THE VERSION OF Megan Prince on my TV screen is somewhere between the filtered version I saw on TikTok and the real-life version I confronted on her front lawn. She’s clearly had her hair and makeup professionally done and she looks pretty and polished in a sunny yellow dress. Despite being on national TV, Megan seems composed and comfortable. She looks honest and trustworthy.
The segment opened with “the viral video that shook the book world.” And now it’s time for Megan’s interview.
“Tell us how this happened,” one of the show’s hosts asks. I can’t remember her name, but she’s a stunningly beautiful former attorney who now writes children’s books.
“First of all,” Megan begins, “I had never even heard of Burnt Orchid before that day.”
“That makes two of us,” another host quips. She’s the former comedian, an older woman with a bombastic manner.
Megan chuckles and then continues. “Someone using my image and a fake name set up accounts to troll Camryn Lane’s book with bad reviews. A lot of people were upset because Camryn is a high school counselor, and her book is about troubled teens.”
“That’s not appropriate,” the gorgeous lawyer says.
“That’s reductive,” I mumble into the silence.
Megan continues. “Camryn Lane was so upset, she decided to find out who was behind the criticism. Through my photos, she managed to find out where I work, and she showed up there.”
“So she stalked you?” another host asks.
“It was terrifying,” Megan says, her voice wobbling for effect.
“Wait a second,” the comedian interjects. “Aren’t bad reviews part of the deal when you publish a book? I mean, when I was doing stand-up, I expected hecklers. It was the cost of doing business.”
“Another snowflake,” a coiffed blond host says. I think she’s new, but I can tell by her style that she offers the conservative viewpoint.
Megan continues, explaining how she drove home after a long day of work, excited to see her cat, Gervais, to put her feet up and have a glass of wine, when a screaming, spitting lunatic accosted her on the front lawn. Luckily, her nephew was visiting and captured the verbal assault on video.
I should turn this off. It’s overly dramatic and inaccurate. But though I feel feverish and queasy, I’m transfixed.
The youngest host, a dancer I think, asks, “Do you have any idea who used your photos to attack Burnt Orchid?”
“No idea,” Megan says, wide-eyed and innocent. She doesn’t mention that it has to be one of the 207 people she has allowed to follow her private account. That she could find out who’s been attacking me if she wanted to. But she doesn’t care. She’s too busy enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame.
The lawyer speaks next. “Have you taken any legal action against Camryn Lane?”
“No.” Megan’s features contort with pity. “I just want her to get the help she needs.”
“She needs a rubber room,” the unfunny comedian says, and I remember why I don’t watch this show.
“We’re so sorry for all you’ve been through,” the young dancer says before turning to face the camera. “We invited Camryn Lane to share her side of the story via video link, but she declined our offer.”
I turn the TV off.
In a cap and sunglasses, I walk up a side street to meet Theo. We’ve chosen a shitty chain coffee shop about half a mile from the apartment. I’m unlikely to run into any of my caffeine connoisseur acquaintances there. Now that I’ve made my daytime TV debut, I’m officially a pariah. The doxing made me fear for my personal safety. Now I also fear the disapproval and disdain of my community.
But I couldn’t invite Theo over to my place. After all that went down between us, it doesn’t feel right. I need to set boundaries and protect my personal space. And while I miss him, I can’t forget how angry he was. Or how he played the victim, twisting situations until they were all about him. Once I know for sure that he is not my harasser, can I forgive his self-centeredness? Can I tolerate his immaturity?
I’m so lost in thought that I almost don’t notice the car trailing behind me. It’s an electric vehicle, nearly silent, still several feet away. But it’s inching along, clearly following me. When I turn to look, it speeds up, racing forward. The passenger window is open, and as the vehicle moves past, something flies at me. I turn away, duck, and the object whizzes by me, but the accusation hits its target.
“Fucking pedo!”
I’m frozen for a moment, watching the car move away from me, blood rushing through my ears. And then I start to run. I want to go home but I’m too far away. The coffee shop is just around the corner, and I sprint toward it. I want to be inside, safe, in Theo’s arms. Traffic is sparse so I fly across the street, too shaken to wait for the light. Panting, I burst into the chain restaurant.
There are a number of customers, mostly men in workwear, sipping coffees and snacking on donuts. Theo is at an unwiped table with two cups of coffee on it. He looks up when he hears me enter, and his face pales at the sight of me. It’s only then that I realize my face is wet with tears, that I’m quivering like a Chihuahua.
Theo jumps up, hurries to me. “What happened?”
“A car followed me from my apartment,” I mumble through terrified sobs. “They threw something at me.”
“Jesus, Cam.” He wraps his arms around me, and I sink into him. “What did they throw?”
“I don’t know,” I cry into his neck. “I think it was a burger or something. They missed.”
“Take a deep breath,” he says, holding me at arm’s length. “Let’s sit down.”
“Can you please take me home?” I sniffle.
“Of course. My car’s in the back lot.”
Thank God he didn’t ride his bike for once.
Theo’s arm around my waist is both comfortable and comforting as we approach my building. He scans the area like a bodyguard, and I feel small, helpless, but protected as we slip into the lobby. In the elevator, he holds me to him and strokes my hair. It would be so easy to slip back into this relationship. To forget all his anger and selfishness. And maybe I will. Because I know, in my heart, that Theo is not my tormentor, and soon the hacker will confirm it. Then maybe I’ll suggest couples therapy. Our issues are nothing insurmountable.
When we’re inside, I go to the bathroom to wash my face while Theo makes tea. I’d put on some makeup to look pretty for my ex, and now it runs in streaks down my pale cheeks. Wiping away the remnants, I return to the sofa, where Theo joins me moments later with two mugs of chamomile.
“I looked for your keys,” I say, bringing the steaming cup to my lips. “I couldn’t find them.”
“It’s fine.” He smiles. “It was an excuse to see you.”
I smile back, grateful he admitted it, grateful we’re not playing games. “I wanted to see you, too. I’m sorry about the last time you were here. That was ugly.”
“I’m sorry, too. I lost my temper.”
“I should never have accused you, though. It was a horrible thing to do.”
“You’re under a lot of stress. Everyone’s worried about you.”
I cock my head. “Everyone?”
“Your friends,” he says, without meeting my eye. “Martha and Jody.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“Martha called me. She and Jody connected. They’re worried this is all too much for you. They think maybe you should get away for a while.”
“Get away where?”
“They’re looking into some options.”
“Narrow it down for me,” I snap, because suddenly, I feel like Frances Farmer, about to be committed and lobotomized against my will.
“Calm down,” Theo says. “They meant like a yoga retreat. Some sort of healing center where you can get away from social media and all the craziness.”
That’s got Jody’s name written all over it.
“Somewhere with healthy food and no alcohol.” He softens his delivery. “You’ve been drinking a lot lately.”
My jaw clenches, but my response is measured. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “I’m not going to be sent away. My daughter is here. She’s about to graduate.”
“But she doesn’t want you there,” he says gently.
I’ve told no one that. It’s too painful to articulate. But somehow, Theo knows. “Have you been talking to Adrian?”
“Tori called,” he says, and he sees me recoil. “We all care about you. We all want you to get through this. And get back to being your old self.”
The realization lands like a piano on a cartoon cat. Theo didn’t want to see me today because he loves me. He’s been sent on a mission by my so-called friends. I’ve become a project. They’re worried about me. They probably have a group chat called Camryn Is Losing Her Mind.
“Who else is on this? Navid? Rhea McMillan?”
“No…” But I can’t tell if he’s lying or not.
“I need you to leave, Theo.”
“I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Throw myself off the balcony? Drink a bottle of bleach?”
“Jesus, Cam.” He’s annoyed by my histrionics. “If someone really threw something at you, they might still be out there.”
“‘If’?”
He blanches, caught out. Theo doesn’t believe me. He thinks I made up the drive-by assault. Jody must have told him about the online speculation that I’ve orchestrated the attacks myself, for publicity, attention, and sympathy. I can almost hear my friends’ gleeful gossip. The poor thing couldn’t handle the pressure of her book not selling. She thought turning herself into a victim would help.
“Go.” It comes out a rasp, but Theo hears the steel in my words.
“Fine,” he says as he stands up. “Stay inside, Cam. Eat something.” At the door, he pauses. “I’ll call you later. Please answer.”
But I won’t. And he knows that.
Because I can’t trust Theo or anyone close to me.