, all sinking in, all settling, all seeping into the very core of my being.

And as I sit there, the emotions swirling, the thoughts racing, the pain and the anger and the confusion all merging, all blending, all becoming one, I realize that the path forward is uncertain, the future unclear, the decisions yet to be made.

I sit on the edge of my bed, the mattress sagging beneath me, the silence of the dorm room pressing in on all sides. The posters on the walls, the books on the shelves, the clothes strewn across the floor, all of it so familiar, so normal, so mundane. But it all feels different now, tainted, a facade of happiness and security that’s been stripped away, revealing the ugly truth beneath.

The truth is that I never belonged here.

I thought Tanglewood University was my salvation, my escape from the hell of Port Lavaca, from the abuse and the lies. From the pain. I thought the campus was the promise of a brighter future. Now it seems like a cruel joke.

And then there’s Carlisle, my friend, my confidante. My betrayer.

A pang of loss settles in my chest, a hollow space where trust had been. I thought I had found a friend, someone who accepted me, who cared about me. Maybe she did care about me, as she says, but I’m too confused to understand it right now.

Especially coming on the heels of the news about the scholarship. It’s as if the entire university is expelling me, the way a body pushes a foreign body out.

I never really belonged here.

That’s why I have to leave.

I look down at my hands, at the fingers that touched Professor Stratford, that felt the heat of his skin, that gripped the sheets in ecstasy and in agony. I think about the choices I’ve made, the risks I’ve taken, the boundaries I’ve blurred from the very first night at the Pinnacle. It was all so I could stay.

This dorm room was once my home.

Now it’s a relic of a past life.

I reach for my suitcase, tucked away under my bed, and haul it out. The zipper protests as I yank it open, the sound echoing in the quiet room. I begin to pack, my movements mechanical, detached, like I’m an automaton that Daisy built. Clothes, books, toiletries—each item a piece of the life I’m leaving behind.

As I pack, I search for the emotions inside me.

Anger. Sadness. They should be there.

Instead, I feel empty.

I can’t stay here, not anymore. Not after everything I’ve lost.

Tanglewood is no longer a sanctuary.

I need to leave.

Not only the school, the city.

I’m leaving Stratford, along with the love, the passion, the heartache he represents. I’m leaving it all behind, stepping into the unknown, embracing the future, whatever it may hold. Maybe I can join Daisy’s cult. Hello, God. It’s me, the college dropout.