After a while some of them got all pissed off too and pretty soon everybody was screaming. The relatives. Some neighbors. Our family fucking doctor, for fuck’s sake. I was surprised a priest wasn’t there to conduct an exorcism. Seriously. That’s how crazy this whole overblown thing is. The hysteria just kept building and building until Dad slapped the shit out of me.
No shit. I am not kidding. The bastard walloped me. And I got sent to my room, just like a little kid. That’s where I am now. Waiting. Fucking scared shitless how this is gonna work out. I can hear them all down there. Talking about me. Nobody’s gone. Somebody’s crying. Probably you’re wondering what this is all about. It all goes back to that video I uploaded. Yeah, that one. The rabbit thing. Some parent got wind of it and sent Dad a link. He started putting this whole intervention debacle together as soon as he saw it. He asked around about me. Talked to my friends. Somebody out there spilled some more of my secrets.
I thought I could trust most of you. Thought making this a private journal would prevent shit like this. Guess I learned my lesson, huh? Somebody reading this has a big fucking mouth. I wish I knew who. Really. Because I’d fucking kill you. For real. Post a comment with your confession and I’ll be out the window and on my way to slit your fucking throat faster than you can say, “I’m a miserable, worthless fucking snitch who should be gutted like a pig.”
This is the last entry most of you will see. I’m deleting everybody I don’t totally fucking trust tonight. FUCK YOU DIE!!!!!!!
Note: Above entry contained seventy-three responses before the journal owner locked it. A sampling follows below.
lord_ruthven: You do need help and you know it. This had to happen.
Mixedupgirclass="underline" Fuck. I knew it was you. YOU’RE DEAD.
lord_ruthven: Threats don’t scare me, Julie. You should know that by now. And anyway, your snitch is somebody else. I’d tell you otherwise. You should know that, too.
Mixedupgirclass="underline" Yeah. I guess I do, at that. But I still fucking hate you.
lord_ruthven: So delete me.
Mixedupgirclass="underline" No. I can’t. And YOU should know that.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
March 23
The world was spinning as she began to emerge from the haze, consciousness returning in slow, painful degrees. She was in a bed. She wasn’t alone. Someone was snoring. A warm body pressed up against her back. She pried her eyes open and saw that she was hanging over the side of the bed, one arm dangling toward the floor. A tall bottle of vodka sat on the carpeted floor, just out of arm’s reach. It was empty. She turned her head and saw more empty bottles. Her head was pounding, a relentless throb that made her want to cry. She heard music. Lady GaGa gave way to the Ting Tings. Emily had plugged her iPod into a dock at some point and it was still playing. Zoe looked at the vodka bottle. She considered grabbing it and throwing it at the dock, but just thinking of the effort it would require made her stomach roll. Then the memories of the evening’s debaucheries began to surface, and she groaned again.
Jesus, what a night…
She felt a hand on her hip. Long, manicured nails indented her skin. Bare breasts pressed against her back. Emily’s breath was warm on her neck. The slow, regular sound of her breathing indicated she was still asleep. And that was good. Because Zoe wasn’t quite ready to face her friend. Maybe would never be ready. Images from the night before taunted her. Riding Joe’s erect cock while Emily groped her body. Emily penetrating her with a strap-on dildo
(Holy fuck, did that really happen?)
from behind. The rest of the evening was a blur of booze, cocaine, and more sex. She couldn’t keep her hands off Joe. It’d been so long since she’d touched another guy and she just couldn’t get enough. And Emily was only too happy to allow her to have her way with her man. They stayed up for hours and hours. The sun came up and they kept going. Eventually, though, the sheer quantity of booze consumed overwhelmed the coke. Zoe didn’t remember passing out, but she knew it couldn’t have been that long ago.
The digital clock on the nightstand near her head showed the time as 8:19 a.m. How long had she slept? An hour? Maybe two? Jesus. She thought of Chuck and felt a dim sense of alarm. She had been gone all night. He must have come home and wondered where she was. Had he come snooping around during the night? Things had been crazy, but she was sure they’d never been interrupted. And the blinds were shut tight. No one could know what was going on in here.
On the other hand…
She stared at the empty vodka bottle again for several long moments before shifting her focus to the array of brown and green beer bottles scattered all about. Someone had made a booze run during the night, but she had no idea who had done it. And if she couldn’t remember that, what else might she be forgetting?
Oh fuck…
She started panicking. Maybe Chuck had come by during the night after all. He hadn’t been happy with her last night, but he wouldn’t just ignore her absence, not for this long. He would have worried. He would have come looking for her. She thought of him coming into the room and seeing her bouncing up and down on his best friend’s dick. She cursed her stupidity. Yes, she’d been upset last night. Had been upset and anxious for a while. But that didn’t excuse what had happened. Bottom line, this whole escapade was a colossal lapse in judgment. She had no business letting something like this happen-not, at least, until she was well and truly done with Chuck.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up slowly, groaning as the ache in her head flared brighter. She whimpered and scanned the floor for her clothes. The pain was bad, but the need to get dressed and out was more intense. It wasn’t just the need to see Chuck and know the full extent of the damage done. That reluctance to face Emily after the things they’d done together was growing by the moment, verging on becoming something much more intense. Fuck. She might have to spend the remainder of the vacation avoiding all contact with her best friend. And that sucked, but she didn’t see how she had a choice. Or…did she?
Nobody forced you to do any of those things.
This was undeniably true. She had come to this room of her own free will.
Guess what else? You fucking loved every second of it.
Also true. Acknowledging this only intensified her conflicted emotions. There were implications in last night’s mad romp she wouldn’t be ready to deal with for a long time.
So, yeah, she needed to be gone from this fucking den of iniquity, but where were her fucking clothes? She got to her feet and shakily wandered about the room. Her shorts and halter were in a pile of discarded clothes on the other side of the bed, mixed in with Emily’s clingy black dress and Joe’s jeans and underwear. She stooped to retrieve her things from the pile and let out a startled yelp as a fist thudded against the other side of the closed door. A voice called out her name. Female. Annalisa? The knock came again, louder, much more insistent. The voice became shrill as it called out her name again and then Emily’s name.
Zoe groaned and managed to croak out a husky reply. “Hold on!”
She hopped into the shorts, the effort causing her to fall against the wall behind her. The insistent knock came yet again. Louder. Faster. Harder. Just like the relentless beat of the club music spewing from Emily’s iPod. Zoe wanted to scream. It was all too much. She finished dressing, stabbed the iPod’s pause button, and wobbled over to the door.
Emily stirred behind her. “Mmm…” She yawned sleepily. “What’s going on?”
“Dunno.”
Zoe opened the door and blinked against bright sunlight. She held a hand to her brow and squinted at Annalisa’s livid expression. “Hey. What’s up?”