My Boyfriend Publicly Humiliated Me On TikTok, Calling Me…

Talk about emotional manipulation. She’d always done this, treated Derrick like he couldn’t possibly handle consequences and swooping in to fix everything.

It was one of many red flags I’d ignored. I showed the text to Miguel, who advised ignoring it, but something about it bothered me all day.

It wasn’t guilt, exactly, but a nagging feeling that this situation was spiraling beyond what I’d intended. Around 3:00 p.m., I decided to text her back.

“I’m sorry Derrick is struggling, but I’m not responsible for his choices or his healing. Please encourage him to get professional help.”

She responded immediately.

“He made a mistake. Everyone deserves forgiveness.”

I didn’t reply. Some mistakes change how you see a person forever.

Breaking the Calculated Silence

That evening, something unexpected happened. I was scrolling through TikTok—glutton for punishment, I know—when I saw a video from someone I didn’t follow.

It was one of those storytime TikToks, and the caption made my heart stop: “When your friend humiliates his girlfriend on TikTok and you finally call him out for being toxic.”

It was Franklin, one of Derrick’s longtime friends. He was the guy who was literally in the original video laughing along.

In the video, Franklin explained how he’d been complicit in Derrick’s toxic behavior for years, not just with me but with previous girlfriends, too. He told how the friend group had a pattern of encouraging Derrick’s worst impulses.

He said the TikTok incident had been a wakeup call for him personally. He ended with a message for me.

“Eliana, if you see this, I’m sorry. We all failed you. And Derek, man, get help. This isn’t about winning her back; this is about becoming someone who would never hurt her in the first place.”

I watched it seven times. I sent it to Amara, who responded with:

“Holy shit.” And nothing else for a full 10 minutes.

Then Franklin DM’d me on Instagram.

“Hey, hope that didn’t make things worse. Just couldn’t stay silent anymore. No pressure to respond.”

I sat with that for a while. I appreciated that he didn’t expect a response.

“Thanks for speaking up. Better late than never.” I finally wrote back.

We ended up having a surprisingly honest conversation. He told me Derrick had been spiraling hard since I left, drinking daily, getting into fights, and alienating friends.

He said the friend group was divided between those enabling him and those trying to get him help. Franklin also confirmed something I’d suspected.

This wasn’t the first time Derrick had spoken about me that way; it was just the first time it was recorded. That hit different.

Knowing it wasn’t a one-time drunk mistake, but a pattern—a true reflection of how he saw me when I wasn’t around. Friday marked exactly one month since I walked away.

I decided to celebrate my Independence Day by tackling the final item on my list: downloading a dating app. Not because I’m ready to date—God, no—but because I wanted to remind myself that Derrick isn’t the only option in the universe.

I wanted to remind myself that there’s a whole world of people who might appreciate me without secretly tearing me down. Setting up my profile felt weirdly vulnerable.

I was choosing photos where I actually liked how I looked and writing a bio that was authentically me. It was not curated to appeal to one specific person’s preferences.

It felt like stretching muscles I’d forgotten I had. I had just finished setting up my profile when my phone rang with another unknown number.

I almost declined it automatically, assuming it was Derrick with yet another burner phone, but something made me answer. It wasn’t Derrick; it was his friend Xavier.

Xavier sounded weird, nervous, and talking too fast. He said he needed to tell me something important, something about the original TikTok, something that might change how I saw everything.

I almost hung up. I almost told him I was done with all of it—done with Derrick and done with his friends and their drama.

But then Xavier spoke.

“The TikTok wasn’t spontaneous, Eliana. Derek planned it and I can prove it.”

I’m seeing Xavier today at 2:00 p.m. at the Starbucks. Miguel insisted on coming with me and sitting at a nearby table just in case.

I have no idea what Xavier wants to tell me. I’ll update after I meet with him.

My stomach’s in knots and I’ve changed my outfit four times already. Wish me luck, I guess.

The Weekend Warriors and Adriana

I’ve rewritten this post four times now because I still can’t believe everything that’s happened. Thank you to everyone who sent supportive messages after my cliffhanger last update.

I genuinely needed time to process what Xavier showed me. Let’s back up to Saturday at 2:03 p.m.

I walked into Starbucks with my stomach in knots. I spotted Xavier in the corner booth, nervously shredding a napkin.

Miguel took his position at a table near the door, looking very obvious despite his disguise of sunglasses worn indoors. Xavier looked rough—not Derrick-level disaster, but definitely stressed.

He had dark circles under his eyes and unwashed hair. He was wearing the same shirt I’d seen him in at least three times on Instagram recently.

The first five minutes were painfully awkward. He apologized about 17 different ways for his part in the TikTok situation.

I just sipped my latte and waited for him to get to the point. Finally, he pulled out his phone.

“Before I show you this, you need to know I didn’t find it until yesterday. I was going through some old group chats trying to find a pizza place we ordered from once, and I saw this thread that Derrick started about a month before… you know.” He said.

He slid his phone across the table. It was opened to a WhatsApp group chat titled “Weekend Warriors.”

It was Derrick, Xavier, Franklin, and two other guys. The messages were from five weeks before the TikTok incident.

“Need your help with something, boys.” Derrick wrote.

“What’s up?” Franklin replied.

“Trying to figure out how to break up with E.” Derrick wrote back.

“Woah, for real? Thought you guys were looking at places together.” Xavier asked.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. She’s getting too serious. Plus, I met someone at the gym.” Derrick explained.

I felt my face getting hot as I scrolled. Derrick went on to explain that he’d been talking to—his words—”a girl named Adriana” for almost three months.

He said he was worried about how I’d react to a breakup since we shared so many friends and “she can get emotional.” Excuse me?

As I kept reading, it got worse. Derrick was literally asking his friends for advice on how to make me break up with him so he could look like the good guy.

Their suggestions ranged from gradually becoming more distant to picking fights over nothing. And this is what made me nearly drop the phone.

“Just be an asshole on social media so she sees it and dumps you.” Someone suggested.

The last message in the thread was from Derek.

“TikTok might be the move. She never checks it anyway.”

I looked up at Xavier, who couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Why show me this now?” I asked.

He explained that after our last conversation, he’d been feeling increasingly guilty about his part in everything. He said he’d assumed the TikTok was just drunk stupidity, not a calculated move.

He didn’t know about Adriana until he found these messages.

“Derrick’s been lying to everyone. Telling us how heartbroken he is, how he made the biggest mistake of his life. Meanwhile, he’s still texting Adriana. I saw them together at Chipotle yesterday.” Xavier said.

It was like the final puzzle piece clicking into place. The TikTok wasn’t a drunken mistake; it was deliberate.

It was just a plan that backfired when I disappeared instead of confronting him. I sat there for a moment trying to process the fact that not only had Derrick intentionally humiliated me online, but he’d done it to escape our relationship and be with someone else.

And now he was playing the “devastated boyfriend” role to save face with everyone. I thanked Xavier for showing me the truth, then walked out of Starbucks with Miguel trailing behind asking 70 questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

The Confrontation at Java Hut

That night, I made a decision. After 37 days of silence, I was going to talk to Derrick on my terms.

It was not to get back together; that ship had sailed, hit an iceberg, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean. It was to let him know that I knew everything.

Sunday morning at exactly 10:00 a.m., I texted Derrick from my real number.

“We need to talk today. 2:00 p.m. Java Hut on Main. Don’t be late.”

He responded within 12 seconds.

“I’ll be there. Thank you, Eliana. I love you.”

Spoiler alert: he does not, in fact, love me. I spent the next three hours oscillating between absolute certainty and complete panic.

I changed my outfit four times and practiced what I wanted to say in the mirror like I was preparing for a job interview. I called Amara twice to talk me off the ledge.

I arrived at Java Hut 20 minutes early to secure the corner table with my back to the wall—tactical positioning. I ordered a chai latte I had zero intention of actually drinking.

Derrick walked in at 1:58 p.m., scanning the cafe until he spotted me. He looked better than I expected: showered, shaved, and wearing the blue button-down I’d given him.

For a split second, my heart did that familiar flip it always did when I saw him. Then I remembered the WhatsApp messages.

He reached for a hug, which I avoided by gesturing to the chair across from me. His face fell, but he sat down.