No wallowing allowed.

I really want to climb back beneath the covers but I know if I do that, Kay will feel like she has to check on me all day. She's pregnant and doesn't need the added stress of worrying about me.

I grab my laptop and headphones. My plan for the day is to be lazy and binge watch some shows on Netflix. When I walk downstairs, Kay is sitting on the couch reading a magazine. Hope is playing with a set of alphabet blocks on the floor. I kneel down next to her and kiss her chubby little cheek. Looking at her reminds me of that conversation I had with Kay before all this started. My goal was to find my strength. It was about more than just owning something and proving to my family that I'm more than just a pretty face. It was about taking control. Ever since I went on that stupid show, I've allowed others to control how I see myself. As a failure. As a laughingstock.

Well, no more.

When I worked with Jackson on a song a few months ago, I knew even then that he was doing it mainly as a favor to Kay. They'd even let me sing at her local album release party. As much as I'd appreciated that, in hindsight the best part was helping Jackson create the song. I'd learned a lot from him about production and mixing. He'd shown me that the smallest changes in the editing process could completely change the sound of a song and influence the way it was received.

I open my laptop and put on my headphones. For the first time in months, I navigate to Youtube and pull up the video.

THE VIDEO. The bane of my existence and the one thing my family and friends know they aren't allowed to talk about.

I glance over at Kay quickly but she's absorbed in something on her e-reader so I tentatively press play. I'm braced to feel the same sense of humiliation as the first time I'd realized my audition was out there for all to see and make fun of.

I watch on the screen as I walk onstage. Oh god, I still remember how it had seemed like an endless number of faces in the audience. The first judge, an older man with a head of shocking white hair speaks first.

“State your name.”

“Sasha Whitman.”

“And what are you going to sing for us today?”

“I’m going to sing 'Falling Hard' produced by Jackson Alexander.”

The camera pans to the judges who all have the same pasted on smiles. As the music starts onscreen, I swallow a tickle of panic. This was when Chaz’s last words to me had started running through my mind. He’d accused me of being delusional, of not caring about anything other than this contest. Which he’d considered laughable since, according to him, I had no chance to win. As it turns out he was right.

Tears cloud my eyes as I watch on the screen for the moment when I stop singing mid-verse. The judges are watching me with confused expressions. It had shocked me, too. In years of performing I've never forgotten the words to a song. The onscreen version of me opens her mouth over and over and then turns and bolts from the stage.

That’s when it happens.

I trip and end up sprawled over a speaker, my skirt flipping up to reveal my yellow polka-dot panties.

The audience gasps and then all you hear are cheers, wolf whistles and laughter. I stop the video, the image of me with my ass on display frozen on the screen. This one picture has tormented me for months. It's been turned into online memes and endlessly mocked. The fact that my song was called “Falling Hard” and I then literally tripped and fell was an endless source of amusement for people. One moment changed the course of my life and turned me into a national laughingstock.

Anger rises and for once I don't stifle it or try to calm down. I have every right to be upset and I can't go through life pretending this didn't happen. I flash back to Gabe holding my hand the first time I showed him the club. Telling me I'm smart and that I have great ideas.

Nothing keeps you down for long, does it?

Whatever else he did, Gabe helped me see what makes me special. I don't allow things to keep me down and this should be no different.

I pull up the music software on my computer. Jackson encouraged me to work on some remixes for Falling Hard but after what happened, I never finished them. Producing was a totally different skill set and I hadn't had confidence in my work then. But things are different now.

A slow smile spreads across my face.

*   *   *   *   *

Later that evening, Eli comes in and drops his coat on the back of the couch. He looks exhausted.

Kay looks over her shoulder. "Hey, where have you been?"

Eli hesitates and glances over at me. There's obviously something going on and I can take a hint.

I close the lid of my laptop. "You guys talk. I can go upstairs."

Eli holds up a hand. "No, Sasha wait. You should hear this."

I sit slowly.  Kay glances over at me with a worried look.

Eli sits and then rests his elbows on his knees. "There’s something I have to tell you. About Gabe.”

“Gabe is an asshole." I stand again. It's not surprising that Eli would go and track Gabe down after what he did to me. He's the type who takes chivalry seriously. But I don't want him apologizing for Gabe's foolishness.

"I think he said all that stuff to keep you away from him. That photo was some kind of message for him. I think he was worried for you. And he should have been." Eli looks down at his hands and then finally back up at me again. "Maybe you should sit down, Sasha."

The soft cadence of his voice fills me with dread. Gentle doesn't come naturally to Eli so the way he's looking at me and talking to me seems even more jarring. "What happened?"