I still hadn't turned on my phone by seven o'clock that night. I was too afraid of what I'd find, of the bullies commenting on my Instagram feed, of my dwindling self-esteem.

If I was completely honest, I was also ashamed. It embarrassed me that I let it impact me so much. These strangers - people I have never met and probably never will - doing this to me, and I just let them. I let it happen. Again.

There's a difference between responding to bullies and not letting them win. You don't have to respond to say to them, "Hey, this isn't going to get me down." Winning comes from within, as cliché as that sounds. I've known it for years. But here I was, terrified of these strangers, scared of the things they'd say about me, instead of reminding myself that they don't actually know me and I don't care about what they think.

Bullies will always exist. No matter what we do to try to get rid of them, some people simply enjoy watching others suffer. Sometimes it's not even a malicious intent, it's just the power trip of it. The feeling surging through your veins that you have control over this one moment in time, these words, these actions, on a planet that is hurtling through the universe while we cling to the surface like the tiny specks of life we are.

I've known all of my life that bullying was unacceptable. I've known it was wrong. We're taught it in elementary school, but then we see that standard fall apart. We see middle school and high school bullies gain popularity. We see them succeed when the rules of fairness tell us they should fail. We see the things we were always taught that mattered above all else reduced to nothingness, that people don't matter. That feelings don't matter. That love doesn't matter.

We forget the golden rule. Whatever form of morality you subscribe to, we forget that we are all made of the same recycled atoms. We forget that we breathe the same air, that we have the same goals, that we all just want to be loved. To feel safe. To be happy.

The thing that we so often forget about bullies, the thing that I forgot about bullies, is that we decide if they win or not. We decide if we're going to stay down or if we're going to stand back up. We decide whether to add fuel to the flame, to give them the reaction they're looking for, or if we're going to snuff it out. Drown it with love and remember our inner strength.

You can run, sure, but then what? What have you learned? What have you accomplished? 

I sighed, flopping my head back up on the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. It was a struggle, one I was fighting in that very moment, but I didn't want to let it go down like that. I just...I didn't know what to do next. I didn't know how to respond. How to stay strong.

Sometimes you remember what you should do, but you forget how to do it.

"I don't think I could be a celebrity," Val said from her bed where she'd been cuddled up watching Netflix for the past hour, drawing me from my thoughts. "People are assholes."

I nodded, barely able to acknowledge her out of fear I'd break down and start crying again. Instead, I turned my attention back to the magazine lying open on my lap and flipped through another page. Fate hated me, so - of course - the next page had a paparazzi photo of Andrew exiting the gym, his fitted t-shirt gripping his muscular chest perfectly, and I slapped the magazine shut.

That was definitely not helping.

"I mean, I kinda stopped reading the comments, but I didn't expect some of the mean ones," she continued even though I didn't respond. "Oh well. They'll unfollow me in a week when they realize my Insta-life isn't that fabulous."

She paused, "I mean, I'm fabulous, but I'm not gonna spend all of my life documenting it when I can be out living it."

"I was thinking about setting my profile to private," I admitted softly. "I dunno, maybe it's time to delete my account."

Val leaned over the edge of her bed, glaring at me, "You can't do that. One, that's letting the trolls win, and two, you're not on any other social media accounts. You have to at least have one."

"I do not," I argued. "Says who? I feel like people who don't have social media are more mysterious."

She shook her head, "False. The people who are mysterious are those who have social media accounts and rarely post. Have you seen Tom Hiddleston's Instagram? He's only posted six times. Six. And he has almost two million followers."

"That's only because he dated Taylor Swift," I replied, lifting my eyebrow.

"Nope," she laid back on the bed. "That's because he's gorgeous and mysterious."

I sighed, "I don't know. This just blew up, and I don't really know how to deal with it."

"It depends," Val said, still playing with your phone. "Do you plan on seeing Lincoln again?"

Did I? I wasn't sure. Before last night, I would've told you absolutely not. I'd made up my mind about him in a split second, but after spending time with him I could feel myself regretting that hasty decision. It wasn't like I wanted to start dating the guy or anything - we just met - but I would like the opportunity to get to know him a little bit better.

As friends. Strictly as friends.

That is, if he wants to see me again.

"Cait," Val said, staring at me.

I looked up at her, "What?"

"Do you plan on seeing him again?" She repeated slowly, exaggerating each word.

"A-Lincoln?" I asked and she nodded. "I doubt it," I shrugged. "I mean, how would that even happen? Run into him at another random restaurant again?"

She seemed surprised, "I thought you guys hit it off last night. I kinda figured he'd ask for your number. Plus, he'd be a great distraction from that jackass Andrew."

I nearly choked on my water, coughing as I tried to clear my airway. I'd forgotten about the lie I told my roommate, and - after last night - I was worried it was going to come back to bite me in the ass. I could tell her about Andrew, admit that he really was Lincoln, but I felt like I might be betraying his trust to do so.

Then again, I have no idea how many people he tells about his real name, so I might be making a big deal out of absolutely nothing.

"Whoa!" Val sat up like a rocket, her back rigid. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh m--"

"What?!" I stood up, stepping toward her bed as I waited to find out what she was freaking out about. "What is it? Is everything okay?"

She grinned, "More than okay!"

"So what is it?" I felt like throttling her for nearly giving me a heart attack.

Val turned her phone and shoved it in my face, "Lincoln Shepherd just followed me on Instagram!"

"Really?" I lifted an eyebrow. "That's why you're freaking out?"

She glared at me, "Not all of us were lucky enough to have him follow us last night like you, Miss Vega."

"Oh, come on," I rolled my eyes. "Like I wanted that to happen. Have you seen my Instagram account today? A bunch of teenage girls from all over the world officially hate me because of one stupid picture. They've made that abundantly clear."

"They're just jealous," she said, looking at her screen again with a squeal. "I was jealous. I mean, I'm not now, but I was."

I groaned, "Val, I didn't ask for this to happen. You know that, right?"

"Relax," she replied. "It's not like I'm mad about it or anything. Honestly, the two of you are kind of adorable together. I ship it. Lincoln might be my dream guy, but in reality? He's gorgeous and all, but you know me. I like my men a little more..."

"Stupid," I teased.

She tossed one of her pillows at me as I flopped back on the couch, "Funny. Not that Lincoln isn't funny, but I like the goofballs."

"Goofballs," I grinned and threw her pillow back to her. "Sure, let's call them that."

Val caught the pillow, cradling it to her chest, and looked down at her phone while she scrolled through Instagram. After a few minutes, I was tempted to turn my own phone back on and check to see if the comments had gotten better or worse, but I wasn't quite ready to deal with the bullies yet so I flipped open the magazine instead whilst skipping the page with Andrew on it. I knew I could handle it - I'd handled worse things than bullies in the past - but I planned on pretending it didn't exist for just a little while longer before I faced it.

"Um, Cait?" Val asked, staring at her screen.

I glanced up at her, "What?"

"Lincoln Shepherd just sent me a message," she said, her eyes bright with excitement. "He asked for your number."

"What?!" I dropped the magazine, completely uninterested in reading further. "What did he say? You didn't give it to him, did you?!"

She scoffed, "Of course I did."