What's a Girl Gotta Do? (24 page)

forty-one

My eyes stung from staring at a screen all day.

And crying. They stung from the crying too.

My neck ached from hunching over the old family laptop that I'd set up in my room.

My stomach rumbled, complaining about its lack of breakfast, lunch, dinner.

I twitched whenever I heard a sound.

Was it them? Had they worked out where I lived? Were they really coming for me?

But still, still, I didn't stop refreshing the page. It was like a compulsion. Each threat, each horrid comment, was like a fist had reached out of the flickering screen and punched me straight in the stomach.

Every single physical flaw in my appearance had been pointed out to me.

Every single double standard in my argument.

Every single part of my security and feeling of safety had been compromised.

Still I pressed refresh.

Ctrl + C of my
you're a sexist pig
response.

Ctrl + V.

Over and over.

It was making them worse.

My phone was buzzing so hard it had fallen off my desk several times.

Initially most of the messages were from Amber and Evie, asking if I was okay.

I'd fired back,
No, but I want to be alone right now. And I don't mean that in an overrule-me-and-turn-up-anyway kind of way. I love you both. I'm fine.

I so wasn't fine.

Some of the buzzing came from calls from journalists, answerphone messages from journalists, a few FemSoc people asking if I was okay…the rest were from my notifications.

The abuse. So much abuse.

I'd been pinged a link to more news stories – new ones about me, stories about how I was personally responding to every single bit of abuse. This, of course, made everything get even more out of control. My battery died, my phone stayed on the floor. Mum and Dad – oblivious to everything because they had no interest in social media – just thought I was working – they were delighted.

When would this stop? When could I stop?

At least ten different people had told me they wanted to kill me today.

And I'd had to reply to them.

A loud knock at my door.

“I told you, I'm working! And I'm not hungry.”

The squeak of the door opening.

“Then don't eat me.”

And, for some reason, the sound of Will's voice just broke me. I didn't acknowledge him, I didn't say hi. I just slumped over onto the desk and started wailing. It was a new realm of crying for me. My throat was making noises I didn't even know were possible. Will was at my side instantly, a hand resting uncertainly on my shoulder. I choked and rasped and gasped for air in big gulping sobs. Will waited, his hand shaking on my juddering body, not saying anything. But he was there. Silent, but there. Like he knew I needed to cry myself out.

Which, in time, I did.

Slowly, I raised my head, taking him in, giving him a small watery smile. He didn't look like his usual self – his normally perfectly quiffed hair was all stood on end, like he'd been raking his hands through it, deep circles under his eyes even his thick frames couldn't hide. Yet when he smiled back, that underlying self-confidence shone through. Dented, but still there.

“I've never had a girl cry so hard when I enter their bedroom before,” he said. “Usually they're much more enthusiastic.”

My watery smile diminished and I pointed to my sodden face. “Trust you to think this is all about you.”

Will looked at my screen. Another fifty-six alerts had cropped up during my crying spell.

“I know this isn't about me.”

Instinctively, I went to click on the little fifty-six number icon, which had just transformed into fifty-eight. But Will's hand shot out and grabbed mine – pushing it away.

“No, Lottie, come on.”

The feel of his hand on mine… It sent sparks exploding off inside of me…even with all this going on. I tried to push him away though, to click, to carry on with this job, but he held me tighter.

“I've got to!” I said. “The project!”

“I don't give a flying fuck about the project right now, Lottie,” he said. “Come on, away from the computer.”

With a big swoop of his arms, he'd pulled me up and was carrying me over to my bed. He plopped me down with a thud and I just bounced to a stop and curled up in a ball.

“Where are Evie and Amber?” he asked, his voice soft, worried. I curled up further.

“I told them not to come, I told them I was fine.”

“And they believed you?” He sat gingerly on the end of my bed.

I couldn't stop thinking – there must be more messages by now. Were these ones going to be nastier? Were these ones going to be from more dangerous people? Why did everyone keep reposting me? They were making it worse. It kept spreading, like a demented virus…

“They know when to leave me alone.” I gave him a very pointed look, even though, really, I was relieved he was there. Relieved and other more confusing emotions.

“You need to stop replying,” he said simply.

“I can't.”

“You can.”

“I'll be a hypocrite then. It's just what they're waiting for.”

“Who's they?”

“The people. The ones waiting for me to fail.”

“Are you doing this for them though, Lottie? I thought you were doing this for you?”

I uncurled myself and sat up so I could study him. I must look a mess, my eyeliner all cried off and the bits of it that weren't, all over my face. My hair matted with drying tears.

“Of course I'm doing it for me, but…”

“But what?” He shrugged all dramatically. “You also want to torture yourself by engaging with those low-life pond scum who probably only share one brain cell between them? You do know some of those messages are illegal, right? You need to tell the police.”

I ignored most of what he'd said. “I'm supposed to be doing this to try and change people's minds,” I said, my voice all high-pitched with the effort of not crying.

“And you are! There are so many good messages coming through on our channel. You're reaching people, Lottie. But, with reach, you touch the bad with the good. You're never going to change some people's minds. You need to protect yourself from these arsewipes…” Even in all my pain, I smiled at the word “arsewipes”… “Stop replying, save your energy. There's still a week and a half left…”

He nervously, well, nervously for Will, reached out and tucked a bit of hair behind my ear. Not so much in a sexy way, but a tender way. I found myself leaning my cheek into his hand, and more electric shocks jolted through my face – and, by the looks of it, up his arm. He almost pulled back, I saw him start to…then he relaxed and held my cheek.

I closed my eyes, kept them closed for a moment. Opened them. Looked right into his.

“I'm not changing
your
mind,” I reminded him and I went to refresh again.

Will grabbed me, stopping me. He took both my wrists, pulling me round to look at him. Our faces were almost touching. I stared straight at him – angry, so angry. After everything he'd seen, he still…

“Lottie,” he said, his face so intense I almost needed to look away. “You changed my mind ages ago.”

“I what?”

He broke into the most cocky smile. “In fact, I think you changed my mind the first day I met you.”

I slowly shook my head side to side, not hearing properly. “What? But you've been such a…”

“Arsewipe?”

I nodded. “Well, you've disagreed with everything I've said.”

“I know I have…look…” He was still clasping my hands tight. I leaned forward – not quite understanding my reaction. I was broken, I was so tired, I didn't like this boy… Well, I wasn't supposed to like this boy… “I'm…I don't know…I don't like admitting I'm wrong, okay? I don't like losing arguments. I kind of dig my heels in to save face…Plus, well, the more I wound you up, the better you got… It really did help the project, I like to think…”

I was smiling. With everything that was happening, I was somehow smiling. Because Will. Because the words that were coming out of Will's mouth.

“Will?” I asked slowly…biting my lip to stop my smile. Our foreheads were touching. “Are you trying to tell me you're a feminist?”

“Don't tell anyone, will you?”

Our lips were together. Our hands went from holding each other to wrapping around each other's bodies.

I wanted this. I so wanted this. I needed this.

All the shit from today, all the messages, all the scared I was feeling was drowned out by how good his tongue felt in my mouth, how every part of my body felt pressed up against him. We fell backwards onto my bed, our legs entwining, Will's hands all over my body. Three weeks I'd held off kissing him properly. Three whole weeks. If you knew anything about me, you'd know I don't wait three weeks to kiss people I want to kiss. And my body was making up for it now.

Will, of course, was a brilliant kisser. I knew he would be, of course he would be. My mouth couldn't leave his, I couldn't get close enough to him. Raw primal lust streamed through me and I welcomed it. I was back, Lottie was back. I leaned up, still kissing him, and began to undo the buttons on his chequered shirt.

He pulled away. Reluctantly, I could see. But his lips left mine and I raised an eyebrow.

“Will? Why are we stopping?”

“You're upset,” he pointed out. “I can't…when you're upset.”

I rolled my eyes. There was no way I didn't want this. Every bit of my body and my brain wanted this. Yes maybe you think that's weird and I was vulnerable or whatever, but all I knew was that I needed him. And it didn't feel like for a screwed-up reason.

“Will,” I said, “I'm doing a project where I call out sexism. Remember? You're filming it? Do you really think it would be in line with that if I let you take advantage of me right now?”

I reached to kiss him again. He was reluctant initially, shaking his head but not actually taking his lips away. I took that as a sign and climbed onto his lap. He started kissing my chest then, moaning into my skin. I leaned my head back, soaking it up.

Will – he was what I thought he was. I was right. He
was
good. I knew it…and, oh God, that felt good.

We fell sideways, only breaking contact so I could run and lock my door. My top was off. Will's was almost totally unbuttoned. I reached out, touching his lean chest. More kissing and clothes falling off and him muttering that I was beautiful and me closing my eyes and enjoying every moment, every word, every touch, every taste.

He was digging in his bag for his wallet, producing the foil wrapper of a condom. I kissed his naked shoulder as he put it on. So impatient. By the way his hands shook, I knew he was as impatient as I was.

Then it was on and we fell back again. His mouth on my mouth – feeling him against me. The sweet anticipation of the connection growing in me. I wiggled upwards, to angle myself. Not wanting to wait any more.

Then his mouth was away from my mouth and he was raised on his elbows – inches from it happening.

I didn't want it to stop. I looked up at him, an impatient smile on my face, making my eyes all puppy-like. God, the way he was staring at me. I could get drunk on it for ever. Will. Nice Will. Fit nice Will. Fit nice feminist Will.

His mouth was by my ear, gently biting it, then whispering. “So, Miss Feminism. How do we do this in a way that passes your project guidelines?”

Ahh, that's why he was stopping. His voice was so sexy, every part of me quivered. His eyebrows were cocked in his natural, arrogant way – all my insides dissolved.

I grinned at him. “Well,” I said, pretending to think it through. “I guess, in order to stick to the rulebook, I'm going to have to go on top, and I'm going to have to…you know…?” I raised my eyebrows back and his smile stretched further. “Do you think you can manage that?”

I was already climbing onto him.

“You know what?” he replied, staring at me in the sort of way you should never ever forget. “I think I can manage that just fine.”

forty-two

Afterwards, I shoved on some clothes and dashed downstairs to tell my parents we were working on an edit together. If they suspected anything, they certainly kept it to themselves. They congratulated me for the millionth time for the newspaper stories – Dad was even cutting them out to put in a scrapbook. They obviously hadn't seen the online version…or the new stories, the ones about me versus abuse. For a moment I was grateful my dad was such an academic above-all-that-social-media-stuff dinosaur.

I busied myself with making toast and peanut butter and pouring glasses of milk before returning to my room.

We did it again, after we'd eaten the toast. This time was slower, but no less urgent. Will had obviously had practice and knew what he was doing. My match, almost…

I put some music on to muffle any non-homework-sounding noises.

I felt high on lust. It was always like this with me. I would be okay about a guy, feeling all in control about it. But the moment I slept with them, some part of me would just be unleashed.

We lay, knackered, in bed – Will tracing his finger up my arm, making my skin tingle, listening to the music.

“That whole thing about you changing your mind better not have been a line to get me into bed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Like you needed a line.”

I pushed him. “Shut up.”

“Do you really think I'd lie about something that important to get laid?” he asked, shifting his weight so he was propped up on his elbows above me. He grinned. “I don't have trouble getting laid, Lottie.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Calm down, Casanova. You are the most arrogant person I've ever met, you know that, right?”

“That's funny…” He reached out and ever-so-gently stroked my face. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“I'm not arrogant!”

“You SO are.”

Before I could protest, his mouth was on mine and we kissed ravenously, me pulling him properly onto me. Just as we were about to embark on lucky third time, there was a crash at my bedroom door, a gasp, and we both turned in horror to see a disgusted-looking Amber and Evie standing in the threshold. Mum must've let them in and I didn't hear the door knock because of the music. Amber was carrying a bag of cheesy tortilla chips, Evie holding a jar of salsa and a giant bar of Dairy Milk.

“Oh my God, guys!” I dived under the covers, pushing Will off me, wiggling into my jeans. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, we're going, we're sorry.”

“Just give us a minute,” I said, from beneath my duvet.

Will was under the covers too, grappling with his shirt buttons. Even in the darkness, I could see he was bright red.

A minute later and we were suitably less naked. There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I called, and the girls reappeared.

“I think I need more therapy,” Evie said. “I'll need more therapy to recover from that image than I've ever needed for my anxiety issues.”

Amber's mouth was wide open. “My eyes hurt. I'm going to see that horrific image whenever I close them for the rest of time.”

“This room smells of things I don't want to think about,” Evie said. “I'm opening a window.”

“Guys,” I said, all breezily, like they hadn't just seen my nipples, “what are you doing here?”

I chanced a glance back at Will. He'd plastered his stupid smug smile over his face, trying to brazen it out. But his glasses were wonky and my heart did this weird…thing…

“We came to see if you were okay,” Evie said. “Especially when your phone went to answerphone.”

She was still looking from me, to Will, back to me.

“Lottie?” Amber asked. “Can we chat to you privately for a sec?”

I looked at Will, who only shrugged, like nothing had happened at all in the last two hours. “I've got some editing to do anyway.” He pulled his computer out of his bag on the floor, as Evie and Amber pushed me into the bathroom.

Amber sat me on the edge of the bath. “Lottie, what the hell?”

“Will?!” Evie said. “We sort of hate Will, don't we?”

“I know, I know,” I pleaded with them. “It only just happened.”

“What's going on?” Amber demanded. “He's not used the fact you're all vulnerable today to get into your knickers, has he?” She straightened up, her fists clenched and I reached to calm her.

“No, he hasn't taken advantage! Girls, come on! You know me better than that.”

“You've had a rough day,” Evie pointed out.

Even in her interrogation mode, I could see her eyes darting around the bathroom, looking for dirt or germs or whatever it is she worries about. I didn't live in the cleanest house, to be fair. And Mum and Dad used herbal cleaning products that didn't seem to do much.

“Yes, I have,” I admitted, and it all came rushing back with the full force of its horror. “But…well… I like him, guys. This hasn't come out of nowhere.”

Evie perched very nervously on the bath next to me. “How can you like him? He doesn't even agree with the project.”

“He said he does agree. He was just too…”

“Prickish?” Amber supplied, crossing her arms.

“Proud,” I corrected her, very defensive of Will all of a sudden. Damn hormones that got released when I slept with people. Or maybe it was nothing to do with hormones and everything to do with what Will was like in bed…and that he was nice! Feminist nice!

I could see Evie already wavering – she saw the best in everyone, that girl.

“Is that what he said?” she asked. “He's actually believed in this thing the entire time?”

I nodded. “That's what he said… That he was won over from the start, but just too proud to admit it. It was only after we'd had that conversation that the whole sex thing happened. I can't go around breaking the rules of my own project.”

Amber's arms were still crossed. “How do you know it isn't just a line?”

I shrugged. “I don't. But it didn't feel like a line. I know he's said some douchey stuff…” Amber's face went even more self-righteous. God she was annoying sometimes. She's the one who ran off across America with a dude she hardly knew. “But I think maybe it's, I dunno…from a place of insecurity maybe…”

Amber interrupted me. “Will? Insecure?”

I laughed. “Okay, maybe that's not the right word… He's not a dickhead though. I don't think this is just a sex thing…” And the moment it was out of my mouth I knew it was true. Will and I were going to argue, a lot. We were going to be fiery, a lot. We were going to play each other, a lot. We were definitely going to have sex, a lot. But, just from this one afternoon, I felt something had clicked a little.

I thought maybe we were going to fall for each other…a lot.

“So can you just trust my choices?” I pleaded. “I've got enough to worry about today.”

It all came whooshing back again, full-throttle, and I put my head into my hands and found myself crying. The happiness from my mini sex-break truly dispersed into fear and misery of what would be lurking on my computer when I went back into my bedroom.

The girls kicked into action, saying sorry, patting my back.

“We trust you.” Evie gave me an extra pat. “I think maybe I'm just still in shock. I mean…Will… But still…you've had a bogus day. I think we need to talk about what's going on.”

A half-formed sob echoed out of my mouth, so loud I was nervous Mum and Dad would hear. I felt overwhelmed by how much more I needed to do, the replies I still needed to write – the trouble they'd cause. They'd just keep coming. The hatred and the threats and the fear and the arguing and all I had tried to do was stick up for something.

“Let's go back to your room,” Amber suggested. “Dare I say it, see what Will thinks.”

They collected me up – somehow I'd got a bath towel draped around me, but I kept it there, nestling my face into it.

“He says I need to stop replying,” I said, my hands shaking as I wrapped the towel-shawl further around myself.

“For the first and only time in the universe, I'm inclined to agree with him,” said Amber.

We pushed back into my room and there was Will, glasses straight, tapping on his computer like none of his body parts had been in none of my body parts in the last hour. The coolness of it made my stomach squirm in a way that made me nervous…

“We're back,” Evie declared. “We've decided we're not going to throw you out the window.”

Will leaned back in my office chair. “I'm delighted to hear it.”

Amber gave him a glare – still not quite trusting him, I could tell. Then she said, “Lottie told us you think she should stop replying to all the sexist trolls.”

He nodded slowly, weighing up what he was thinking. “I did. I think she should go to the police too.”

I shook my head. “No, and no. I can't give up now, not when everyone else is waiting for me to mess up. And the police won't take it seriously. They'll just say it's all my fault or something.”

I fell back on the bed, the smell of Will and I wafting up as I did. I giggled. I felt mad, terrified, unhinged.

The girls sat on my carpet – giving my bed a wide berth. I kept trying to look at Will, to try and figure out how he was feeling…what it all meant. Half of me was scared for my life and my general sanity. The other half was worried he wasn't going to message me tonight, or say it was all too complicated.

God, I was pathetic. I would blow my horn at myself if I had the energy.

“Lottie…” Evie's voice was soft, the kind I imagine people use when they're negotiating with kidnappers. “If you keep replying it won't stop. It won't go away. It's not achieving anything. It's just making you upset.”

“But it's sexism! I have to point it out. That's the—”

“I know, that's the whole point. But you also need to pick your battles, Lottie. You won't win here. You're just going to break yourself, use up all your energy on fights where you have no chance of coming out on top. You will not change these idiots' minds. They are the bad dudes who are on the wrong side of history. We'll go ‘I can't believe that happened' in fifty years' time when it's turned into a movie or something, in utter wonder that humans can be such twats.”

I smiled sadly. “But the point isn't to win. It's just to make people aware…”

“Which you've done. You're all over the papers, Lottie.” Will butted in now. He stood up and came over to the bed, taking my hand.

The relief I felt, with him taking my hand. What it meant. He stared right at me – all his defences gone. There was just sincere care there. Yikes, what had happened to Will? I'd broken him!

“Just send out one last response, saying something like,
Everyone who's sending me hate is a sexist pillock who deserves to be shat on by a giant bird with diarrhoea—”

“That's an odd metaphor,” Amber interrupted and Will laughed.

Will laughed?!

I'd definitely broken Will.

“Well, you'll think of something better than that,” he said. “But you get the gist. Then close your account, stop the reposts and reblogs from spreading… It will cool down quickly then.”

I kept shaking my head. “I can't. It's giving up.”

“It's not. It's looking after yourself,” Evie said.

I started crying again, and Will clasped my hands tighter – his fingers entwining with mine.

“I can't…I can't…”

“Nothing is worth you sacrificing your mental health,” Evie said, her voice all therapy.

“But women did so much more and endured so much more,” I protested. “The suffragettes let people force feed them, lots of feminists around the world are laying down their lives. I mean, look what happened to Malala! And what? Me? I give up the moment someone says something mean to me on the internet?”

I sounded so pathetic. So, so pathetic.

How was I this pathetic? I was
supposed
to want to be prime minister.

And yet, the thought of those replies, sending them out, seeing what came back. My skin went hot, my breathing went…

I was giving up.

I was going to give up.

Because I wasn't strong. I wasn't a fighter. At the first sign of it getting hard I was going to roll over and give up.

They had silenced me. Just like they wanted to.

I was weak…

I cried on them for a long time. Cried so much that I didn't even have an appetite for the chips and salsa, which shows how broken I was.

Seriously…

But, in time, they won me round. And at about ten, just as Mum and Dad were making cooing noises outside in the hallway about it being “college tomorrow”, Will filmed me typing out my final catch-all response. While crying.

“Do we really need to show me crying?” I asked.

“Yes.” He nodded.

“But they'll know that they got to me.”

“No,” Amber scolded. “It will just show you're an actual person having a completely legitimate reaction.”

“Me crying will just make them send more hate,” I pointed out. It was true.

They all knew it was true.

Will was clicking about, doing stuff I didn't understand.

“We're turning off comments on the videos. You're temporarily closing your accounts. Yeah, they'll still say stuff, but the important thing is, you won't see it… Woah…hang on…” He stared at the screen with his eyes practically bulging.

“What is it?” I asked. “Is it bad? What are people saying now?”

“It's not bad, Lottie. It's…” He turned around in my spinny chair and shook his head.

“What is it?” we all yelled.

“It's our channel,” he said… “It's just passed one million views.”