My Reaction in a Nutshell: 
 I keep asking myself, Why the fuck did I finish this book?!?! 
 The Long Version: 
 Back in high school, my friend read the Fifty Shades of Grey books and told me about how laughably bad they were. After an hour of her telling me about the terrible writing, plot, characterization, etc. I still couldn't believe that a book could actually be that terrible. So . . . I read them. And I was proved wrong. They were fucking awful. I should have heeded her warning, but I didn't. And I suffered for it. 
 Now, flash forward several years to 2016 when I read this review by Emily May for a book called The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer. I couldn't believe that a book could be so terrible. And, once again, I was proven wrong. 
 Emily pointed out all of the big things in her review: 
 1). Douchecanoe disguised as a flawless creature straight from the "factory production line" is the love interest 
 2). Douchecanoe is insanely controlling but yet somehow that's sexy? 
 3). Ungodly amounts of slut shaming 
 4). etc., etc. 
 She even compares it to Fifty Shades of Grey! I should have known based on that comparison that I should have avoided this book like the plague. I guess I never learned my lesson. 
 I found myself laughing as scenes that were supposed to be either: 
 a). romantic 
 b). sexy 
 c). angsty 
 d). tense 
 e). all of the above 
 So . . . most of the book? 
 The writing was subpar. When I reached the halfway point I almost felt obligated to finish to see if she is truly seeing things that aren't there or if she has a supernatural power. 
 *cue dramatic music* 
 But, if I'm being truthful, at that point I really just wanted the cliff notes. But, alas, I had a bad case of insomnia and somehow mustered up the courage to finish (spoiler alert: the ending is so not worth it). 
 I managed to make it to around page 200 before having to legitimately resist the urge to chuck my phone across the room (since I'm reading an ebook I checked out with my library). Which is pretty impressive when you consider how much I hate Noah. And no, it's not because he sleeps around. As long as he's having safe and consenting sex, I couldn't less. (although his revenge sex plotline was . . . weird, a douchey thing to do, etc., etc.) 
 No, I hate him not only for the reasons Emily pointed out (e.g., ordering food for her at a restaurant without taking into consideration what she wanted to eat or if she had any food allergies, constantly shushing her by physically pinching her lips/putting his finger over her lips to make her stop talking), but because he is creepily always around. 
 What is it about stalking that YA female leads find so charming?!? It's not. There is nothing sexy about following a girl when she asks you to leave her alone. Case in point: he follows her into the girls bathroom after she tells him to leave her the fuck alone, and then she wants to kiss him like, two minutes later?!? 
 All in all, this plot wasn't enough to keep me entertained until the end. I like the concept of an unreliable narrator, but I couldn't stand the supporting cast. Even perfect Daniel and the weirdly endearing stock broker younger brother whose name I can't remember annoyed me. 
 I blame my insomnia for being the reason I was able to finish this horrendous novel. I should've DNF 100 pages in. Or better yet, I never should have wasted my time with this book to begin with. Melodramatic. Angsty. Over controlling boys. Slut shaming. The list goes on and on. The only good thing it had going for it was how creepy it was. I still find myself trying to avoid looking at mirrors. 
 ***TRIGGER WARNINGS: attempted R, SA, SH, mentions of suicide, accident, abusive relationship, murder, kidnapping, shooting