Awakened by Comments: Feeding My Trash Ex Actual Garbage

"She's just a desperate stagefive clinger. Cooks me full organic, glutenfree meals every single day and lines up to buy me limitededition sneakers. But honestly?

I couldn't care less. She reeks of cheapness." I stood outside the office door. My fingers dug so hard into the handle of the insulated lunchbox that my knuckles turned white.

Through the crack in the door, my boyfriend Easton—currently eighty grand in debt from blowing up his crypto account—was running his mouth to his coworkers.

I didn't push the door open. I just stood in the shadows, my lips curling into a sharp, cold line.

His prized "madewithlove lunch" was thrown together from rotting, nearexpired vegetables I dug out of the dumpster in the alley behind the supermarket.

And those "designer sneakers" on his feet? Twodollar flea market knockoffs previously worn by an old guy with a severe fungal infection and athlete's foot.

My newly inherited family trust fund sat on exactly three million dollars. But I spent every day pretending to scrape by on pennies with him.

According to the original script, I was supposed to play the ultimate brainless doormat.

I would drain my life savings to wipe out his massive debt, die a miserable death from a terminal illness, and smile with my last breath as he walked off into his happilyeverafter with the oldmoney heiress, Penelope.

Because in this malegaze underdog fantasy, he was the golden boy. And I was just the disposable stepping stone. Too bad for him. Yesterday, I woke up. This little gaslighting game?

I'm taking over. Chapter 1 I woke up the day before my boyfriend tried to gaslight me into paying off his massive debt.

That was when the realization hit me: I had somehow been dragged into a toxic malefantasy loser's comeback TV show.

And the main character was none other than Easton, my boyfriend of three years. Three years of dating. Three years of relentless gaslighting.

Ever since we moved in together, we supposedly split everything down the middle.

In reality, out of our twothousanddollar monthly rent, he only pitched in a hundred bucks, all while demanding I give him a secondary card to my credit account so he could swipe it whenever he pleased.

He demanded full organic, freshcut meats for dinner every night.

Then he had the nerve to claim he never used the oven, which meant I had to cover seventy percent of the electricity bill.

When I first questioned this absurd math, he just flashed that doting smile of his and ruffled my hair. "Silly girl. Every cent I'm saving up is so I can marry you.

All this money will be yours eventually." Any person with half a working brain would have seen right through that textbook manipulation.

But apparently, I was cursed with the ultimate blindinlove debuff. I actually smiled and agreed to it. I probably never would have snapped out of it.

Not until the floating comments suddenly started appearing in my vision a while ago. The text scrolled right in front of my eyes: [This girl is such a blind idiot.

Every penny she scraped together got blown by Easton on some scam investment.

I bet twenty bucks he’s going to gaslight her again tonight.] [Just wait until Easton hooks up with his boss's daughter.

She's going to catch a terminal illness and drop dead.] [Hey, no spoilers up there! This is my first time watching!] [Second rewatch here.

I bet she still has no clue Easton took out a massive life insurance policy on her.

So tragic.] [She definitely doesn't know those Valentine's roses were pulled straight out of a dumpster. And that Rolex she bought him?

He already flipped it on a secondhand trading site, and she's just sitting at home completely clueless!] [Classic. Spend money on a man, ruin your life forever.] Great.

Now I knew everything. I spent an entire afternoon piecing together the clues from those floating comments.

That was how I learned my entire existence was just a steppingstone side character in an oldschool male power fantasy that got adapted into a television show.

My pathetic fate was designed with one single purpose: to suffer and die so the golden boy, Easton, could climb the social ladder and strike it rich.

I was nothing but a tragic tool. Because the original book was so full of toxic garbage, this new show adaptation drew in massive traffic right out of the gate.

It became the ultimate cautionary tale for girls everywhere to cure their relationship delusions. The viewers absolutely tore the show to shreds online.

And those floating words constantly crossing my vision? They were the live reactions of the audience watching my life unfold. I kept my face blank and buried the truth down deep.

Sure enough, that very night, Easton broke his usual pattern and walked through the door holding a bouquet of roses.

It was Valentine's Day, which also happened to be our threeyear anniversary. I had originally prepared a Rolex for him.

I bought it using the bonus I earned from grinding through a brutal sixmonth project at work, just to give him a surprise.

Easton handed me the roses the second he stepped inside. "Happy Valentine's Day, babe." His shoulders slumped heavily, but he still reached out to gently ruffle my hair, tilting his head just right to show off his sharp jawline.

Honestly? Easton wasn't dropdead gorgeous, but he had a good profile.

He maintained just enough muscle to look decent, though his eyes were a little too narrow and his lips were razorthin.

People always said guys with faces like that were naturally coldblooded and calculating.

He knew his best angles, which was exactly why he spent most of his time making sure I only saw his side profile. I used to be blind to how unnatural it looked.

Now, staring at his rigidly angled neck, my only thought was: Doesn't that give him a cramp?

Chapter 2 A flurry of comments rapidly materialized in the air before me. [Easton's razorsharp jawline just sliced me through the screen, help!

Does my premium health insurance cover this? Need answers ASAP!] [I bet he pulled those out of a compost dumpster.

Wonder if Easton even bothered to pick off the rotting lettuce and fruit peels.] [The commenter above is so toxic, but honestly, I can literally smell the stench through my screen.] Seeing that, I subconsciously sniffed the air.

Sure enough, a faint whiff of rotting fruit and dumpster juice hit my nose. The roses were already wilting, their bruised petals far from fresh.

I spotted a small card tucked between the stems and pulled it open. [Happy Valentine's Day, Penelope.] Great. My name is Maren. I have absolutely nothing to do with Penelope.

Easton noticed my gaze and snatched the card right out of my fingers.

He crushed it into a ball and tossed it into the trash can, forcing out a dry laugh. "The florist must have messed up the name. I clearly wrote Maren on the order.

I swear, nobody wants to work these days. Do you have any idea how much these roses cost me?" My face remained a perfectly blank mask, but my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

I set the bouquet down on the shoe cabinet by the door, a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach. "Thanks, babe. I love them. Just don't spend so much next time, okay?

It's the thought that counts." Couldn't he have at least picked a cleaner dumpster? He really dragged this biohazard back to our apartment to scam me?

And claimed it cost fifty bucks? Easton flashed a selfsatisfied smirk.

He loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes without a care, and slumped heavily onto the couch. "Is dinner ready?

I totally would have taken you out for Valentine's Day, but you know how it is—this bouquet completely wiped out my wallet. Oh, right, the roses were fifty bucks.

Don't forget to Venmo me your half later, babe!" He ordered me around with his usual casual entitlement.

Every single item in this apartment, no matter how insignificant, had to be split fiftyfifty if Easton paid for it. Down to a single bottle of dish soap or a box of tissues.

Of course, he never split the shampoo—he just bought the cheapest dollarstore travel packets so he wouldn't have to share.

Any rational woman would have kicked this cheapskate to the curb ages ago. Bizarrely enough, the thought of breaking up had never even crossed my mind before today.

That malelead plot armor must have had a serious chokehold on my brain. I walked into the kitchen just like I did every other night.

The second the door clicked shut behind me, the floating text in my vision exploded. [Is the female lead finally waking up to how cheap he is?

He's not just cheap, he's fullon gaslighting you, girl!] [What do you expect from a losercomeback show?

The side piece never realizes she's being manipulated until the moment she drops dead.] The comments were scrolling at warp speed. A shadow blocked the kitchen doorway.

Easton stepped in, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He dropped his chin heavily onto my shoulder, his voice dropping into a pitiful, wounded register. "Babe, I'm so sorry.

I need to confess something. All that money I was saving up for our wedding… I listened to a buddy and put it into an investment. I lost everything.

I'm eighty grand in the hole, and the guy just vanished. I'm such a piece of trash!" My shoulders locked into rigid stone.

Chapter 3 The text in my vision exploded into a frenzy of new comments. [Here he comes!

Here comes the boy with his mountain of debt!] [This girl wouldn't actually believe his lies, right?

That bastard clearly took the money to play highstakes online poker, dreaming of getting rich overnight, and ended up getting played by an offshore scam site.

Plus, he just hooked up with that oldmoney heiress two days ago. He's totally trying to ditch Maren!] [I bet a dollar Maren gets scammed.

She's not actually going to drain her own savings to pay off Easton's debt, is she?] [To the commenter above: this is a losercomeback show.

I guarantee you that's exactly how the plot goes.] I kept my expression perfectly neutral. I turned around, pretending to hesitate, and suggested we call the police.

Easton shut that down instantly. "He's a friend. His family is completely broke.

Even if we get the cops involved, we'll never see that money again." Easton kept going. "I'm eighty grand in the hole now. We might not even make rent next month.

I can handle living in the dirt, but I don't want to drag you down with me. I'm such a piece of trash." He pulled at his hair, putting on an Oscarworthy performance of pure agony.

I tested the waters. "So what are you going to do?" He stared right back at me. "If only I had a lump sum of cash right now to get me through this." Oh, I had money.

But he wasn't getting a single red cent of it. Not long ago, my lawyer contacted me to let me know the secret trust fund my late parents set up had finally been unfrozen.

It sat on exactly three million dollars. I was originally planning to tell him today.

I wanted to surprise him, to tell him he didn't have to grind himself to the bone saving up for our wedding anymore. But well, now I saw the entire picture.

My trust fund unfreezing was just another convenient plot device for his grand narrative. Easton would be so moved by my sacrifice, he'd drag himself out of his slump.

My three million dollars would become the seed money for his massive comeback.

Once he used my cash to claw his way to the top of the corporate ladder, trading blows with his business rivals, he'd be busy making out with the oldmoney heiress—the actual female lead.

Meanwhile, I'd get kidnapped, tortured, and humiliated by his enemies. My suffering would buy him and his new girl plenty of time to build their romance.

And by the time he finally remembered I existed and pulled me out of whatever hellhole I was in, I'd be struck down by some incurable disease.

That massive life insurance policy he took out on me would trigger, cashing out a massive payout straight into his bank account.

And just before I flatlined, I'd practically beg him to be with Penelope.

The two of them would stand right over my hospital bed, having a tragically romantic kiss as they got their happy ending. And I would just quietly flatline and disappear. Perfect.

What kind of sick, twisted author writes garbage like this? I looked at Easton, my face the picture of absolute heartbreak. "I'm so useless.

If I had any money, I would give it to you in a heartbeat." He didn't even try to hide the flash of bitter disappointment in his eyes. "Right. It's fine. I'll figure something out.

I just hate the thought of you suffering with me." Before I woke up, I would have swallowed every word of that toxic garbage.

Right now, my fingernails dug into my palms just to keep from laughing in his face.

Over the next few days, Easton kept testing the waters, constantly probing to see if I had a secret stash of cash hidden somewhere. Every time he brought it up, I played dumb.

I even put on a whole show, calling up friends right in front of him, begging for loans and getting dramatically rejected.

I had already moved anything of actual value to a secure offsite locker.

Once Easton realized he wasn't going to squeeze a single drop of blood from this stone, his patience snapped.

I happily used his foul mood as an excuse to pack my things and move into the guest bedroom.

Between losing his shirt to the online poker scam and the looming threat of getting fired from his job, the stress caused two massive stress sores to erupt on his lip.

His attitude toward me turned completely frigid. He spent every single day finding new and creative ways to gaslight me into the ground.

Chapter 4 I originally planned to just dump the bastard, walk away, and start my new life.

But no matter how many times I tried to force the words out, some invisible wall stopped me. After some digging, I finally figured out the sick rules of this world.

Unless the golden boy and his destined heroine reached their grand finale, a disposable side character like me couldn't break free from the plot's control.

But what if Easton was the one who dumped me? A brilliant idea sparked in my mind. Didn't Easton demand a full organic spread for every single meal?

I timed it perfectly, sneaking out to the alley behind the supermarket to dig through the dumpsters for nearexpired, rotting vegetables.

I dragged them home, threw them in a pot, and took my sweet time before serving up a single portion. Don't ask why it was only for him.

I had already treated myself to a nice dinner out. I set the bowl on the table, resting my chin on my hands as I watched him eat with wide, expectant eyes.

He took one bite and curled his lip. "Why does the food taste so sour lately?" I put on my best innocent, doeeyed expression. "It doesn't! Are you just stressed out?

Maybe it's ruining your appetite." He had the nerve to complain about the sour taste?

Did he suddenly develop amnesia about the time he dug roses out of a trash can and asked me to Venmo him for half? "Our groceries seem like a massive downgrade lately.

Are you totally broke too? I thought your project bonus was supposed to hit your account this week." I bit my lip, forcing a look of sheer agony. "I messed up at work.

I've just been so distracted trying to figure out how to help you pay off your debt. My boss docked almost my entire bonus." Easton actually bought it.

He forced down the rest of that rotting vegetable sludge, wincing with every gulp. He finally looked up and asked why I wasn't eating.

I gave him a blindingly sweet smile. "I'm not hungry at all! You're the man of the house.

As long as you're full, I'm happy!" The second he swallowed the last drop, the floating text exploded across my vision. [Whoa, did the sidepiece finally snap?] [Hahaha, Easton the idiot definitely doesn't know that soup came straight out of a dumpster.] [He totally deserves it!

They really are a match made in heaven.

One digs in the trash for roses, the other digs in the trash for rotten veggies.] [I would pay actual money to see his face when he finds out the truth.] The comments were multiplying by the second.

I noticed that ever since I started resisting his toxic gaslighting, the audience count was steadily climbing. And those viewers weren't just for show.

Right after Easton finished his garbage soup, the live viewer count broke two thousand for the first time.

If I could get it to hit one hundred thousand, I'd unlock the ultimate reward: [Break Free from SideCharacter Constraints] I was absolutely willing to take that gamble.

I would do anything if it meant finally escaping Easton. Thrilled by my little victory, I decided to keep the momentum going.

I pulled out a designer shoebox and handed it to him. "Babe, I know things are incredibly tight right now, but you shouldn't have to suffer.

I noticed your shoes are getting pretty worn out, so I got you a new pair." Easton stared at the pristine, highend logo on the box.

His narrow eyes lit up, though his hand hovered for a second before taking it. "Why would you buy something this expensive?

You could have just grabbed me some cheap knockoffs from a street vendor. We're broke, remember?

Stop wasting money on me." His mouth was spouting humble protests, but his hands were already frantically tearing open the box and shoving his feet into the shoes.

He wiggled his toes, giving them a critical evaluation. "Not bad.

They're half a size too big, and they smell a little weird… but I guess that's just that newluxuryshoe scent, right?" I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper, practically dying of laughter on the inside.

Chapter 5 Of course they smelled weird. My next door neighbor, some old guy, had tossed them out this morning. He bought those knockoffs at a flea market for two bucks.

The guy had a severe fungal infection and athlete's foot. He wore them for two days, in agonizing pain, before throwing them out in a fit of rage.

I had to gear up in full hazmat mode just to retrieve them. That was just my special way of repaying Easton for treating me so well.

Just as I predicted, his attitude took a massive oneeighty after getting the gift. Meanwhile, the live viewer count shot up from two thousand to three thousand.

I bit my tongue to suppress my wild excitement. My heart pounded against my ribs. I was going to hit that one hundred thousand viewer milestone in no time.

But right then, Easton reached into his briefcase and pulled out a life insurance policy. I stared at the document, momentarily frozen. Easton handed it to me.

He looked at me with a face full of deep, manufactured devotion. "Maren, you treat me so incredibly well, and I honestly don't know how to repay you.

I know I'm completely broke right now, but you never abandoned me after I fell into debt. You must truly love me for who I am.

So, I want to ask… will you marry me?" He actually dropped to one knee, holding up the insurance policy like it was a diamond ring. "This is an accidental death policy.

I want to put your name down as the beneficiary. With my situation, the debt collectors are probably going to show up at our door soon. I'm terrified something might happen to me.

I won't be able to take care of you anymore. If that happens, at least this policy will ensure you can live comfortably for the rest of your life." A dizzy spell hit me.

What the hell was this? You know your debt is going to get you killed, and you want me to marry you just so I can become a widow?

Did he think I was some pathetic, desperate little girl? Why was I supposed to bear this cursed fate