Everything goes wrong (ten months later)

About three weeks before the movie premiere was scheduled, what I had dreaded secretly, deep down in my soul, happened worse than I could have thought.

Chloë and I still hadn’t worked out permanent conjoined living, so when she said she wanted to see me, I thought nothing of it. However, when she got into my car, she seemed furious. “Dave, what is this?” – she demanded furiously, turning her phone to me to show a picture. In the picture, I was pictured sitting in a café, holding hands with a girl. But it wasn’t Chloë. “Wha…what is that?” – I spat out, confused: I hadn’t done any such thing. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!” – she shouted, brandishing the picture at me, - “YOU WERE MY LIFE! I TRUSTED YOU!” I suddenly recognized the outfit the girl was wearing. “CHLOË! THAT PICTURE IS NOT REAL! THE ORIGINAL LITERALLY IS YOU! COME ON!” – I shouted back over her. “I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” – she yelled, - “That’s it. We’re done, Dave.” And with that, she stormed out of my car back into her home. I sat there, watching her leave, then unashamedly burst into tears. There it was – the best time of my life, over. Gone. I couldn’t believe it. Who had done that to me? I opened my phone and typed in “Chloë Grace Moretz boyfriend”. The top results were all articles titled something along the lines of: “Chloë Grace Moretz’s boyfriend Dave Richards apparently pictured out with another woman” I was furious. I opened the picture and took a closer look. I couldn’t believe it. The girl whose head was in place of Chloë’s was my own ex-girlfriend. I was livid. I had no doubt in my mind that she had done this herself or had this done in order to get back at me for my newfound success and ruin my new relationship. I wanted to find her and get my ****. I couldn’t even picture what I wanted to do to her. She had effectively ruined my life.

Soon enough, I was cornered by a bunch of journalists. “Mr. Richards, is this image real? What has happened between you and Miss Moretz?” – piped up one of them. I was too distraught to think to ignore them, so I just answered: “Me and Chloë are, so it seems, taking an indefinite pause. The picture is fake, fabricated to execute **** on me. The original is on the internet, and if publications, and Chloë herself, did their research, then they’d find that this image simply has Chloë’s head replaced with a different person’s. Unfortunately for me, that wasn’t enough for her. I’d appreciate it if the media respected my privacy in this extremely tough time. I will be attending the movie premiere for my acting debut, but until then, I’d like to remain completely free of media coverage. Whether or not any of you have enough moral strength to do that, I don’t know. I’m simply here to ask.” The reporter seemed a bit shell-shocked, opened his mouth to ask another question, then closed it again and said: “My condolences, Mr. Richards. That will be all, thank you for your honesty.” He turned off his microphone and camera, the others followed suit: obviously, they were all there to ask the same question. “Oh, and please” – I said to the same man who had asked me the question: “Don’t harass Chloë right now either. She doesn’t deserve it, even though she was way too quick to believe the lies the media told about me.” He nodded, seeming quite intimidated by my brutal honesty. The circle of journalists broke and I walked away.

The next three weeks were absolute hell for me. I could do nothing at all – I missed a couple of press conferences for the movie, reporting that I was ill, and mostly just lay in bed at home. For what it’s worth, I should have been mad at Chloë, I should’ve hated her. She had believed something so horrible about me so easily. But I just couldn’t help loving her. I just couldn’t hate her. So instead I brooded and brooded, growing sadder and sadder by the day.

A few days before the premiere, I got a text from an unknown number. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was my ex-girlfriend, asking me to get back together. “I’m going to call you and record it to remember later” – I said, pretending to be down. I rang her. “Hi Dave. Look, I’m sorry about what I did. Can we start over?” – she said, no sincerity or regret in her voice whatsoever. This was all the proof I needed. “THIS WAS YOUR IDEA?” – I shouted down the phone, fury peaking from all the despair I had felt over the previous couple of weeks, - “THIS WAS YOUR IDEA OF GETTING BACK TOGETHER WITH ME NOW THAT MY LIFE’S IN A BETTER PLACE? RUINING THE BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE? HOW DARE YOU EVEN TRY TO PRETEND YOU STILL CARE FOR ME? YOU SPOILED EVERYTHING!!!” She laughed evilly back at me: “What a sucker you are, Dave. I’m so glad my plan worked and everything in your life fell apart, you deserve every bit of it. Hopefully never see you again, bye loser!” – and she hung up. I blocked the number and sat there, breathing heavily. Oh, how I hated her. Good thing I had recorded the call – if I ever got another chance to even speak to Chloë, I could show her the most conclusive evidence possible.

The premiere was at an awful time for me, but this was too huge a moment to miss: my acting debut, and my whole family was coming over from my hometown to see it. I would just have to somehow not pay attention to Chloë being in the same room for a couple of hours. Everything had been so good, and had gone so, so bad afterwards. I hated how everything had panned out, hated my ex, hated everything except Chloë.