HIS MUSE, HIS MADNESS
Blondie is staring right at me, a nasty, knowing smirk curling his lips.
My chest caves in. I spin around and sprint toward the darkest booth in the back.
I slide into the leather seat, trying to make myself invisible.
Trolling feels even worse offline.
My hands shake so badly that I set the coffee down.
Then, I pull my phone from my pocket, desperate for a distraction.
Maybe one second of normalcy?
But the first thing that pops up is a video Aida sends to me with a message beneath: "Watch this!"
I click on play, and Amara Ross's face fills my screen.