“Use this,” I pull my shirt over my head and hand it to her. She rubs her face on it like a cat.
“Oooh, soft!”
“I’ll just. I’ll be outside.”
“No, it’s okay, just turn around. No peeking.”
“Never.” I make for the door.
“C’mon you big prude! You’re an escort! Act like one!”
Admonished, I stare at the corner as I listen to the sound of unzipping and struggling. She grunts and curses. I smother a laugh, focusing on the whitewash of the room and the vapid painting of the ocean on the wall to scour my mind clean of the dirt it’s currently shoveling into its mouth by the truckload – what are her br**sts like? She isn’t flat or small, her infamous tight outfit after the pictures spread had shown me that much. The latex had shown me gently flared hips, good, strong thighs, a small waist I could fit in one hand –
“Okay. You can look.”
I turn just as she’s halfway into bed. She looks so much smaller in my billowy, oversize pirate shirt, so much more delicate. The swell of her chest is soft and considerable. With smeared makeup and only a shirt, she looks so vulnerable, so different from the persistent, confident dervish of the last two months. Her bare legs flash for an instant before she tucks them under the covers and pulls them up to her chin.
“It smells like you.” She smiles sleepily at me. I tamp down the excitement that courses through me at her words, unruly and out of place.
“I’ll be over here.” I sit in the chair.
“Okay. Goodnight.”
I flick the light off. “Goodnight.”
She slowly, so slowly, stops trembling. Her breathing evens out. When the last tremors cease, I finally lean back in the chair and close my eyes.
-13-
3 Years
19 Weeks
1 Day
My brain throbs with a painful rhythm, trying to escape the household of abuse that is my skull. I crack my eyes open, light assaulting them. I wince and yelp, and pull the covers over my head. Whose bed is this? Why am I wearing this soft white shirt?
And then it hits me, and my brain melts out my ears. This is Avery’s house. Avery’s guestroom. Jack’s shirt. I’m hungover and wearing Jack Hunter’s shirt. My breathing quickens, panic settling on my chest like a fat, evil little man. No one’s next to me in the bed. It’s completely made, so no one slept there. It was just me. I think. I frantically scrabble in my mind for memories of what happened last night, but it’s a massive blank. I don’t remember anything.
I ease out of bed and test my weight on the floor. My mouth tastes like sin on a hot biscuit. I go into the bathroom and rub toothpaste on my teeth with my finger. It’ll do for now. I sniff at myself – I don’t smell like sex. That’s a good sign. But it doesn’t mean nothing happened. I wish I could f**king remember! I pull the shirt off and my costume back on. How did I ever manage to get this off? Or did I not take this off? Did someone else? Did Ja –
The door opens, and Jack looks in. He’s shirtless, his stomach and chest torqued with fine definition. It almost distracts me from his worried face. Almost.
“You’re up,” He says.
“What the hell happened last night –”
“No time. Kayla needs you.”
He ducks out of the door. Cold dread settles in my stomach, and I follow him down the hall. Candy wrappers and empty red cups litter the floor. The barest of sunlight streams through the windows – it’s not full-morning, but it’s not night either. I check my phone. Six exactly. Most of the party crowd’s gone. Jack urges me to hurry, and waves me into another guest room at the end of the hall. Kayla’s sitting on the bed, Wren beside her. She looks terrified and exhausted – her mermaid skirt askew and her makeup smeared. Wren offers her a roll of toilet paper, and she takes some and blows her nose with a loud honk. I rush to her, kneeling and putting my hand on hers.
“Kayla! What the hell happened to you?”
“Avery,” She breaks into a fresh wave of sobs. “Avery…my drink…she put something in my drink, Isis!”
I shoot a look at Wren. “GHB?”
He nods. “She couldn’t move for a whole thirty minutes.”
“Did anyone –”
Wren shakes his head. “Avery locked the two of us in here. Barred the door with a chair and said we couldn’t come out until we…”
Kayla wails, and looks to Jack lurking in the doorway. “Where were you? I was so scared! Why didn’t you – why didn’t you –”
“I feel asleep in another room,” Jack says softly, but doesn’t move any closer to her. “I’m sorry.”
Kayla puts her face in her hands and wails. Wren flinches. I rub Kayla’s shoulder.
“Hey, listen. You were safe. Wren’s a good guy, okay? You didn’t need to be scared.” I look up at Wren. “Right? You didn’t do anything? Tell me the truth now, and I won’t disembowel you.”
“I swear to you, Isis. I would never – I’m not a monster.” His green eyes go wide. A surge of shame makes me back down.
“Yeah. I know. Sorry for doubting.”
“Avery thought…I guess she thought…” Wren winces. “She thought I would.”
“And use it as blackmail against you for those funds,” I finish. He nods. Jack instantly springs into action after hearing that, walking over to the mantelpiece and shoving the ornaments there aside. He picks up a clock and smashes it.
“Jesus!” Wren shouts as we both jump. Kayla shrieks and covers her ears. Jack turns to us, holding a tiny black box.
“A camera,” he says dully.
“For evidence,” I mumble, slowly standing as the rage fans its flames higher in me. “That f**king bitch –”
“Don’t!” Kayla clings to my arm. “Don’t, Isis, please! She’s my friend! She’s…she’s the only friend I have!”
“Wrong,” Jack interrupts, voice hard. “Look around you. It’s the people who are here now who are your real friends.”
Kayla looks like he slapped her. She breaks into tears again, and Wren winces, unsure of what to do but so obviously wanting to help. He looks to me.
“Let’s go. We have to confront her.”
I scoff. “Confront her? That’s a little mild, don’t you think? I’m gonna rip her tits off.”
Wren smirks and we stride down the hall together, leaving Jack and Kayla alone. We weave around groaning people waking up, puddles of vomit and sticky booze, and the occasional pile of shed clothes. We go to the second master bedroom, and Wren knocks. No answer. I motion for him to stand back, and kick the door with all my furious might.
Avery’s room is painted pale purple, with a beautiful canopy bed in the center. She sits up from the pile of silky sheets, princess costume still intact, if slightly disheveled. She sees me, sees the look on my face, and tries to bolt for the window. I lunge at her, pull her back by her hair, and punch her hard enough to have her crashing to the floor.
“You really don’t learn, do you?” I say softly.
“Wh-What –” She coughs. “What are you talking about?”
I lean down and grab a chunk of her red hair and pull. Hard. She screams and twists.