Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
By the time the bell rings, my nerves are shot.
On Thursday, things escalate when I stop by the bodega on my way home to grab something for dinner and re-stock on a few items. As I’m leaving, a woman who I absolutely do not recognise approaches me just outside the building, calling me by name.
I freeze, clutching my bags tighter as my brows pull together. I’m sure I don’t know her, but I don’t want to be rude in case I’ve just forgotten her face.
“Yes?”
She practically beams, her accent thick as she speaks. “Olivia Bennett? You’re dating Santiago Ortiz, right?” she asks, her voice rising with excitement. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you! What’s he like? Is he as nice as he seems? How did you meet?!”
Her questions come rapid-fire, leaving me no time to respond. My heart pounds as I stammer out a polite excuse, apologising and mumbling to her about being in a rush before I dart out of the door and walk at lightning-speed back to my apartment building.
I slam the door shut behind me, and my chest tightens as I drop my bags to the floor. My breaths come shallow and fast, and I rest the back of my head against the door for a moment or two while I steady myself.
How did this become my life?!
By Friday, it’s undeniable.
I step outside to head to work - pointedly setting off twenty minutes earlier than usual in the hopes of not bumping into anyone on my way there - only to be stopped by an older man lingering near the front of my apartment block.
He’s holding a large, expensive-looking camera in his hands, its strap looped casually around his neck. His stance is relaxed, but his sharp eyes scan me like a hawk sizing up its prey.
“Olivia?” he calls out, his voice cutting through the quiet of the early morning. He steps forward, his tone suddenly more insistent. “Olivia Bennett! Can I have a moment of your time?”
I freeze mid-step, my stomach dropping like a stone.
He knows my name.
And he knows where I live.
“Olivia, I just need a quick comment about your relationship with Santiago Ortiz,” he presses, taking another step closer.
His camera dangles against his chest, and I can see the lens cap is already off, ready for action.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to say,” I reply, my voice tight as I force myself to keep walking.
He doesn’t take the hint.
“Oh, come on,” he says, his tone turning sharp. “Just one question. You’ve got to have something to say. How long have you and Santiago been seeing each other? Did you meet before he broke up with his last girlfriend, or did you lure him away?”
A wave of irritation rushes through me, and despite myself, I turn to look at him, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, unbothered. “That’s what people are saying. I thought you’d want to set the record straight.”
I shake my head, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I have nothing to say to you,” I repeat firmly, picking up my pace.
But he continues to follow, his footsteps quickening behind mine.
“Are you going to be moving in with him?” he presses, his voice rising. “People are eager to know what kind of woman Santiago Ortiz is dating. It’s got to be serious if he’s bringing you to matches.”
I clench my fists as I attempt to up my pace.
My whole body feels hot, like every inch of me is under scrutiny.
“Please leave me alone,” I say through gritted teeth, forcing myself not to look back at him.
But his persistence is relentless.
“Come on, Olivia,” he says, sounding more frustrated. “Just one comment, one photo. Help me out here!”
I turn sharply at the corner, and thankfully, the man doesn’t follow this time. His voice fades into the background, but the damage is already done.
My hands tremble as I clutch tightly to my work bag.
I glance around nervously as I walk, suddenly hyper-aware of every person on the street.
Are they looking at me? Do they know who I am?
Will someone else try to stop me?
Thankfully, I finally reach the school only a few minutes later, though my mind is racing as I step through the gates.
He knew where I lived.
He wasn’t asking questions out of curiosity, either. He was digging, looking for something - anything - so that he could twist my life into a story.
The whispers, the stares, the questions… it’s all too much.
Something has got to give.
∞∞∞
After a long day of trying to push my encounter with the pushy prick of a photographer out of my mind, I sit on my couch, my phone open and waiting.
I’ve been debating whether to call Santi for most of the day, unsure if I want to burden him with how overwhelmed I feel.