Fake Halo - Piper Lennox Page 0,3

the glass.

It’s a killer view, right on the water. Van always turned his bed away to combat the glare, which I still can’t understand. Why claim the best room if you won’t use its best feature? What’s the point of having something this damn beautiful, then turning your back on it?

That’s the thing, though—Van never liked it here much. When I left Cali to crash on his couch in Brooklyn, he called me crazy for giving up perpetual sunshine and palms for this sprawling grid of brick and shadows.

I told him Hollywood wasn’t half as great as he thought, and he was welcome to switch lives with me if he wanted to see for himself that all that bright sunlight just illuminates how fucking fake the place is. Streets paved in gold? Hate to break it to you, but piss shimmers the exact same way.

The difference is that, in New York, people no longer pretend otherwise. And they love it anyway. It’s not always pretty, but at least it’s real.

My move here five years ago was long overdue. This place really never sleeps, and that spoke to my soul like a crash cart to the chest.

I go back to my computer and check the video views. 2,993 so far, which isn’t bad for a few hours.

Also not great—but I’ll take it.

The blue dot on my email tab catches my eye. Probably my mother, the only parent I know who will send me the same information via text, Facebook Messenger, email, and the occasional, actual phone call all at once. She likes making sure I can’t ignore her.

First thing I notice is the subject line.

Pre-Appointment Info.

Appointment?

My mind goes to my sister Delaney, because I can’t for the life of me think of what appointments I’ve got coming up. Maybe it’s a glitch, and the email’s actually meant for her.

I click.

Hi, Dr. Dune!

…or should I call you Willow? Either one is fine with me. I just like to ask up front. (Can you tell I’ve had a LOT of therapists?)

First, thank you for the appointment slot. I know Thursday evenings are a weird time for therapy, but I appreciate it. Hopefully my schedule will open up after this summer.

Second, I thought it would be a good idea to “lay it all out,” as it were, so that we’re not starting from complete scratch in my first session.

My last therapist and I were working on a lot of different issues.

First, there’s the hair-pulling. I actually had a really good handle on it, until recently...I know progress isn’t linear, but it’s super important I get control of it again. It’s like it’s taking over my life.

I’m so, so tired of hiding.

There are family issues, too—things with my sister. We need time apart. But every time I try to get it…there she is. I don’t mean a few hours apart. I mean space. Physical, emotional, all of it. Her life is so intertwined with mine, it feels like I’m a bit player and our life is actually hers.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re really close. But she can be overbearing. Controlling. Especially when it comes to our job.

I love what I do, but…have you ever woken up and thought, “This isn’t the life I signed up for”? I guess everyone has moments like that. But I’m having them a lot.

I read on a little, skimming through this weirdly perky-sounding ramble of a screwed-up life. Must be Spam, someone asking for money or something. My cursor hovers over the button to report and block the sender.

Then something else in the email catches my attention.

“...and then there’s Wes Durham.”

He’s...well. A jerk, to say the least. He likes to trash-talk me like he’s my “competition,” but he’s not. Even if we were in the same arena, he isn’t anywhere near our level. Not anymore.

It started last year, after this big video blog summit. There was a masquerade party by the hotel pool afterwards. This is embarrassing, but we fooled around some.

I didn’t know it was him, of course.

But I’m convinced he knew it was me.

Anyway, long story short...I still can’t stand him, even more than before. I’m disgusted with myself for doing that. But I can’t stop dreaming about it.

I haven’t slept well ever since.

My last therapist couldn’t figure it out. I kind of got the feeling she didn’t take it seriously, so I’m interested in your insight....

.

For the first time, I look at the sender address.

ClaraBelle77.

Never mind that I knew, from the second I saw the first mention