When I Kissed Him The Comment Called Me Cheap Chapter 02

When I Kissed Him The Comment Called Me Cheap Chapter 02

I walked over to Abia. “I’m heading home. Are you coming?”

Abia bit her lip and glanced toward Henson, her eyes full of reluctance.

More comments floated into view.

[Is the side chick doing this on purpose? Why is she trying to drag the FL away?]

[Nooo! The FL is about to draw a dare and belt out a song in front of everyone—and then the whole room is gonna be blown away by her voice!]

…

Thanks to these comments, I finally understood everything.

It turned out that Henson, Abia, and I were just characters in a book.

In the original plot, Henson and Abia met at this birthday party.

After learning Abia had extraordinary musical talent but couldn’t afford further studies due to her poor background, Henson funded her enrollment at Berklee College of Music.

And they gradually fell in love along the way.

And me? When I noticed Henson’s changing attitude, I’d clung to him desperately, only pushing him further away. I’d become the glue that brought the main couple together.

…But why did it have to be me who lost everything?”

Let them do whatever they wanted from now on.

It had nothing to do with me.

I was done being a side chick.

“You can stay if you want. You’ve met everyone anyway. I’m leaving.”

I turned to leave.

Abia hesitated for a moment before standing up to follow me.

That was when Henson strode over and grabbed my wrist outside the suite. “Carrie, what’s gotten into you? Why the attitude all of a sudden?”

Before I could speak, Abia cut in, “Please don’t blame Carrie. I suddenly felt unwell, so I asked her to leave with me.”

She tugged at my sleeve. “Right, Carrie?”

More comments flooded in.

[My sweet girl, why do you have to be so kind? The side chick just ruined your moment!]

[I’m literally crying. Even now, she’s still looking out for the side chick!]

[Abia grew up reading Balzac and listening to Beethoven. She’s practically a paragon of virtue. Unlike certain side chicks…]

My background was indeed messy. But was Abia really as noble as the comments claimed?

We’d been roommates in college and stayed in the same city after graduating, sharing a small apartment.

Six months ago, Abia said a jerk had broken her heart. She’d gone to therapy and taken antidepressants, but nothing helped.

Eventually, she couldn’t even go to work, staying cooped up at home moping.

I couldn’t stand it, so I’d stepped up for her.

So I’d gone to that party, poured a glass of wine on the jerk, slapped him, and exposed his two-timing ways to everyone.

Only then did Abia show up late.

What had she said?

“It’s okay, Carrie. We weren’t even official. He didn’t actually do any real harm to me…”

“It’s just… I started questioning everything about the world… don’t think I can trust men anymore…”

I ended up being the irrational, dramatic fool who made a public scene, the one people pointed fingers at and called crazy. Meanwhile, Abia was the reasonable, understanding one who walked away without a speck of dirt on her.

I’d been furious, drunk several glasses, and gone to the bathroom to calm down.

Coming out, I’d run into Henson leaning against the hallway wall, scrolling his phone.

The day before, my boss had invited Henson to tour the company, and as the receptionist, I’d handled the initial reception.

It had been love at first sight. I’d confessed my feelings to him all over social media right after.

But I never expected to see him here.

After that night, I might never get this close to him again for the rest of my life.

With that thought in mind, I mustered my courage, pinned him against the wall, and kissed him.

…

Thinking back, I felt nothing but irony. I hadn’t seen the comments back then. If I had, they’d probably have called me names too.

And Abia? How could she be wrong? She was just too pure, too kind, too naive about the world.

She’d never told me to do anything. It had all been my own doing—reckless, unreasonable, blind.

At Abia’s words, Henson frowned slightly, his gaze fluttering. “Where exactly do you feel unwell? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

I scoffed internally, “Yeah, she has moderate depression, bipolar disorder, and somatic symptoms. If you have time, take her to a therapist.”

The commenters panicked.

[Is the side chick crazy? Why is she suddenly bringing all this up in front of the ML?]

[The FL never once mentioned any of this herself! The ML was supposed to slowly discover her hidden trauma over time—that’s what would have made him care for her even more!]

But a few comments actually took my side.

[What? Did the side chick lie? Who was the one constantly bringing up her trauma in front of the side chick, making her feel sorry for her, so she’d get invited to the birthday party in the first place?]

[I’ve been sick of the FL harping on about that scumbag for ages. It wasn’t even a real relationship. How many times does she need to bring it up?]

[She’s trying to play the flawless angel and the victim of the world at the same time. Spare me. The side chick’s probably got ten times the trauma she does.]

Before either of them could react, I pulled my wrist free from Henson’s hand and walked away without looking back.