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Dedicated to feminenemy22 for writing Secret Diary of a Fangirl.

"Mitch? Mitch Grassi?"

The weekend, at long last, is here. I slept in for an hour, practiced my lines in front of a mirror until ten, and then left for brunch with Alex. We're headed to the bistro on foot, hand in hand, with the sun shining down and a teenage fan stopping me for an autograph or a selfie or something. I let go of Alex's hand, still self-conscious over the controversy after all this time. If hate for Alex was bad before, it skyrocketed when he left Scott, and launched into orbit when he started dating me. The fandom split into all kinds of factions.

First, there's the "leave them alone, it's none of your business" faction. That has a few sides: the side that honestly doesn't care, the side that keeps its mouth shut, and the side that flies off the handle whenever anyone mentions anything about us. Next, there's the Alex-hating Scömìche-shipping faction, clinging to the Titanic for dear life at the bottom of the ice-cold ocean. There's another sect that sides strongly with Scott and hates both me and Alex. There are a bunch of people who just left with all the drama. There are quite a few Milex shippers too, and they come in all flavors. Finally, there are people who joined because of my movies or Scott's music, or because they found us through Kirstie, Kevin, or Avi's work. The new people make up most of the fans now.

They don't think I pay attention to the drama, but I'm in the trenches. I run several notable fan accounts wherever the fandom goes: Twitter, Wattpad, Instagram, Tumblr, etc. I've been paying attention since the early days of Pentatonix. I'm even good friends with some people online through my fan accounts. Oh, if only they knew.

I let go of Alex's hand, but he doesn't let go of mine, just squeezes it and smiles at the excited girl. He's right. I turn to her and greet her warmly, take a picture, and thank her as she gushes. Wait a minute. I know her. She's on Twitter, I think? She's nice. She watches all my movies at the midnight release. I can't remember her username, but I bet I can find it. She shyly asks for a picture with Alex, and I shoot it for them. Over brunch, I find her account and share her meltdown with him. I favorite the pictures and follow her from my main account. She melts down some more and I switch to a fan account to congratulate her.

Alex rolls his eyes at me when he sees. "You're so vain."

"I'm blending in!"

"You have your own face as your avatar."

"It's what they do! I can't help it that I'm beautiful."

"Okay, but did you have to name your account 'Mitchell Lover?'" There are only two L's, though. It's an inside joke I've forgotten. "Scott's fake fan accounts were at least not just for himself."

"Wait, you know the usernames?"

"There was just one that he used on all the sites."

"He never told me about it!"

"Yeah, probably because he was posing as a fan of you. He didn't tell me either."

"But you saw it, right?"

"Mitch, he blocked you. I don't think it's a good–"

"Please, Alex."

"I don't even know if it's still up."

This is the time, I suppose. "I've been meaning to talk to you about him," I begin.

"I heard you singing Not Enough in the shower the other day."

I look down at my fork. "I'm not handling it very well. I still listen to his music. You don't have to tell me it's toxic; I know it is and that he wanted it to be. But at the same time, he's talking to me in it, and I miss that. You've accepted that it's over, I guess, and that's how you let go, but I can't. If it's over, what's the point? Why be who I am, why have everything I have, why work so hard, why live in luxury if... I don't know what I'm saying. That's not really related. It's just, what's the point of anything if it doesn't make me happy? What's the point if I can't be my best friend's best friend?" I rest my head in my palms. "It's been two years. Over two years. I'm sorry I haven't worked it out yet. Maybe I should talk to a therapist or something? A marriage councilor? Ha, I wish Scott would agree to marriage counseling sessions with me. I just don't want to make this your problem when you've been dealing with it so well, but I didn't want to hide it either because it's not getting better. Honestly, it's getting worse."

"I'm not handling it well at all. I'm handling it by hating him. You can do better than me. If you want therapy, go for it, but not because you don't want to trouble me. If anything, you can come back after your sessions and teach me what you've learned."

"I didn't really mean-"

"But it's a good idea. I'm not in a good place either, and I can't help like I want to, but I could schedule your appointments."

"Would you?" That would make it so much easier for me.

"Of course. And Mitch, if you do want to talk about it with me, you can."

"Can I, um, can I have his username?" I just need some kind of connection to Scott again.

He writes it on a napkin and slides it across the table to me. "Don't hurt yourself, baby. He's not who you knew, you know? He's not healthy to be around."

I nod and tuck the napkin into my pocket, not even looking at it. I can think of nothing else, though. As soon as I have a moment alone, I unfold it and search for Twitter user scomiche22.

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