“You're something. Georgia is more mature than how the fuck you’re acting right now. And if you wake her up with this act, I'm—” My eyes close, and through my anger, I know this isn't the time to bring up custody. Peyton is unhinged enough. “You need to leave. This new fucking Peyton, I hate.”
“You didn't like the old one either.”
My vision turns hazy, and I grab her arm, harder this time, making her yelp as I fling open the door and push her out of it. Once she's over the threshold, I release her and cross my arms as I stand in front of her. I need to release years of emotion built up to the wife I had once known who is nothing but a shell of her former self.
The one who abandoned me.
And now I am once again finding myself abandoned and used by another.
“I happened to have loved the old Peyton. I was hopelessly devoted to her. But the thing is, she didn't love me. She changed. We grew apart. And I began to hate her. We then agreed that we wanted different things because we couldn’t see eye to eye. Now fucking move on and leave me the fuck alone. I’m better without you. And by the way, get help. A lot of it. Because you need to fucking worry about what the fuck this change is doing to Georgia. Fuck what it did with us. But it’s hurting our daughter, and I won't stand for it! I want to get along with you for her. So fix yourself, Peyton. I don't know if it's you needing to take your meds, see a therapist, or whatever. But just do it. Now go! I don't want to see you unless it has to do with picking up and dropping off Georgia.”
Her chin quivers and her eyes water, “I'm sorry,” she whispers.
She looks vulnerable, and for a second, I swear I see a glimpse of my old wife. The subtle one. The one I liked. Not this crazed lunatic.
Then in a flash, a demon possesses her with a shake of a head, and her eyes glow with something evil and sinister behind them. But as quickly as that storm takes her, her shoulders straighten, and the demon is washed away with a sweet cherry smile. I swear I just got whiplash. “I'm sorry, but I want to fight harder for us. I need to try. Which is why I’m doing this, giving you the things you might like. Maybe you didn't like old me…”
I put my hand up to hush her. “I'm done talking, Peyton. Goodnight.” Without saying anything else, without listening to any more of her psychobabble, I close the door on her.
I’m fucking exhausted, and now there is one other woman I have to deal with and that is Lola. My heart aches, but a fire has risen in my veins burning off the pain, thinking of the video and that boy’s hand and lips on her.
I eye the whiskey Peyton left for me. It is a favorite, but for what I’m going to do tomorrow, I need a clear head. I just have no idea how I’m going to sleep with the anger stirring inside of me and the visions of the girl I consider my angel with another man, now haunting me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LOLA
My head throbs like someone smashed it with a hammer.
What the hell happened to me last night?
I reach out for an extra pillow to bury my head under till this passes, but instead of hitting something soft, I hit a hard mass. My eyes peel open—slowly—praying I'm in mine or Dean's bed because I have no idea how I got home last night.
I hope to god I'm home.
Please let me be home.
Once my eyes open, I'm so ever grateful that I’m in my bed and the hard mass belongs to Dean. I move to sit up in bed, looking to my nightstand for my phone, wondering what time it is, but it's not there. It's not like me to not lay my phone by my head before I go to sleep.
“Dean...hey. What are you doing here? What time is it?”
“Do you have something you want to tell me?” he snaps. His eyes blaze into me, and I flinch back.
Well, good morning to you too.
I rub my eyes, trying to adjust to the light coming into my room and the man who is seething like a raging bull beside me.
Who the hell pissed in his cheerios this morning? And why am I on the receiving end of his wrath?
“I don't think so? Where's GG? Shouldn't she be with you?” I could use my little protector right about now.
“She's downstairs with your sister watching TV. Now, I'm going to ask you again. Do you have something you want to tell me?” He taps my neck, and even in my haze, I can make out the hateful venom in his eyes.
My hand goes to my neck and its sore. Why does that hurt? Everything from last night is a haze, but I think I would remember hurting myself.
“No?”
“No, huh? The fact you have a huge hickey on your neck, one that I didn't give you, but I happen to know some frat boy did.” His voice is deathly low, but every word hits me as if he shouted them, slicing through me to my very soul.
“What?” I yell. I sit up, and the whole world spins and my stomach twists. I swallow down the bile that rises from the pit. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know. The innocent act doesn’t work on me.”
I rub my neck, and the unfamiliar pain hits me again. I’m no longer able to hold my stomach contents together anymore, and I run to the bathroom and vomit.
What the hell happened to me last night?
“Oh my god,” I groan, leaning against the cool porcelain, feeling as if I want to die. I honestly have no idea what happened or what Dean is talking about. I would never do anything with anyone, but the whole night is a blank.
After making sure I’m not going to vomit again, I clean myself up and move to the mirror to examine myself. Dean hasn't muttered a word, but I feel him watching me. When I get a good look at my face, not only do I look like I got hit by a bus, but I see the huge ugly red splotch on the side of my neck.
I catch Dean’s reflection behind me looking livid. His eyes look like they could burn through the glass and melt me. The love that usually radiates from them seems to have disappeared.
The thought only makes me want to vomit again. I spin around and brace my hands on the edge of the counter to keep my balance. The world is still spinning on its axis, and I'm falling from my once perfect life.
“Dean, I swear. I didn't. I had no idea…oh my god. I would never.” My tears burn my cheeks. “I just wanted to go have some fun, but not this.” I point to the hideous thing on the side of my neck. The mystery blob that’s ruining my life. The one I have no idea how it even got there.
Think Lola. Think.
“Sure looks like you had some fun,” he bites out. His usual cool blue eyes are now black.
“Dean, I would never. You have to believe me,” I beg. This isn’t something I would do. Ever.
“It's kind of hard to believe anything when there's a video, Lola.”
“Video?” I mumble. How is there a video? I wouldn't...I'm trying to rack my brain and it’s all a fog after talking to Andrea and Gini at one point on the couch.
I had felt uneasy and mentioned wanting to go. Gini said we could, but I don't remember anything after that.
“Dean, please. I don't even remember half the night.”
“So, I'm supposed to excuse you for getting shitfaced and fucking around on me?” he barks, his face turning red in his fury.
“No! Of course not! But I…didn't do anything.” My tears fall faster down my face, and my head pounds harder from this mass confusion as everything crumbles around me.
“But you did, Lola. I'm an idiot for thinking that getting involved with a teenager would be smart. That you could be responsible or that you could ever love me as much as I love you.” His words cut through me, ripping my heart apart. I might be young, but for him to think I don’t love him as much as he loves me, hurts. In fact, it’s excruciating.
But what about the secret you’re hiding from him?
I tell my subconscious to shut up because it doesn’t change the way I feel. I’ve done everything for him. Given up myself, my youth, my soul, my heart, and he’s shredding everything apart before he knows—before I know—what happened.
“That's not true, Dean. And you know it!”
“Isn't i
t? Look what you did to us, Lola.” He tosses his phone to me, and I manage to catch it with my shaky hands. I open up the screen and it’s already on his Facebook app with my profile loaded. There sits a live video taken at ten thirty last night, and I hit play. It's me and I'm dancing with some guy I've never seen before. I bring the phone closer to my face and study myself, and I swear it doesn't look like me. My body is limp in this guy’s arms, and my eyes are closed as he kisses my neck.
My skin tingles and feels as if it’s on fire. This can't be real. It can't be. More tears well in my eyes and I toss the phone to the ground in disgust.
“I know what that looks like, but Dean, I didn't. I swear. Like that’s not me. Look at my body! Look how I’m positioned, look at my eyes! Do you really think that I would do something like this? I wouldn’t! That isn’t me.” That sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth now, but how else can I describe it. Something that happened out of body, something that happened to me, while my mind was away. “Ask Gini. She was there she would tell you. Please. You know me. I wouldn't hurt you, and I wouldn't cheat on you. I love you.”
“That’s not you?” he snorts. “Give me a break, Lola.”
“I mean, I honestly don't even know that guy, and I don't know when that would've happened. The whole night is a black blob! I don't even remember how I got here. The last thing I remember is talking on the couch with Andrea and Gini, drinking a beer, and wanting to go home.”
He doesn't say a word or make a sound, his silence slices through me. Oh god, he doesn’t believe me. I crumble onto the floor, pulling my legs to my chest. I close my eyes tight, trying to unlock something in the back of my mind. Anything and everything from the past twelve hours is bolted shut. As if it doesn't exist. I don't remember drinking more than the one beer and doing a single shot, and now because of it, my life has fallen into the abyss.
With watery eyes, I look up at him. He's staring down at me, and for a moment there's an etch of concern and love in his eyes. A hint of the Dean I love, but as soon as my eyes meet his, the look is gone, and the devil that hates me is back. “Did you come over here to break up with me?”
“What do you think, Lola? You're a smart girl.”
“No!” I scream, reaching out for him. He steps back, and my heart rips from my chest. I collapse back to the wall, wailing. “Please. No.”
“I've spent enough years being used and walked over. I'm not going to have you do it to me too.”
“I'm not. I swear, Dean. I didn't. You need to believe me. You know I’m not a big drinker.”
He knows this.
It’s never been my thing, and I hated watching him drink himself to death. We’ve talked about this. The desire to drink for me isn’t there. I only drank a beer and had a shot to be social, and I didn’t even want to do that.
I wish more than ever I hadn’t.
“So you cheated on me sober. That makes me feel so much better.”
“No!” I shake my head. “That's the thing, Dean, I don't know. Like I said, the whole night has been blocked out. Please. Please.” I cry, my soul aches so bad to the point I can't breathe anymore.
“So you don't even know if you fucked him?”
“I didn't,” I scream. “No. No.”
I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that.
“How would you know? You can't even remember him kissing your neck.”
“Because I wouldn't. I wouldn't.” My eyes close tight as I try to bring back the night, but it’s still dark. The creep in the video seeps in my vision in a tint of red, and I suddenly feel his hands on me, and I shake my head wanting to kill what I'm seeing. The bile in my stomach rises again, and I realize what if Dean is onto something. What if? The thing is, I don’t know. What if the guy in the video had used me? Raped me? And that’s the part that faded to black?
I suddenly feel dirty all over and crawl my way back to the toilet to throw up. Again.
“Shit,” I hear Dean mutter under his breath.
I feel Dean's long fingers brush against the back of my neck as he pulls my hair back. I don't even want him touching me, but I don't have the strength to protest as I lose the rest of my stomach. Though there isn’t much left and it scratches the back of my throat. All I want to do now is crawl back into bed and wake up, back in time to yesterday morning.
Once I’m done, I shake him off me and grab for the toilet paper to wipe my face. “You have to believe me,” I mumble. “If you know me at all, you would.” He doesn’t say anything, and I cry harder. “Why don’t you trust me? We were talking about forever, so you think I would just go and cheat on you? Upload some video to Facebook?”
Why would he trust me?
He only knows what he sees.
But the thought of losing Dean, after everything makes my throat tighten, and I’m finding it hard to catch my breath.
I thought he loved and trusted me.
You were going to lose him eventually Lola when he found out the truth. Now you can still keep your secret to yourself.
I’m vaguely aware of Dean saying my name, but it sounds so far away. My breaking heart is pounding loudly in my ears.
Cold hands on my warm cheeks bring me to the now, and I come face to face with my best friend Gini. She’s blurry as fuck, but I know it’s her. “Lo...babe. You need to calm down.” My head shakes as I rock back and forth.
“Dean—” Is the only thing I’m able to mutter.
“What did you do to her?” Gini snaps.
“Me?” he scoffs. “I thought you were her friend and you let her get shitfaced drunk and make out with some frat boy.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Sure looked like it.”
“You know nothing, Dean. I stayed with her all night. All I did was run home real quick to let my dog out so he wouldn't piss everywhere. Jasmine was here, and I told her to keep an ear out. I wasn't gone but thirty minutes. I come back, and she's in hysterics.” Gini brushes my matted hair back as I try to come back to normal, but it's hard. Everything hurts. I only feel like an outsider to their conversation, hanging over them. “And wait, how do you know about the guy?”
“Video…” I rasp out, the tears starting again.
“Those motherfuckers,” Gini growls and holds my face steady again. “Girl, you need to calm down. I'm serious. Forget Dean. He wasn't there. I think maybe we should get you to the hospital or at least call your mom. To make sure there are no lingering effects of what they gave you.”
What they gave me?
“What are you talking about?” I stutter.
“Lo, you were drugged last night. We think those dipshits spiked your shot or your beer. The only drinks you had,” she stresses, and I know it's for Dean's benefit.
“What the fuck do you mean, drugged?” Dean growls. “How? By who?” And even through his growly voice, I hear a state of belief.
Gini pulls me closer, rubbing my back. “Well, if you must know, Lola wanted to leave, because she said she wasn't feeling right. Like something was off. I told her it was no problem, and we could go, but I really had to pee first. Andrea was with her…”
Loud rave music pumps through the speakers and colorful lights stream through the room. We have been at this Alpha Pi party for over three hours. It started off great; we spent an hour on the dance floor, then a group of us did a round of shots offered by some upperclassmen, then danced some more, but now I wish we weren’t here.
I don’t know what it is, but that creepy feeling is back. The one I’ve been having for the last few days where it feels as if someone is watching me.
I’m clinging to Gini’s arm as we go to sit on the couch. I’m uneasy as fuck, and there’s something definitely not right. I just finished my beer about twenty minutes ago, and I hated every sip of it. I knew if I drank it slow, there would be little chance anyone would refill it, but I’m now regretting it.
My vision is blurry, and there’s this knot in my stomach that I can’t describe. “Gini, can we go? I’m
not feeling good. Like something isn’t right here.”
Her eyes squint at me, looking me over. “What’s wrong? You were fine a few minutes ago.”
“But something feels off now. I don’t know. Please. I would go by myself, but…”
“Of course. Can you wait a minute while I go pee? I’ll never make it home.”
“Yeah.” I nod. Or I think I nod. My eyes are heavy, and I hear Gini talk to Andrea about something, but it’s all distorted.
My head shakes, trying to come back to reality and out of this fucked up fog I’m in.
How am I this drunk? I don’t understand why my head is so heavy and all I want to do is go to sleep.
And vomit.
Maybe it wasn’t the beer. Maybe I shouldn't have done that melon ball shot after all. Fucking peer pressure.
Those things were nasty too.
“Hey, you okay?” Andrea rubs my back.
“I don’t know. My head feels like it weighs a ton.”
“I think I have some aspirin in my purse.” Andrea moves over a little to dig in her purse, and I’m swept to my feet by a pair of thick, muscular arms.
“Come here, sweet thing.”
“What are you doing?” I slur, and I try to push the guy wearing too much Axe Body Spray away, but my body isn't cooperating with me.
“We’re dancing, babe.” He—whoever he is—growls in my ear and spins me around, which makes my stomach do a flip. His arms tighten around my waist, and I feel his erection pushing into my ass.
If I weren’t already sick, I’m definitely feeling sick now.
I want to go home.
“What? No.” I don't want to dance with him. I’m trying to push away from him, but it’s like my body is a wet noodle. “Get off me.”
What’s going on. Why don’t my arms or legs work?
I want Dean. Where's Dean?
“Come on, loosen up. I hear you like to have a good time.”
Vaguely I can hear Andrea yelling and see her cloudy figure being held back by someone else. I’m trying to wiggle free, but I can’t even tell if my body is moving. I feel heavy—and tired. So tired.
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