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TWENTY-FIVE

DANNI

After Rose and I break up, life goes on as normal without me. Eventually, I join it.

The first week or so I totally withdraw, even from Molly. It’s too hard for me to pretend to smile, and it feels like if I try, I might cry instead, and I can’t think of anything more humiliating than bursting into tears in the middle of math.

So, instead, I become really, really busy. At least, that’s what I tell Molly. As far as she knows, I have an urgent deadline for every single class she doesn’t share with me. We go to class together, we barely talk, I do my best not to look at Rose—because that feels dangerous, too—and then I rush to the ballroom to get on with piano practice. Then, once I’ve played for so long my fingertips are aching and my mind is sufficiently numbed into sludge, I sneak back to my room to lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Or browse stupid videos online. Or, if I’m feeling especially masochistic, search the internet for any references to me and Rose being in a relationship.

The only ones I find are the ones William sent through to Rose, but I read them over and over again. It’s weirdly comforting, to think someone else out there believes Rose and I had something special. Because now, it feels like it never happened at all. Something something if a tree falls alone in the woods.

Weirdly, even though there’s not a whole lot of stuff on me and Rose in particular, every day it seems like there are more mentions of me. I guess because Molly’s posted about me a few times now, or because royal-focused media outlets have noticed I exist, but it’s getting clear I’m not exactly anonymous anymore. Not famous enough for people to hate—yet—but my name’s getting brought up alongside Eleanor and Molly in magazine articles about Rose, and some of Molly’s fans have started dropping my name in forums like they know me personally. Like, Did you see the latest video Molly filmed in Danni’s bedroom? What would you call Danni’s haircut, I want to describe it to my stylist? Danni said something about Zach Knight in Molly’s story today, do you think they have tickets to next month’s concert?

It’s all friendly stuff, but the whole parasocial aspect of it is pretty weird.

The second week, things get a little better and a little worse. Better in that I’m confident in my ability to fake being happy, so I start actually interacting with Molly again—in class, anyway. Worse, in that when I lock myself alone in my room and start googling Rose, a bunch of articles about her and Alfie start popping up. Apparently over the weekend the two of them went on a coffee date, and held hands across the table while they talked.

Personally, I think it’s pretty screwed up of Rose to lead him on like that, but I guess it’s none of my business anymore. Whatever. As long as they’re both happy. And according to the articles, they’re very, very happy. Look at them, being happy over their coffees, and happy walking side by side out of the café, and happy happy happy as they stop under a leafless tree to whisper to each other on a street corner.

It doesn’t help that Rose has pretty much shut me out. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. If we cross paths, her eyes pass over me like I don’t even exist, and she never seems to be anywhere near me while we wait outside the classroom to go inside. It’s like she never met me. A couple of times, I catch myself wondering if I imagined the whole thing.

And the worst part is, I deserve every single stab. I know I do, because I asked for this. I demanded it, even. So, what right do I have to expect Rose to stay friends with me? None at all.

But damn, I wish knowing that made it magically sting less.

In week three, I dip again. Monday and Tuesday, I think I’m feeling better. Good, even. But just when I think I’ve moved on, the person who wrote the mini-essay insisting Rose and I were a thing updates their post to say they stand corrected, and Rose is obviously in a relationship with Alfie, and I break. So, I do the only thing I can do. I call Rachel in tears.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asks, and her voice is so comforting it makes me cry even harder.

“I can’t tell you everything,” I say, climbing under the covers of my bed fully clothed. “But I can’t just sit on it anymore. I was dating someone, and I had to keep it secret because she’s closeted. But we broke up, and now I can’t talk about it with anyone, because no one knows it happened.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

I choke. “No. It won’t stop hurting. I thought it would’ve stopped hurting by now.”

“You really liked her, huh?”

I nod, like Rachel can hear me, and then let out a sob.

“Breakups are the worst . They’re horrible. I get it.”

“But we weren’t even together that long,” I say, pulling the blanket over my head.

“Sweetie, it doesn’t matter. I’ve had my heart broken by guys who never liked me back at all. The only thing that matters is how much you liked them, and that can grow fast.”

Oh, god. I screwed up, didn’t I? I thought if I ended things with Rose early enough, this wouldn’t happen. I thought I was saving us both a bucket of hurt. And now look.

“Tell me it’s gonna stop hurting soon,” I beg.

“I can’t. The timeline’s different for everyone. But it’ll stop eventually. One day, you’ll look back on this and wonder what you ever saw in her in the first place.”

I latch on to her words for reassurance. But, at the same time, I doubt them. Because I can’t imagine ever wondering that about Rose.

The answer’s too obvious.