At the man currently being cast as the villain in my public execution.
“So your advice is what?” I ask. “Ignore them? Pretend the world knowing I’m Mrs. Moretti doesn’t change everything?”
“No,” he says. “My advice is: stop bending yourself into shapes to please people who will love you one day and flay you the next. Let them judge. Let them scream. You sing. You stand. And if they want a monster to point at while they absolve themselves of complicity, let them use me.”
His voice drops on that last line.
He steps closer, almost close enough to touch.
“I will stand beside you,” he says. “On stage. In court. In a grocery store. In front of cameras. Behind them. I will take every insult they aim at you and wear it like a suit if that’s what it takes to keep you upright.”
The simplicity
