Hashtagged By The Mountain Man by Frankie Love

Author:Frankie Love [Love, Frankie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-20T16:00:00+00:00

8

Kensie

I wake to my phone beeping. Kodiak’s phone is on his bedside table, buzzing too.

Disoriented, I reach for it. Kodiak and I made love all night. For hours. Until we were sweaty and exhausted. Then we showered, washing one another before we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

It was the best night of my life, no question.

But now, as I look at my phone, seeing dozens of texts from Matilda and notifications from Instagram my heart beings to pound.

No. No. No. This cannot be happening.

"What is it?" Kodiak asks, reaching for his phone.

I leap over the bed, knocking his phone from his hand before he can unlock it. Before he can see what I just saw.

I can’t move my fingers fast enough. I need to press delete. #Instafail

"What’s up?" Kodiak asks, not registering my panic. Obviously, I can’t chuck his phone in the toilet without looking cray-cray.

"Uh, just uh..." I bite my bottom lip, unable to answer. What do I say? Oh, just been outed as your stalker to everyone in Linesworth. No big thing.

He yawns and then grabs his phone from where it landed on his carpeted floor and slides it on. My heart pounds, my eyes squeezed shut. I can’t watch.

"Wait, what?" he says after a moment, his words laced with confusion. Which makes sense.

Apparently, when I took that photo at the pub last night I accidentally tagged the location. And someone who was there must have clicked on the pub and quickly found my feed. With hundreds of photos of #MyMountainMan, thus alerting everyone in town.

I have to get out of here.

"Kensie, do you know what this is?" he asks, but I’m already scrambling to my feet, pulling on my jeans, and reaching for my bag. "Clive sent me this feed, it’s... Fuck, it’s all pictures of me."

How is this happening? I finally have everything I want, and it blows up in my face.

I’m more than a creeper. I’m a freaking fool.

Worse than his ex. Worse than anyone.

"Wait. Kens, did you take these?" he asks but even as he asks he knows the answer. There’s no way anyone else could have taken them. Ninety percent are shots from the coffee shop, taken from behind the counter. My counter. "What the fu--"

I cut him off. "I’m sorry, I know..."

“All this time, you’ve been lying to me?”

“I’m sorry.” My face crumbles and shame washes over me. what was I thinking? Why didn’t I delete it yesterday instead of digging my grave even deeper?

“Kensie, this is --“

“I know. I know how fucked up it is.” Without waiting for the conversation to turn even down a darker corner, I scramble out of the room, and

run from his apartment, unable to look back. I don’t want to see his face, not after he sees the close-up shots of him, the hashtags I used. I may think to call him #BeardGasm is funny… but through his eyes? It’s intrusive at best, #CrazyTrain at worst.

I’m on the sidewalk, and he is calling after me, but I keep moving full steam ahead.

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