Candice Fitzpatrick has always been faster than me.

In the time that I've known her, which is only two years, I've known everything about her to be quick. Her pace, her wit, her reactions, her understanding of everything and everyone around her.

It's not just about disliking Candice, it's not about wanting her to be or feel upset. It's about the knowing feeling in my lungs when she's snuggled with Oliver, or dancing with Oliver, or fucking kissing Oliver.

And so Candice doesn't run, but she sprints, that she eventually disappears from me, and I realise that I can't keep up with her. Because I can't.

I spiral down the staircase and barge through the doors right at the bottom, alarming some of the staff. I nod an apology before finding Candice alone. She's sat on the concrete step that leads out to the large and fucking honking industrial bins. There's a gate but it's closed. I can't imagine Oliver climbing over it, someone must have let him out.

Candice has her head in her hands, her phone beeping uncontrollably as it sits next to her, ignored, on the concrete. It vibrates so much that it nearly falls off, smashes into a million pieces.

I slowly walk to pick it up and she doesn't move, doesn't snatch it away from me. Her face is still wet and blotchy from the crying and the wailing but it's stopped now, and she's eerily silent.

"Maybe you should turn your notifications off like the rest of us have." I'm a broken record.

"I did, ever since word got out that I was dating Oliver." She says quietly.

Then what is this? It's not even password protected. When the screen lights up, I see the beeping and the vibrating is from private messages on Twitter, on Instagram, on Facebook, on every single fucking social media app that I didn't even know existed.

And the messages; fuck me.

They're explicit, violent, aggressive. Some threaten to find her and kill her, to hurt her for what she's done.

You're a whore.

We're coming for you.

You don't deserve him, you bitch!

Always knew you were a slut.

"Jesus, the world hates you now."

And she laughs, laughs like I'm joking. But it's clear, the world fucking loathes her.

"Oh, Scottie; they always hated me. Scroll further down." I do, old messages from Purple Envy fans long before all this, and they're all still disgusting, all still threatening her because she'd dared to date Oliver. "I can't win with them. Your fans will hate me no matter what I do but...I can't go on."

What she's done to Oliver, it's hurting me too, but the anger inside of me doesn't come out the way I thought it would. I thought I'd yell at her, or refuse to look at her. But I'm doing the opposite of those things, I sit and I listen.

"I love Oliver more than you know, Scott. But, it's hard to feel those kinds of things for someone when they don't love you back." The words hit something in me. "I think maybe Oliver used to love me, or something that looked like love. But, whatever it was, slowly evaporated. You give and give but you don't get anything in return. All those things we do; the cuddles, the hand holding, it's become a public thing, because despite those messages," Candice points to her phone. "They still love seeing us together. It still sells. But I got tired."

Her voice falters on her last words, tears pouring out, and her mouth quivering. She wipes her face with the sleeve of her jumper. "I'm not saying what I did was right. I should have just broken up with him, but I was afraid of this. And Demitri, he's my brother. I know he loves me, but sometimes he's not himself and I have to give him so much love to get just a little back too because he doesn't understand. And you, you love Oliver."

She looks at me for the first time and I sit up straight. But when I look back, I know she doesn't mean the love I think she means, not the love that I bury and bury under guilt and lust.

"You and Oliver are best friends. I know you will always pick him over me, and that's fine. I accept that. But Luke..." She swallows. "Luke's always been so comforting, and makes me laugh, and makes sure I'm included when the rest of you don't realise that you're ignoring me. Being on tour with you all, just being with you all...it's so lonely. They make it lonely." She points at her phone again. "But I shouldn't have done it. Luke is... he's getting worse, and Demi needs me. But Oliver doesn't; he's not hurt, he's angry, he's angry that Luke found a way to humiliate him."

Candice's lips dry, but her eyes don't. She breathes in a big sigh, as if deflating, all the bad thoughts rushing out. I don't realise I've done it until she's stopped talking, but my arm is around her shoulders, and she's leaning into me.

"I humiliated him. And I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so tired." She says over and over again. I can hear birds in the trees that line a road on the other side of the gates. I can see the orange sky at sunset. And here is Candice, in my arms, starved of affection.

I don't hate her. I don't understand her.

"Candice, I think you're one of the bravest people I've ever met."

"And the dumbest."

We both turn round at the clipped accent of Mitch Simmons. He stands, towering over us on the concrete step, eyeing us through black lenses. Candice's breathe hitches.

"Don't fucking talk to her like that." I stand, trying to match his height, but he just moves around me.

"We're putting you on a plane back to Ireland, tonight. While I can't say that the publicity isn't great, the image is not. Luke is our lead, a bad boy metaphorically is what we want, not an actual home wrecker."

I think maybe Candice might jump and beg not to be sent home, and I'm willing to fight for her, my fists clenched like it might turn into and actual fist fight. But instead, she breathes carefully, and just nods at him.

"Good." Mitch turns to me. "Where has Oliver gone?"

"Dunno mate." I fold my arms. I don't actually know, but if I did, I fucking wouldn't tell Mitch Simmons. He snarls at my answer, and goes back inside.

I help Candice up, who leans into me again, breathing everything in.

She says, "I think I'm going to delete my Twitter."

And I say, "It's a lost follower I'll understand."