My Boyfriend's Brother

by Cassandra Dee

  Patrick Arrington is cheating on me, with a girl from my high school, no less, doing the kinkiest, most depraved things I have ever witnessed. I never knew he was into this kind of stuff. He made me think he was respectable. He always said the Bible came before everything else. And yet, here he is, being dominated in some kind of underground sex club by one of our former classmates.

  Bile rises up again in my throat, and I swallow hard against the sour taste to make it go away. Then, I stare at the pictures for another long moment, thoughts of revenge already flooding my head. Pastor Ed’s words about turning the other cheek briefly echo in my mind, but I shove them away. The anger and heartbreak are overwhelming. Not letting myself think, I copy the contents of the entire folder before attaching them to an email. I have the addresses of everyone in our Bible study group. If Patrick thinks he can mess around behind my back like this, he’s got another think coming!

  I hesitate for just a moment, my finger hovering over the send button, and wonder if I’m being rash. But then my mind drifts back to the sight of Raina grinding her pussy onto my boyfriend’s face as his eyes go bloodshot from lack of oxygen, and that seals the deal. Gritting my teeth, I hit send before slamming the laptop closed and shoving it away like it might catch fire.

  I realize that I’m breathing hard, sweat beading on my forehead from the adrenaline rush. There’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought that I just exposed my boyfriend’s fetish to our entire study group, but once again, I shove it away. Now everyone will witness his depravity, and Patrick will see what happens when someone wrongs the woman that is Libby Rain.

  2

  Libby

  * * *

  The irony is that, even after a good five minutes of fidgeting and waiting, Patrick still hasn’t come back yet. I can’t help the irrational fear that he’s actually at that sex club right now, doing God knows what, but he wouldn’t take that risk. It’s clear he’s gone out of his way to keep that part of his life out of my reach, and with good reason too. I’ve never seen anything more insane. I mean, his eyes were literally bloody from lack of oxygen. Does that truly turn him on?

  Getting shakily to my feet, I begin to pace the room, stealing the occasional glance at Patrick’s laptop now that I’ve discovered its contents. I wish I could unsee it, I wish I could pretend it never happened, and that I had never been so stupid as to look through his computer without asking. What the hell did I think was going to happen, anyway?

  I thought I would finish the evening on Cloud Nine, I muse. Instead, I’m heartbroken. They always say that curiosity killed the cat. Now I finally know what it means.

  I realize I’m still trembling, nervous energy making me move restlessly about the room. Fumbling in my pocket, I pull out my phone. I should have stayed on the call with Dakota instead of going down this road, but it’s too late for that now. Maybe she’s still free to talk. Hands shaking, I tap out a text message to her: Are you there? Something’s happened and I’m freaking out. I don’t have high hopes that she’ll answer though. Jack is probably back with the babies, and my friend will have her hands full.

  To my surprise though, my phone immediately begins to vibrate, and I scramble to snatch it up. “Libby,” my bestie’s voice comes through. “What’s up? What happened?”

  “It’s Patrick,” I reply in an unsteady tone. “He’s been cheating on me.”

  “Wait, what?” Dakota sounds disbelieving. “Hang on a minute, slow down. How do you know? When did this come out?”

  “Just now,” I reply, swallowing hard. “I was on his computer looking for baby pictures. There was this folder…” Gritting my teeth, I continue. “Remember that girl from high school? Raina Peterson?”

  There’s a pause on the other side.

  “The blonde girl from English? Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “She’s not blonde anymore,” I reply. “I almost didn’t recognize her because I think she’s turned into some kind of dominatrix, or something.” The words feel absurd even as they come out of my mouth, and saying them aloud only makes them feel more true. “There was this folder full of pictures on Patrick’s laptop. He was there with Raina at this nightclub, but I don’t think it was a nightclub. It looked like a sex den. The things they were doing, Dakota, holy shit -”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” my friend says, sounding flabbergasted. “Slow down. You’re saying you found kinky sex pictures of Patrick?”

  “Yes,” I reply, frustrated and exasperated. “With Raina Peterson. I don’t know how long he’s been doing this, but it has to at least have been since we were dating.”

  “OMG,” breathes Dakota. “Libby, I’m so sorry. Where is he now? Have you talked to him about this?”

  “He’s still gone,” I reply. “Probably off choking and fucking some other girl, given what I’ve seen. God, I’m so angry!”

  “Choking?” Dakota manages in a strangled voice. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask. Just take it easy, Libs,” she reminds me. “Breathe. Are you going to talk to him about it when he gets back?”

  “Oh, I’ll talk to him all right, believe me,” I reply with a scowl. “But not before letting him know that I sent those pictures to our whole Bible study group.”

  “You what?” Dakota exclaims. “Will they kick him out?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care, but that’s the least they should do.” I look over at our workbooks, still sitting where we left them on the coffee table. It feels like the crosses on the covers are mocking me.

  Dakota, ever the peacemaker, speaks up. “You don’t think you should give him a chance to explain himself first?”

  “What’s there to explain?” I demand. “He’s cheating on me in the worst way possible! What would you do if you saw Jack getting filthy in a sex club with some other girl? Wouldn’t you want to murder him on the spot?”

  “Yes, of course, but I just don’t want to see you hurt,” my friend protests. “This isn’t going to get you anywhere good, Libby.”

  A familiar feeling of uncertainty rears its ugly head then. I’ve never exactly been known for my rational decision-making, and I catch the voice in my mind whispering that maybe this was a mistake. But I shake my head viciously, raking a hand through my brunette curls. “Well, it’s too late for that now,” I reply in a grim tone. “What else am I supposed to do? I thought we had a future together.”

  “Maybe you still do,” Dakota points out, but even over the phone line, I can hear the doubt in her voice. “You could at least hear him out.”

  “No,” I reply. “Not a chance.” This isn’t something I can forget, and it’s sure as hell not something I can forgive. “The second he gets home, I’m letting him have it.”

  “Letting me have what?” a voice sounds behind my shoulder.

  I whirl around, nearly dropping my phone, to see Patrick himself standing on the threshold of my apartment. In his hands are two large grocery bags. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “There was a lot of traffic.”

  I do my best to maintain a blank expression as I address Dakota. “He’s here. Let me call you back.”

  “Okay, take it easy honey,” Dakota requests. “Good luck.”

  I stuff the phone back into my pocket, rigid as a board with my insides boiling. Patrick is the same as always, still wearing a puffy coat to shield himself from the winter weather, his dark hair a little messy and his cheeks rosy from the cold. And yet, knowing what he’s done, it’s like I’m looking at a completely different person. It’s almost impossible to believe that this is the same guy from those pictures, and it fills me with rage.

  “I forgot the sodas,” Patrick confesses as he sets the groceries down on the table. “I figure there’s always water, right?”

  “Forget the drinks,” I tell him coldly. “We need to talk.”

  “What about?” Patrick asks, looking at me with naive innocence, as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.

  That only pisses me off more. “Raina Pe
terson, huh?” I bark. “I mean, to each their own, I guess.”

  Patrick frowns innocently, and it just enrages me even more. “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw the pictures,” I practically hiss now. My hands ball into fists, my nails digging into my palms. “You and Raina at that club - if you can even call it a club. A sex den, more like.”

  Patrick’s face goes pale, his eyes wide as he scrambles for a response. It’s clear from my expression that the game is up. Finally, he holds up his hands. “Listen, Libby, I’m sorry. Can we at least talk about this?”

  Why does everyone keep suggesting that? “There’s nothing to talk about!” I snap. “I saw you fucking some other girl in an underground sex dungeon, Patrick! And don’t even try to deny it. Keeping pictures on your computer? Seriously? If you’re going to cheat on me, the least you could do is be stealthy about it.”

  “Wait, you went through my laptop?” Patrick demands, eyes narrowing. “Why were you on my computer? You didn’t even ask!”

  I’m shaking now with rage.

  “I was looking for baby pictures to make you a birthday collage!” I scream, my face red. “I was trying to be good to you!”

  But Patrick merely shakes his head.

  “I can’t believe you broke into my laptop,” he mutters, his expression going from apologetic to offended. “Who does that?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I growl. “How the hell could you do this to me?”

  My boyfriend holds up his hand.

  “Look,” Patrick replies, and I can see him getting angrier. Good. He deserves to feel what I’m feeling. “You need to get a grip, Libby. I made a mistake, okay? There’s an itch I have, and yes, I scratch it with Raina. I have needs, Libby, and the truth is that you don’t meet them.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demand.

  “I care about you, okay?” he replies. “But that doesn’t mean I’m fulfilled, all right? Face it, Libby: you’re kind of plain.”

  “Plain?”

  “Suburban,” he says, sounding defensive. “Boring. Whatever you want to call it. “You’re old-fashioned, Libby. I’ll go with you to Bible study, I’ll pick up food for you, do whatever you want, but I need adventure, and you’re stuck in the mud. That’s the truth. Not to mention…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely at my body indicating that I’m big.

  WTF? Plain? Big?

  The words rattle around in my brain, and whatever composure I was maintaining before goes out the window in an instant. “Oh, sure,” I say, my voice quivering, although whether from offense or anger, I have no idea. “Because Raina’s your dream woman, I get it.” My volume is getting louder by the moment, but I can’t control it.

  “Libby-” Patrick begins again in a tired voice.

  “You find that attractive, Patrick?” I demand, shouting now as I stalk towards him. “Huh? You think women who look like Elvira are sexy while they rattle the bars of a cage in some underground sleaze club? Because normal is so boring, is that it?!” Patrick falls silent, his lips twitching, but his eyes never leave mine, and that defiant stare is enough to set me off again. “Say something, damn it!” I scream.

  Not breaking eye contact, Patrick crosses his arms deliberately before uttering a single, damning word: “Yes.”

  I stand there staring at him, fuming. It’s all out in the open now, Pandora’s box has been opened, and the chaos is spilling over. I don’t even remember what I had planned for the evening. My rage is all-consuming, and even thinking in coherent sentences is too much to ask. I open my mouth and close it again several times, trying to come up with something that will cut him as deeply as his words and actions have cut me. But nothing sparks, so instead I just stare the boy down, seething.

  The tension between us is almost at a breaking point when I’m saved by the bell - or rather, by the shrill text tone of Patrick’s cell phone. It makes me jump, and it’s all I can do not to rip it out of his hands when he breaks eye contact to look at it. It’s probably another one of his ladies of the night. How many does he even have, anyway? The thought makes me want to retch.

  I watch as Patrick straightens, blanching, as he looks down at his phone again. There’s another chime as another text message comes in, and then another. More and more pings follow, like a tidal wave of texts, and my sneer slowly turns into a smile as I watch Patrick’s eyes go wide. The inevitable wave of judgment is coming. I didn’t think I would be lucky enough to actually witness it, and I watch smugly as Patrick begins to breathe hard, panicking. Slowly, he returns his eyes to mine, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “What did you do?” he asks. “Libby, what the hell did you do?”

  He’s looking at me like I’m the bad guy, and that just winds me up all over again. “Easy,” I reply hotly. “I sent your pictures to our Bible study group. It’s obvious you’d rather spend your time with your latex whore anyways, so why should you care what they think?”

  Through my rage, I manage a smirk, and that sets him off. “Libby, what the hell?” he demands again, his face going red with anger. “How could you do this to me?” I spread my arms out in a you deserved it gesture. “You bitch,” he roars, taking a step back and running his hands through his hair. “You evil, crazy bitch! I can’t believe - you’re - I’m-” He seems to be having trouble articulating his thoughts. Good. Let him experience how it feels.

  Texts continue to pour in, and Patrick lets out a roar of rage that makes me take a step back. I’ve never seen him this angry before. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him angry before, period, because he’s generally pretty easygoing. Shooting me a glare, he dials a number into his phone and puts it up to his ear. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Calling the cops,” Patrick spits. “This is illegal, Libby.”

  My heart stops in my chest, my stomach dropping as his words sink in. “What?” I demand. “You can’t do that to me!”

  “Oh yes I can,” he hisses, eyes gleaming. “Hello?” he speaks into the phone. “Yes, can you connect me to the police department? I’d like to report a case of revenge porn.” There’s a pause. “Yes, I’ll hold.”

  Revenge porn. The words sink in, and as they do, so does the significance of what I’ve done. Images of policemen brandishing billy clubs flood my mind, my stomach turning to ice. Terror washes over me, alongside a fresh bout of frustration. “How dare you!” I scream. “You can’t do this, Patrick! I’m your girlfriend!”

  “Not anymore,” Patrick hisses right back. “You can consider us done. Through. Kaput.” Then, he listens in the receiver for a moment. “I’m at her apartment now. She just leaked the photos. How soon can you get here?”

  “Get the fuck out!” I yell. It’s the only thing I can think of. “Get out of my apartment!”

  Patrick shoots me another icy stare, but to my surprise, he does as he’s told, retreating out the door and onto the front steps, where he sits down, still speaking into the phone. He’s waiting for the police, I realize, a lump forming in my throat. What do I do now?

  Turns out, not much. Feeling like I’m in a dream, I pace the living room, breathing hard as fear and anger battle for dominance in my mind. He won’t go through with it, I tell myself. We’ve been through too much.

  Wrong. After what feels like an eternity, there’s a knock at my front door. I go to open it, fully expecting to see Patrick, but instead, I find myself face-to-face with two uniformed police officers. “Libby Rain?” one of them asks, flashing his badge at me.

  “Look,” I say, my lip quivering, “this is just a misunderstanding. I can explain-”

  They don’t even let me finish. “We’re going to need you to come with us,” the second cop says.

  The next thing I know, they’re pinning my hands behind my back and putting handcuffs - actual handcuffs - on me. How could they do this? How could Patrick do this? I realize I’m crying as they lead me out the door, tears of rage and fear dripping down my cheeks. Even through my swollen eyes, though, I can
see Patrick watching me from the front porch, and goddamn it, but the son of a bitch looks happy.

  3

  Libby

  * * *

  Once we get to the station, the officers half-push, half-drag me into a holding pen where a bunch of other women are waiting to be processed. They all look like they’ve been through the wringer, and I can’t say I’m in much better shape. The cops really manhandled me when they shoved me into their cruiser, and by now my face is red and puffy from crying. At least the tears have finally stopped, giving way to pure fear that only gets worse when I see my new environs. I’ve never been in jail before. Hell, until today, I didn’t even know what the inside of a jail cell looked like. Turns out, it’s not pretty.

  My new cellmates a rough-looking bunch. Some of them are clearly drunk or on drugs, rattling the bars and screaming at the guards who pass by in the hallway. Others, perhaps even more creepy, are just sitting on the benches, completely dead behind the eyes as they watch me stumble inside.

  “What’s the matter, little girl?” one of them slurs when she sees me.

  “Don’t fucking eyeball me,” another one snaps, lunging for me enough to make me jerk back with horror.

  The guard who brought me here shuts the door and retreats, but not before I call to him, panicking, “Wait! What’s going to happen to me? Don’t I get a phone call? Hey! I have rights!” I continue to shout after him, but it’s no use. He’s completely tuned me out, and before long I’m left alone with the other delinquents.

  Shaking, I quickly move back to the corner of the cell, where I slide down to the floor and huddle up in a ball. All I can do now is hope no one gives me any trouble. I know enough to ask for a lawyer – I’ve watched enough Law & Order to be aware of that - but I don’t know when I’ll have the opportunity. Hell, I could be stuck here for the next three days, waiting for someone to hit me with some bullshit revenge porn charge.