C⃣h⃣a⃣p⃣t⃣e⃣r⃣ T⃣h⃣i⃣r⃣t⃣y⃣

It felt like things couldn't possibly get worse. All my friends weren't talking to me. And things with Harrison went to shit. I was all alone. Literally and figuratively.

The only person, that I could think of, that would always be by my side was Dad. Honestly, if there was more of a time to need to be with him than now, I didn't know it.

I began packing my bags. My tears were dry. I was done feeling sad. I could mope around when I got home but for right now I needed to get out of here.

My phone beeps, but I didn't check it. I didn't really want to talk to anyone right now. But then a bunch of beeps went off. A ton of notifications.

Which was odd. For me at least.

I check my phone to see they're all from Instagram. I was tagged in a post. I opened the app. It was a video of Harrison and I in the hot tub.

My eyes widen.

It had been a fan page who posted it. Captioning it: "Harrison has a girlfriend?!?"

That would've been fine (well not fine but better than this) but someone I went to school with commented:

It's always the ones you least expect. I didn't know Y/N was such a little slut

Comments upon comments rolled in calling me terrible names and making up nasty rumors. I got more hate in three minutes than I had my entire life.

It only got worse when I got tagged in a photo. It was of Harrison and I on my bed in my hotel room. You couldn't see much but it was clear what was going on.

Was there people spying on us?

I was horrified. I never had to deal with a situation like this before. I knew I had to get help. So I went to the first person I could think of.

I pound on the door.

"B/F open up!" I say, panicky. I pound a couple more times. "Open up!"

The door swings open. "What?" She asks, upset. She notices my distressed state.

"I need your help."

She lets me in and I show her the posts. With my phone in hand she tries to come up with a conclusion.

"Well, you're covered in the video and you can only see your back. So if you weren't tagged you wouldn't be able to tell it was you. Same goes for the photo. The limited lighting was more on Harrison than you. So, in a way this looks much worse for Harrison than for you," B/F says her diagnosis.

"It's never worse for the guys," I point out, "how could I let this happen?"

"Hey what you did was perfectly fine. You're both adults. You don't deserve this shit," she stands up and begins to pace, "we just need to get rid of these posts."

"But how?" I ask her. B/F looks around, thinking.

"I don't know, but I might know someone who can help." My eyes narrow at hers.