Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : YoungAdult

Chapter One // Tweets

"I can't believe this is happening to me." I sobbed. 

Katrina, it's not that bad," Jordan's deep voice floated to my ears. 

Everyone knows about it, don't lie to me." 

"It's not that big of a deal, we can handle it." 

"Every major channel is covering it, I'm the laughing stock of the world." I sobbed. A single, pitiful tear flowed down my cheek. I could already tell my light mascara was running and beginning to clump in the corner of my eyes, and it wasn't waterproof. 

"I'll take care of this," 

"Of course you will, when you do great things, you get applauded. When I try, I get death threats. Jordan, it's 2115 and nothing has changed for people like me." I waved my dark hand in his face before shuffling my contracts and business reports out of the way and forcing my head deeper into my palms.

"They're just jealous of your talent," 

"What talent? I'm worthless." 

"You have a net worth of $20.7 billion, baby." 

"If I'm so valuable, then why are people so eager to kill me? They don't give a shit about my net worth." 

"They just don't want to see you succeed," Jordan said softly. His words felt familiar. 

"Maybe I should just commit suicide, that'll get everyone's attention. And then those people would be happier without me an-" 

"No!" Jordan violently spun me around so I faced him head on. My whole body caved in as a response. 

"Never think like that."

"It wouldn't be soon, maybe a month or two left. I'll give you plenty of hints, or they'll beat me to it and murder me in my sleep. Either way works for me at this point."

"They won't win, the police are tracking them as we speak." 

"And then what? They run an entire website with thousands of subscribers against my mere existence." 

"We'll shut down the website,"

"Jordan, this is America. Freedom of speech and all that, they can't control the people who support them. These people can easily create and advertise for their own website.

EverybodyHatesKatrina.com
KillKatrina.com
HurricaneKatrinaPartTwo dot fucking com."

"You're showered with more love than hate, those thousands can't compare to the millions who support and adore you." He kissed my forehead, I covered my face into my elbow even deeper. 

"So, you admit that thousands of people hate me." 

"Katrina, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known," Jordan ignored me. "You're smart, funny, and strong. We're great together. This," he pointed between us. "This is a unit," I'm not leaving you. You're not leaving me." 

"I know, but-"

"No buts, I'll cover your papers today. You just relax a bit."

I should've been more mature about it, I'm almost a twenty-one-year-old woman, but it kept nagging at me throughout the day. This was definitely the trough of my career. I was Katrina Michaels, world renown time-traveler and co-founder of the Santa Monica Institute Of Scientific Studies and Observation (Commonly referred to as SMISSO). I was the rags-to-riches, the orphan-turned-billionairess story everyone loved to hear. I was black Cinderella pretty much. Many people looked up to me and my accomplishments, I was well aware of that, but like any established person there were the downsides. I had a higher dislike rate amongst white men than my partner (in life and work) Dr. Jordan Daniels. Not that I really care what they think, I mean, men are trash anyway. But sometimes, they aren't wrong. In fact, everything they say is right and I can't ignore the facts. If I did I wouldn't be where I am today, right?

To most of America, I was a dead woman walking as of that morning. A post about my anticipated death was beginning to trend all over the world wide web. Even more embarrassing, it was originally posted on Twitter. Twitter! What an insult! The once popular site had faded into a backup source of updated entertainment. It had been dead for decades as technology advanced. Until this morning, that is when someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Couldn't they have at least given me the courtesy of posting on anything else? 

I was on my way to work with Jordan. He snacked happily on a bagel in one hand, the other was caressing my knee. He looked dashing in a maroon tie that matched my dress. The pitch jacket was spotless and pressed crisply. About an hour ago he was going on a month without shaving, but thanks to my persuasion skills I was no longer kissing a cactus. His startling blue eyes were softened by delicate laugh lines. His dark hair had recently been styled into a high fade and his long hair flopped over to dangle on his forehead. He was evenly tanned, you could tell even in the suit, and was every teenage girl's dream. And mine.

My business phone kept buzzing in my purse. My morning routine was to ignore the notifications until I reached my office to prevent unnecessary stress before and after hours. The limo rides counted towards my time off from work. I had intended, no needed for it to be a stress-free environment, if not for me for Jordan. We valued the rides, even if we didn't speak; each other's company was enough in our hectic schedules. 

I wasn't concerned about the buzzing until my personal phone  started lighting. My heart dropped like a stone. Lightning quick I started fidgeting with the zipper. Jordan stopped eating. 

"That's not your personal is it?" His eyebrows on his forehead. 

"It is. I can tell the difference." Although part of me still hoped it was still my business phone. 

The teal sparkly device was, in fact, lighting up my lock screen. I looked closer. "They're tweets," 

"Tweets? As in Twitter? As in...old people Twitter?" 

"Yeah. Let me see what they are." I swiped. Blue reflected on my face, then white as the tweets loaded. 

I scanned the less than 140 character long sentence. 

Thud! 

"Katrina, what's wrong?" Jordan was now fully invested, his bagel long forgotten and tucked away into the bag.

I picked up my phone off the limo carpet and read the other tweets along with their comments. I gulped down air, trying to keep my own breakfast down. 

"Katrina, talk to me. What do they say?" 

"K-Katrina Michaels is a waste of life. I'll take care of her soon enough."

"Katrina--"

"That nigger scientist thinks she's a celebrity now, can't wait till she dies."

"Stop--"

"I'm not racist but that Katrina bitch is problematic." 

"Really--"

"This is my favorite," I whispered weakly, "Black girls clean and cook, not get into history books. I'll travel back and kill her on her first birthday." 

"Enough. Who sent you those?" 

"People are tagging me," I could barely get the words out. "I totally forgot about my account." I tried to be light-hearted, but I sounded dead inside. 

"How many?" 

"They're repetitive, but a lot of people from the looks of it." My voice cracked. 

"What do you want to do?" 

"Just get to SMISSO..." 

He slid the partition open. "Hey, can you step on it? This is a matter of our security." I winced as he pulled the celebrity card. I was never the kind of person to use it but clearly, Jordan is. 

I slammed against the black leather seat almost instantly. My effort to keep my composure stopped abruptly as I wretched out the window. 

As the boss of a major company, my office was strategically placed at the top. It was more of a penthouse suite than an office. A large living area with couches, a refrigerator, and coffee machine overlooked the ocean through wall high windows. From there it branched off into our offices in an open floor plan. My walls were painted a bright mural of a sunset. The traditional art clashed with my clear glass desk and bookshelf. My chair was faced toward the living area, as was Jordan's. Our loud debates on contracts and authorizations were often heard up to three floors down. The sound of reporters on the ground below was muted because of the height, one of the perks of the thirty-first floor.