I know Amy will be in lectures for most of the day, so I have to risk an evening visit. Amy is pretty excited about this. I might have been, too, if I weren’t planning to trash what she thinks is the love of her life.
I gather up all my evidence. I’ve got my phone, and I pack my laptop, which has a folder on it with everything I can find. It’s dark when I get the bus; I hug my bag close to me, as if it’s some kind of shield.
Amy’s stop is next. I wonder if the driver would let me off early so I can throw up in the bushes?
From the bus stop, it’s only a short walk to Amy’s halls. I set off way too fast, and before I know it, I’m a panting, sweating mess. Although that might be the anxiety attack that’s threatening to take over me. I take in a huge breath, but rather than ease the tightness in my chest, it makes it worse.
Now at the communal door to her halls. The button is just there. Come on, Beth. You’ve got loads of evidence that “Anthony” isn’t who he says he is—you don’t even have to mention your suspicions about Tori. You’re just looking out for a friend. You care about her and don’t want her to get hurt. For once in your miserable life, you’re doing the right thing. Okay, so it’s making you feel like you’ve been shot in the stomach, but sometimes the right thing isn’t the easy thing. Etc. etc. etc., yadda yadda yadda.
I press the bell. For a moment, I kind of hope no one answers. But before I can kid myself that I’ve waited for a socially acceptable amount of time and leave, the intercom crackles.
“Yep?”
It’s Patrick. Oh joy.
“Hi Patrick, it’s Beth—”
“Big Bird! Wow, it’s been ages since you’ve been here. Hang on, buzzing you up . . .”
The door indeed buzzes and unclicks.
No excuses now.
In the lift, I’m not sure my legs can actually hold me up. How come doing something right feels so fucking wrong? I don’t think life will ever make sense to me.
Amy’s floor. The door’s already open.
“H-hello?” I call out.
A head pokes out from around the corner of the communal kitchen area. “Hey BB! She’s in!”
I nod at Patrick as Amy’s bedroom door opens. She runs out, all smiles and glitter, and gives me a hug.
“Hey, hun!” She’s beaming. Oh, why does she have to be beaming? “Wanna drink?”
“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly.
“Voddie and Coke? I would offer something better, but someone”—she yells it out—“nicked all the tequila and margarita mix.”
Patrick’s head pokes back out. “Whoopsie!”
Amy pokes her tongue out at him, and he roars with laughter. “Anyway,” she says as she turns back to me, “I took your advice and keep it all in my room now. Means it’s room temperature, but at least I get to drink it.”
She wanders back into her room. I follow her, stiff and nervy. She gets two plastic tumblers out and pours generous measures. I down mine in one.
“Wow, you really needed that. You okay? You seem . . . weird.”
That’s an understatement.
I sit on her bed and pull my bag onto my lap. Now that I’m here, I have no idea how to start this, despite having gone over it about a million times in my head. Amy, you know that guy Anthony you told me about? Well, he isn’t who he says he is. I’m sorry, Amy, but Anthony isn’t real. Amy, hun, you won’t want to hear this, but you have to—
“Uh, I, uh, I have something to show you.” I pull out my laptop and turn it on. Oh, God, why did I turn it off? It’s going to take an age to reboot now, and Amy’s going to ask questions—
“What’s that? Why have you brought your laptop with you?” Bingo . . . “You could have used mine.” She gestures with one hand to her far more expensive model. “What’s going on?”
I tap in my password. Hurry up, come on come on come on . . .
“Beth, what is it?”
She sets her drink down and sits next to me. I can feel how tense she is. There’s a little crease between her eyes as she frowns. God, she’s adorable. Am I really going to do this to her?
Finally, my laptop springs to life. “What’s your Wi-Fi password?” I ask.
“Uh, hang on.” She gets back up and squints at a sticker stuck to her noticeboard. “47245KLF.”
I nod and finally bring up my Facebook. I also find the little folder I’ve stored all my evidence in, and start selecting images.
“What have you got there? Hey, that’s Anthony. Why have you saved his pictures?” There’s a hint of annoyance there now. Maybe I should start explaining.
“Because—he’s not Anthony,” I say. I bring up Raphael Martinez’s Instagram page. “He is.”
Amy grabs my laptop and starts clicking on pictures. The little crease between her eyes deepens. “What is this?”
“You’ve been catfished, Amy,” I say, as gently as I can. “I looked because it happened to me, and I don’t want you to go through the same thing—”
“Wait a minute! I told you about Anthony, and the first thing you do is go and authenticate him? Bloody hell, Beth!”
She’s angry, and she has every right to be. Now, if I can just get her to look at the other evidence, then she can turn that anger onto “Anthony.”
“I know, it’s shitty, and if he had been authentic I would never, ever have brought this to you, but he isn’t. Look. He’s using this guy’s image to lure you in. Didn’t it strike you as weird that his Facebook account is so new? And that he made it shortly after he met you on the horror site?”
“He was hacked! Like you! He had to make a new account!”
“I guessed he might tell you something like that, but Amy, this could be really bad. Really, really bad. You see, the dates—his name—I think it’s the same person who hacked my account—”
“Jesus Christ, now you just sound paranoid.”
And I do, I know I do. But I also know I’m right.
“I know how all this sounds, but please, listen to me. It all adds up. I met ‘Tori’ online. She pretended to like all the things I did, and I thought I loved her and that she loved me. She stole another woman’s identity to lure me in, and then burned everything I had to the ground. And now I think she’s trying to do the same thing to you.”
“And why the hell would she do that?” Amy drains her drink and slams the cup down so hard the plastic cracks. “I don’t see the connection.”
I take in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “I think she’s doing this to hurt me. She knows that by humiliating you, I’ll be upset—”
“Are you kidding me? You think this is about you? I meet a guy online, and all of a sudden, it’s about you?” Amy stands up slowly, her face hardening. “Fucking hell, Beth. I guessed the whole student thing might have been a cry for help. It upset me at first, but Christ, we’ve all been there, so I was willing to give you another chance. But this? This is sick!”
“But the photos—”
“All that proves is he nicked some good-looking guy’s photos. Doesn’t mean he isn’t real.”
“Amy, look at it! This is classic! Whoever this is, they’re playing us like fools. You have no idea how dangerous this person is, what they are capable of. It goes beyond just hacking your account and posting vile pictures. They will try to take control of every single aspect of your life, to break you down, to destroy you—”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Listen to yourself. No one gives enough of a fuck about anyone to do that—”
“Amy, stop being so naive all the time! I know what they’re capable of, because I used to do it myself!”
She’s now giving me a “cute bird is confused” look, with her head cocked to one side and a whole new frown in place. “Do what yourself?”
I close my eyes, because the time has come. I’d hoped to put it off as much as I could, but there was no way I was going to be able to keep this to myself forever. Wish me luck.
“I was a troll. That’s how I know this person. She said her name was Tori. I mean, I dunno if it’s a she, but let’s assume that for now. She complimented me a lot, and I fell for it. We used to go trolling together. We targeted the pretty girls—you know, the yoga-doing, vegan-eating skinny bitches who everyone adores. It was only when Dizzy hurt herself that I realized it was wrong, and I stopped . . .”
“Hold on, what does this have to do with Dizzy?”
Oh shit. Had kind of meant to hold that bit back.
“I—seeing what happened with Dizzy made me realize I had to stop, because I’d done that to other people and . . .”
The frown clears as the light dawns. “Oh my God. Did you troll Dizzy?” she whispers.
“I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen! It only started because she was so mean to you, so stuck up, and so I thought we might teach her a lesson—”
“Jesus Christ, Beth,” Amy whispers.
“I know, but then Tori took it to a whole other level, beyond anything I intended, and that’s what I’m trying to tell you. If this is the same person, they’ll prey on your weaknesses, and before you know it, it’s all gone to shit.” My throat closes over. I can’t say anything else.
Amy’s eyes are bright, both with anger and unshed tears. “So there’s us, thinking you were a real hero, helping us sort out Dizzy, when in fact—you were responsible for tormenting her in the first place?”
No point in making excuses now. All I can do is nod.
“Get the fuck out,” she whispers.
“Amy—”
“No! Get the fuck out of my room. You’re fucking toxic, Bethany. I’ve given you so many chances, and every single time, you let me down. Fuck you. I am done with you. So get out. Now!”
She’s yelling, and I’m cringing. I deserve this.
I grab my laptop and stumble to Amy’s door as she continues to shriek at me. In the corridor, Indigo, Richard, and Patrick are staring at me, eyes owl-wide.
“What’s going on?” Indigo asks.
I can’t answer her, but Amy can. From her room, she calls out: “Beth trolled Dizzy. She’s responsible for what happened. I can’t fucking believe it!”
Indigo’s eyes harden. Patrick and Richard look confused.
“You did what?” Indigo snarls.
“Beth, why?” Patrick asks, a little hoarsely. At least he used my real name this time.
“I can’t—”
“Fuck off,” Indigo says. “Fuck off, and don’t come back. You are not welcome here anymore.”
Judging by the way her hands are clenched into hard fists, I’m guessing she wants to hurt me. Behind me, Amy is sobbing. There’s nothing I can do but bolt out of the door.