Chapter 11: Penance

Eric tore his eyes away from the message thread and looked out the limo window at the darkened landscape, but his mind remained fixed on the conversation he'd just been re-reading. Why had he been so set on going after that girl? He couldn't even remember. The ugliness of his messages made him shudder now, just thinking about them. "He would flick you off with the back of his fingernail. . . ."

It obviously wasn't true - at least not the part that came after that. "Then he'd forget you ever existed and go about his day." What a joke. After he'd closed the Twitter app this morning, he'd made it a point not to look at his phone again all day, but bits and pieces of their conversation kept springing to his mind. He couldn't shake the memory, or the ever-deepening sense of self-disgust he felt as a result.

What had he been thinking? He remembered the anger driving him at the time. He'd texted her like a man possessed, tapping out new messages as swiftly as he could move his finger - not even thinking about the words. Just DM after DM, each one more hateful than the last. It had gone on like that until that one thing she said: "So according to you, Eric sucks. And I suck. And basically everyone sucks except for you. Do I have that right?"

He'd sat there trying to formulate another scathing retort, but something about her words had taken the bluster out of him. He could only watch as she added on a flurry of rapid-fire messages afterward.

You know there's a word for that. . . .

It's called projection. . . .

I bet you have no idea what that even is. . . .

You should look it up sometime. . . .

You know, when you're not "super busy" attacking random strangers.

It had hit him like a bucket of ice water over the head when she said that last one. Attacking random strangers.  He couldn't deny the charge.  Here he was, consumed with fear that some random stranger might come out of the woodwork and attack him - and he'd turned around and done the exact same thing.

He hadn't even realized what he'd done until she said it. He'd slipped into attack mode so easily. It was just twitter after all. Just words. Not real.

But that was a real person on the other end, wasn't it? A real person who obviously wasn't as mindless as he'd painted her to be. She seemed like she might have half a brain, actually. "Projection," she'd said. "You should look it up sometime."

Maybe he should, he thought. Maybe that was his penance. Go look up "Projection" like she said, and maybe then he'd feel less horrible about himself.

He tapped the word into his phone now and pulled up a Wikipedia page.

Projection

A psychological phenomenon first described by Sigmund Freud, in which the individual denies his/her own negative qualities while ascribing them to others.

Eric could feel his eyes glazing over already after the first sentence. He'd never had much patience for homework. He hadn't even bothered finishing high school. Once he had his record deal, there hadn't seemed like much point. Had he completely lost the ability to comprehend an English sentence?

He ran his eyes down the page, searching for something that sounded less academic.

OK. Practical examples. That's more like it.  He clicked open the section and started to skim.

Blaming the victim . . . .  

Justifying infidelity . . . .

Bullying . . . .  

Eric felt something catch in his chest when his eyes fell on that last word. Bullying. This wasn't going to make him feel better about himself, was it? With a wince, he forced his eyes to focus on the detailed explanation.

Bullying: The classic bully engages in activities that target the weakness of others as a projection of his/her own sense of personal insecurity or vulnerability.

That sentence he understood just fine. There it was on Wikipedia - exactly what he'd done. He'd been feeling vulnerable for weeks now, since the details started to emerge from the Cromwell case. And the label's reaction, or lack thereof, had only served to add to his sense of powerlessness. He had absolutely no control over his life. That's what had made him so angry this morning. And he'd turned it around and taken it out on this girl. "The classic bully," Wikipedia had just called him. He couldn't deny how well the label fit. Apparently, he was a textbook case.

This wasn't his penance, was it? Reading some Wikipedia page. No, he realized with a sigh. Nothing quite as complicated as that. He owed Tessa an apology. Plain and simple.

And then he needed to close down this fake account and find a healthier way of dealing with his demons. Like maybe talking to someone.  Someone who would actually listen and try to understand. Not Maury. Not his parents. Not his personal trainer or his hairdresser or his limo driver, who were all on the record-label payroll. Not his old friends from back home either, whose interactions with him now were always tinged with an undertone of jealousy. But there had to be someone. Right? There had to be someone, somewhere on this planet without an axe to grind. Someone who would listen.

He toggled back over to Twitter and scrolled to the end of the thread. He saw now that he hadn't seen her last message. She'd sent it about ten minutes later, after he'd already shut down and put his phone away. It was one of those tidbits of holier-than-thou Tumblr wisdom that teenaged girls loved to pass around.

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

Be kind. Always.

He groaned as he read it. Not because it was preachy - although it was. Preachy as hell. But because he couldn't imagine any words that could possibly make him hate himself more than he already did right now.

"Everyone you meet is fighting a battle. . . . " This girl clearly had some battle of her own going on - some condition she'd mentioned. She hadn't spelled it out. It could be anything, really. She could have terminal cancer for all he knew.

He needed to go back and try to make it right with her. He didn't know if she'd ever even see his apology, but at least he needed to try. He'd just begun to tap a new DM into the message bar, when something else flashed onto his screen. A new message had just been added at the end of the thread.

He crinkled his forehead in confusion. Had he hit Send by accident?

No, it wasn't from him.

She'd just DM'ed him something else, just now. He ran his eyes across the words:

Tessa: I don't know what kind of battle you're dealing with, but if you ever want to talk for real, just let me know.

Eric felt a fresh wave of shame buffet against him. She wasn't what he had expected, was she? To reach out like that after the way he'd attacked her? To a total stranger on Twitter?

He finished the message he had started and hit Send.

Taylor: I'm sorry for what I said. I've been having a rough time and I took it out on you. I feel horrible. You didn't deserve it. I'm so sorry.

Her reply popped back a moment later.

Tessa: It's OK. I get it.

Tessa: Do you want to talk about it?

Eric closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd made his apology. Now he should end the conversation. Deactivate the account. Destroy the evidence. The consequences could be devastating if the wrong person ever found out he'd even created it.

But it was just so tempting. . . .

It was perfect, really - an answer to a prayer he didn't even know he'd made. Someone to talk to who didn't know him. Didn't want to sleep with him. Didn't want his money or his fame. Didn't want a follow from a big account to brag about to her friends.

She didn't know anything about him. An egg - that's all he was to her. And she was offering to talk, one human being to another, with no hidden agenda but pure kindness. 

Just one little conversation, he thought. One innocent little heart-to-heart. He could deactivate in the morning.

Tessa: Are you there?

"What harm could it do?" he whispered to himself, as he tapped out his reply.

Taylor: Yeah I'm here. Let's talk.

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{Banner Image thanks to erynhowell}