Page 83 of Never Date a Celebrity

So why did it feel like she’d just broken her own heart?

And because apparently she hadn’t wrecked herself enough, Imogen clicked on the picture of her and Amy once again.

After a few seconds of staring longingly at the screenshot she had taken that morning, she did something she had never done before. Imogen pulled up a new internet tab and searched for Amelia Whitlock.

Instantly, Amy’s smiling face popped up along with the first few lines of a bio. There was a row of different photographs—each one featuring that bright, impossible smile of hers. Which had once won an actual award.

The 2024 Best Smile award. Jesus Christ.

Imogen suddenly felt a bit stupid for complimenting Amy’s smile like she’d discovered something that had apparently already received international acclaim.

Imogen scrolled down and clicked on an article speculating about their relationship based on the hospital photo. Imogen was being referred to as “the mystery woman.” Another article called her “Amelia Whitlock’s comfort blanket.” That label wasn’t so bad. Against her better judgement, Imogen kept scrolling to the comments section.

The trolls were there in good voice, which didn’t surprise her. Some of them said that she wasn’t pretty enough for Amelia Whitlock. Others, that she was latching onto Amelia in her most vulnerable state. A couple of them even claimed she was the reason Amelia ended up in hospital. Talk about making shit up. What was with some people?

However, if she could force herself to be optimistic for once, most of the comments were actually quite positive.

Omg, look at how cute they are together.

When your girl shows up for you.

I’m so glad Amelia has found someone who clearly loves her enough to endure a hell of a backache sleeping on that awful chair.

Aaaaaah! Amelia Whitlock has found love in Ireland—the most exciting thing to happen since Taylor got engaged!

This is exactly what true love looks like. Understated. Present. Real.

Imogen’s eyes filled again at that last comment—because they were right. She swiped the tears, took a steadying breath, and opened another new tab. Only this time she didn’t search for Amelia Whitlock. This time she searched for herself.

It was time.

It was Chelsea’s picture that came up straight away. The search leading straight to Chelsea’s social pages wasn’t exactly surprising. It was the only place online that still had anything about Imogen. She’d removed her own social media accounts long ago.

Imogen looked at Chelsea and wondered what she’d ever seen in her. She was pretty, of course. But there was no warmth in her smile. No kindness in her eyes. That was so obvious to Imogen now. And unlike Amy’s pictures, Chelsea’s made her feel nothing. Not heartache. Not nostalgia. Not even hate. Just—zilch. Like Chelsea wasn’t worth a single feeling from her, good or bad.

Determined to exorcise her demons once and for all, Imogen clicked onto one of Chelsea’s many pages. There wasn’t a platform she wasn’t on, so Imogen closed her eyes and picked one at random. Uninterested in any of her new content, Imogen scrolled and scrolled. And scrolled. Did this woman do anything else but post videos of herself?

Eventually, after a lot of sifting, Imogen found the one she was looking for. The one she vowed that she would never watch again. Their viral breakup. The original.

Without giving herself time to think or back out, Imogen hit play. Even after all this time, her cheeks heated with both anger and humiliation as she watched the video again. And then again. And once more for good measure. It wasn’t easy to relive the most uncomfortable moment of her life over and over, but it was something Imogen needed to do.

Her hands were shaking by the time she found the dreaded comments—which were possibly more jarring than the video itself. She had always wondered if she had amplified their hostility in her head since she last looked. Built up their ferocity in her imagination. But no, she hadn’t. They were every bit as awful as Imogen remembered.

And there were so many now too. Thousands. Holy cow, one from only five hours ago. These things really never went away, did they? They floated around out there, forever.

She paused to read an extra-long comment written by Anonymous Member 191, who thought Imogen was an ugly, self-centred, spineless, stuck-up little twat. Their words. And for some reason, instead of crumbling completely, Imogen burst out laughing. It shouldn’t be funny. The comment was awful. Truly awful. But suddenly it also seemed a bit ridiculous.

Who the hell was this person? Who had never met her, knew nothing about her, but had devoted their time to writing a short essay full of horrible, nasty things? They hadn’t even been brave enough to slate Imogen using their real name. Just some anonymous keyboard warrior, hiding behind a computer screen spreading hate. What would drive someone to act that way? It had to be something. Imogen almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

With newfound amusement, Imogen looked through some of the worst comments. It was like exposure therapy. The more Imogen read, the less she cared. It was like every horrible comment was somehow applying a healing balm to the very thing it was trying to hurt.

After about forty minutes of reading about what a loser of a human she was, Imogen finally closed the tab. She was quietly content that she never needed to look at it again. But not because she was afraid to. Because it didn’t matter a damn what a bunch of strangers thought about her. Not even the real her, but some version of her that Chelsea had invented for her own personal gain.

Imogen sure knew how to pick ’em. If only Chelsea had already been Chelsealicious when they first met, Imogen might not have made the biggest mistake of her life.

Second biggest mistake of her life, her brain corrected her.

Oh God. It was so clear now. Like a giant flashing sign in her head.