Instead, I’m fucking falling apart.
I’m fully aware of the fact that I’m behaving like a spoiled brat or a complete bitch, but inside, I feel like I’m rotting. I’m not used to all this attention and being in the spotlight all the time.
And that fucking comment. That fucking photographer shoving his fucking camera to my face and calling me fat.
That took the cake—which, incidentally, is exactly what I want right now.
As much fucking cake as this body can hold. Death by red velvet. That’s what one shitty comment has reduced me to now.
I want to quit the pageant. In fact, I’m dead set on it. I feel like my mind is already made up and nothing the guys can tell me is going to sway me or steer my mental direction.
I fold my arms stubbornly across my chest. Chase has just returned from talking to the police and giving them a statement.
“What did they say?” I ask as he walks up to me and plants a tender kiss on my forehead in greeting.
“The photographer won’t be filing any charges,” he says assertively. “But he’ll be needing some extensive dental work.”
I blow out a relieved puff of air. “Thank God,” I mumble under my breath. “Thank you for protecting me.” I glance up at him with pitiful, tear-filled eyes.
“Hey…” he whispers softly. “Don’t worry about any of this. None of it’s your fuckin’ fault. If you’re blaming yourself, stop.”
I scoff and shake my head as the tears roll down my cheeks, salty and bitter. Chase leans in to brush them off, wiping them away with one gentle stroke of his thumb against my skin.
When his hand is close to my face, it doesn’t take me long to realize that his knuckles are swollen and black, an indication of bruising. The flesh of one knuckle is even bloody and torn where he caught one of the bastard’s gnarly front teeth in it.
He might be trying to reassure me that I’m not to blame for this little fiasco, but inside, my head is screaming.
Of course I feel fucking guilty. The guys are always stepping in front of me, defiantly protecting me no matter the costs or the repercussions that will unfold…but we’ll all suffer for those consequences one way or another.
We only just got here, and I’m ready to go home.
I’m exhausted. I’m a wreck. This isn’t who I am, and I’m done pretending that it is.
I’m not a model anymore. I’m not a celebrity. And I’m not Miss Sexy Anything—let alone Miss Sexy USA or Miss Sexy Universe.
It was nice, and I reveled in it at first, but now it’s consuming me with fatigue—and honestly, I just don’t want to deal with it anymore.
“I feel like shit.” I heave a dramatic sigh, but it still does nothing to relieve the heavy weight of the world that’s sitting on top of my shoulders.
“Talk to me, Kara. Tell me what’s wrong.” Chase’s eyebrows furrow with concern.
He and Eric lean on the edge of the bed, sitting next to me. Their expressions are so genuine with worry that it pushes me into a fresh batch of tears.
I choke them back and glance up at the ceiling. “I just can’t help but think that none of this would have happened if it weren’t for me.”
“Not fucking true.” Eric strokes my arm.
“It is, though. I’m the one who went flaunting our relationship around on national television like that…” I trail off in a shaky voice, then add the real kicker. “I’m the one who let herself get so fucking fat.”
“You’re not fat, Kara. And even if you were—who the fuck cares?” Eric says soothingly as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’re so much more than your appearance, babe. Your hot little body might have gotten you into the pageant, but it’s your fucking heart that the world fell in love with.”
Even though I’m wallowing in these destructive emotions, wading through darkness, their tender touch still sends sensual surges of pleasure up my spine.
“You guys are just sprouting off what you think I want to hear.” I remain unconvinced even though they appear sincere and I have no reason to doubt them…ever.
Even as much as I care about them, I’m just not in the mood to listen to their little rant about how I should fuck the press and do what I love.
I feel terrible for the way they’re caught in the middle of this whirlwind of media bullshit when the root of the problem is my fat ass.