“Fuck you.”
I dislodge his hold on me and leave. I don’t look back. Because I know if I do, I’ll fall apart, and because it’s Baz, I’ll let him put me back together, despite all the pain he’s caused.
My hands shake as I run from the condo, my vision is blurry, and I can’t see anything, but I keep running. I run until my lungs are hurting, until I’m wheezing in pain, and my calves are burning with lactic acid from the strain. I collapse down the street, leaning against a brick building. My vision swims as I dial Kat’s number. She answers immediately.
“I need you,” I sob. And before too long, she’s there, pulling me into her arms in the back seat of her driver’s car.
Once my sobs and the tears dry, I stare out the window, watching the lights of the city fly by. When we roll to a stop at her building, I pull out from her hold, and she smiles at me sadly, wiping my face free of any remnants of tears.
“I didn’t want to do this, but my father called this morning with some bad news.”
My eyes slam shut, and once again, I feel my world crumble around me.
Trauma Victim or Scorned Lover?
That’s the only question that comes to mind while we read over the piece that has rocked the social media world. My first initial thoughts while reading were as follows:
I smell bullshit.
Who let this lady write this shit?
Is this some cruel joke?
I’m all for the Me Too movement and believing women, but believing this trash that this woman is spewing? She wrote a “journalistic piece” on herself, about her life, and why it was so hard. (Boo-fucking-hoo). She blamed men for her own family issues. How can she really expect us to believe she’s innocent when she dated one of her sister’s supposed murderers? (Pictured below.)
This, folks, is what happens when a scorned woman wants revenge. It’s no secret the infamous playboy Baz King has been seen with plenty of women, and I’m sure she wants to get back at him for breaking her heart.
Anyone who believes this crock of shit that’s defined as poignant and groundbreaking is an absolute joke. Please, Ms. Mackenzie Wright, if you’re reading this, get a life and move on to a different career, because this is not how you go about handling a breakup.
Thank you, NEXT.
Comments:
@TanaCamillla90: This is disgusting. I can’t believe anyone would go this far after a breakup.
@YoboiErenn__: Not surprised someone would do this. This woman needs help. Serious help.
@Nofacediva12: I’d be mad too if I got dumped by the hottest man on the planet. Smh. What a weak bitch.
@QueenVeelo_: She’s not even pretty!
@Icon6Kathianaa6: Homegirl needs to do everyone a favor and choke and die cuz this ain’t it sis.
Five days.
One hundred twenty hours.
Seven thousand two hundred minutes.
That’s how long it’s been since it feels like my world has shattered. I keep wondering how many times my world can fall apart for good, but obviously, life is funny like that. It enjoys pushing you until you feel like you’re on the verge of hysteria.
I haven’t heard from Baz, and for that, I’m all too thankful. I don’t know if I can handle dealing with him. Especially now. The lawyers told me this would happen, and now, more than anything, I regret not listening. I wish I would’ve embellished the story like they suggested. Maybe then it would’ve had a greater impact. Maybe then it might’ve worked.
I read through the posts, the handful of articles that are ripping me to pieces. The comments aren’t nice. The hashtags on Twitter are even worse. #MackenzieWrightIsOverParty. I never thought I’d be associated with any kind of hashtag, and definitely not one like this. People have been creating “stan” accounts on behalf of the Savages, and each of their posts is a thorough bashing of me and why I’m the problem in society.
This world can be so evil. Though, losing my sister already showed me that, I guess I didn’t realize just how horrible humans can be on the internet. I’m being dragged through the mud because suddenly I’m the liar. I’m the harlot who’s lying. I’m crazy. I’m grieving. I’m everything in between while all of them are innocent.
It was easy for the vultures to find my pictures with Baz from the gala we attended and other candid shots of us in San Francisco and leaving the Kings. I have no clue if it was his doing, but Page Six posted a piece about me and how much of a liar I was, using those photographs as evidence against me.
Everyone thinks I am a scorned lover or a woman looking for a payout, wanting the clout this would bring.
That isn’t what I want. I want justice.
I want Madison to be free.
Law enforcement isn’t interested in reopening the case. And why would they? I’m a fucking joke. If it’s even possible, the guys are more popular now than they were before, and what’s worse, everything that Baz told me about what really happened that night? I can’t do a thing about it because I already look like a liar. These so-called theorists have debunked everything, and if I so much as try again, I’ll be a laughingstock. No one will hire me again. I’ll be homeless and living under a rock soon.
I know my friends would never let that happen, but what am I supposed to do? Let them take care of me forever? I refuse to leach off them, and I refuse to go crawling back home to my parents. My name is tainted. And once again, it’s at the hands of the Savages.
My phone vibrates on the bed beside me, and when I glance down at the brightly lit up screen, my stomach hollows out. A golf ball-sized lump lodges in my throat as I lift the phone to my ear with a trembling hand.
The last time I spoke with my parents was the night I woke up in the hospital and had to give my statement to the police. They never visited while I was in that hellhole, and they sure as hell never called after to check on me, so I don’t know what the hell they want from me now.
“Hello?”
“Mackenzie.” My mother sighs down the line. Her voice sounds tired and frail. Just like her. “What are you doing? I thought you were getting better. Why are you trying to drag our family’s name through the mud?”
Months later, and this is what they’re calling for? Not to check on me or my well-being, but to focus on themselves and what’s left of their reputation? My blood starts to boil, and I press my lips together in disdain.
“I’m trying to do right by my sister. I can’t say the same for you guys.”
“That’s not fair. We’ve done what we can. Sometimes, you need to let things go for your own sanity. I thought…I thought you were better. That’s the whole reason he had your father sign the conservatorship papers over to him. He swore you were doing better.”
My stomach twists violently, and my breath catches. “Who are you talking about?”
“Benedict’s boy. The one who’s been in all those pictures with you on the news. He came by here not that long ago and forced your father to sign papers, giving our rights up.”
My chest is heaving wildly as it works to accommodate my heavy breathing. My grip tightens around the phone, and I work a swallow. My stomach cramps with fear. “What are you saying?”
“He’s in charge of your health. He’s the reason you were let out.”