Julie Chan Is Dead

by Liann Zhang

Being a young woman is already like existing in the seventh circle of hell.

This is my pattern. It’s self-defeating and depressing, yet I can’t stop myself. Chloe is my vice. I’m addicted to the way I grow hateful. Crave how it fills me with vitriol. Being angry and envious is better than being empty.

Jealousy tugs at my chest, preventing me from stepping forward. I can’t help but wonder: What if I was born first? What if I was adopted by the Van Huusens? What if I was famous online? What if I had all of this? This nice apartment with expensive rings lying innocently in a catch-all?

My breaths are short and scattered as I read and expand every vile, vindictive thread. There’s something addictive about it, seeing what people think of me, every cruel comment, every hateful sentence.

Every like and positive comment injects me with a dose of pure ecstasy. I keep refreshing the post, watching the engagement creep.

I admit, it’s unhealthy crawling around a Chloe snark subreddit. But it’s impossible to resist. Every scroll and every mean post builds a tower of horrid fascination within me, each brick proving that I was right to take over Chloe’s life.

Why did I do this to myself? Am I insane? Okay. Maybe I am. I did take my sister’s identity after she died. That’s dictionary-definition insane.

I watched every Instagram story to get a vague gist of who was in attendance via #getreadywithmes. But damn, there are too many blond-haired, hazel-eyed, lip-plumped white influencers in this world. Differentiating them is an Olympic sport.

Sometimes she writes poetry. Here’s her magnum opus: When I’m with you my emotions emote like emojis.

By the time I’ve replied to each of them in earnest, I’m drained, but my heart is abuzz. I’m enamored with this new world I’ve claimed for myself. All these new, genuine connections.

In fact, all of the Belladonnas reply, complimenting my body, my work ethic. I grin, elated that I finally have a group of friends who support me.

“Grief is not easy to deal with alone. If you or a loved one is suffering from a loss like I am, please seek counseling for support. This video is sponsored by BetterTherapy.”

BetterTherapy is paying me fifty grand and offering free therapy sessions with a certified counselor.* (*BetterTherapy is not responsible if users are matched to a therapist without a degree or certification.)

The adoring support of my community never fails to fulfill me. They are the crutches that keep me standing. I’m not alone anymore—never will be again.

If anything, I save people with my content. My followers literally tell me that every single day: Your livestreams keep me going. They saved me during my darkest times because there’s always something to look forward to in the morning. Hear that? I save lives. So, in the grand scheme of things, I’m a good person. A great fucking person. Everyone in my Chloe Crew tells me so.

Bella Marie finds me. “Chloe!” she says, beckoning with her hand. The other seven turn to me. “Chloe!” A high and sweet chorus, welcoming me. Their gravity is irresistible. I go to them.

Which begs the question: What the hell was wrong with me? Where had my head gone? It’s like logic had slipped out between my fingers, disintegrated like sand. Was I so desperate to be their companion that I swore fealty to some ridiculous, amorphous, godly being just so they’d accept me into their group?

For five whole years, she was a member of the Belladonnas, a believer in Eto, one of the family. Then, she dies, and the girls barely blink an eye, accepting a replacement at the snap of their fingers.

My blood runs cold. Sacrifice. The baby. Her firstborn child. Of course. How did I not realize? She sacrificed her firstborn child to Eto for followers.

“Have you been off this island?” He grits his teeth, resistant to answer. With enough silence, he shakes his head, gaze downcast to the floor. “You’d be a hit outside,” I say. “You have that European white man appeal. A bit like Alexander Skarsgård.”

Are you fucking kidding? They were gobbling baby mice like Sour Patch Kids, but they can’t accept some non-government-regulated, non-FDA-approved, drugged-out sleep gummies?

Shannon is an amazing lawyer. Fantastic. But what does she know about social media? She was too busy sticking her nose in law school textbooks instead of doom-scrolling like the rest of us.