𝐈 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 my 10AM alarm. I think to skip breakfast while patting my eye bags with my beauty booster hopeful my concealer does it's job to hide my lack of sleep.
My nudity glows under the bright lights of my bathroom and I give an appreciative look at the body cardio gave me. Except for my hip dips. I loathed my hip dips and I prayed Elena didn't pick a fitted bridesmaids dress.
My bruises illuminate too. They're mostly faded now as had the aching, but a piece of me still longed for it.
The pain. Not him.
"Stunning. Just like I remembered."
I grin at his reflection in my mirror. "Of course I am." I turn to face him before he can hug me from behind and he settles his hands on my waist instead. His emerald eyes sparkle at me and my stomach sinks. He'd said he just got out of a breakup and I hoped that meant he wouldn't get attached easily.
"I love a confident woman,"
"I do too,"
He chuckles. "You were fucking amazing last night, although I've never met a woman who exclusively does anal and not the other."
I shrug. Your point?
"Are you...saving that part of yourself for marriage or something?"
"I am." I lie. I didn't recall why I hadn't had the other sex before, it certainly wasn't a conscious choice during my first time.
I remembered my then boyfriend had pressured me into it by telling me all guys wanted this rather than the other thing, and I'd reluctantly let him have his way behind a dumpster while I buried my tears in the shoulder of his letterman jacket and lied there like a starfish hours after he told me he was going to be late for practice.
Ever since I told myself I'd save a piece of me just for me, the drugs and the boys and death and trauma could have the rest. Then I remembered I was willing to give it up for a luxury sports car almost a month ago.
Maybe I hadn't changed.
"Huh. Well. Do you have time to fuck me like I'm your husband again?"
"No. But I do have time to fuck you like you're my ex."
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐲, the receptionist sees my pin and leads the way to the venue. The rest of the girls are fawning over which fabric flatters them best while Elena barks commands, clearly annoyed.
"Oh! Well I'm so glad the bride decided to join us this afternoon," She says, stomping her way in front of me. She looks at my maid of honor pin and sneers. "You are the bride right? Because that's the only excuse I'd accept for you being late."
I feel myself shrink beneath her even though I surpass her height by half a foot. "I apologise I...I thought I had time-"
"For what? Because it clearly wasn't for me." She scrunches up her nose, leans in and whispers, "You were fucking that guy from the club last night weren't you?"
"How'd you know?"
"I gave him a lap dance. Trevor saw it when he came to pick us up, it's why he was angry. Anyways I remember his cologne." She cuts me off again. "Whatever. Better him than- you know."
I do.
For the next few hours we pick out table cloths, fabrics, flowers and food. Elena is beside herself and presentable for once and I remember no one else besides her fiancé knows that we're exotic dancers, and doesn't want them to know until after the wedding.
It perplexes me, though, how no one would have a problem with the man going to a strip club but everyone would have a problem with him marrying the stripper; judgemental or not, though, at least she'd have a family which was more than I could say for myself.
Elena blows a kiss and mouths, "See you at work!" while I pack up for a meeting at my internship.
"I would have brought this over earlier had I known you wouldn't stay for long." Her fiancé materialises beside me, cake in hand. His auburn curls frame his round face like a doll as he flashes a set of whites at me.
"Oh, thanks but no. I really have to get going. I'm sure she'll bring one of the tiers to the club..." I regret my carelessness when I see his face falter. "And Trevor, listen. I'm sorry about that guy last night. He's one of my regulars and Elena was only servicing him because I'd asked her too. I wasn't in any mood to dance."
He nods like he understands and I can tell he wants to believe me but we both knew Elena. She loved the club, maybe even more than him, which is why she would be pressed to quit even though his family was wealthy.
"I know. I just get beside myself with jealously. That's the future mother of my son's you know? She can get so irresponsible, but at least she has you to look out for her."
Elena might not make the best wife but at least she'd make a good mother and forgive her children no matter what mistakes they'd made, which was more than I could say for mine.
"You don't have to worry. We're best friends," I can tell that he believes it, just like I did once. "I'll never let anything bad happen to her."
𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫
I never knew I was addicted until I was forced to stop ─ the runny nose, teary eyes, hand tremors, cold and hot sweats.
When I look in mirror I can see the lights of the crystal chandelier cast judgement upon my skin. It's cracked underneath the soft green green paint I've covered myself in and it almost covers the sunkeness of my eyes and chapped lips. I apply enough eyeliner to make it pop and drag a fresh coat of matte black gloss across my mouth to complete the look.
I stumble on my way from the master bedroom. A shiver berates me as my hands start to shake making it almost impossible to steady myself against the doorframe.
Withdrawal.
I swallow the incoming headache that's no doubt exacerbated by the thumping music and casually emerge down the dark hallway and into the open living space that's crowded with figures from the golden age and characters from cult horror films.
There was a poorly dressed Ella and Scott Fitzgerald from the roaring twenties and a drugged out Sid Vicious and Nancy. I saw a scantily clad demonic bunny, no doubt from Donnie Darko, and Mia Wallace was smoking a joint instead of a cuban on the lap of Patrick Swayze.
From the slutty Disney princess to the cringe Fortnite reimagine, students from every grade class were dressed up. I spotted everyone but the monster I'd hoped to confront tonight. I want to check the second floor until someone grabs my arm and whips me around.
"Looking for me?" She screams.
"Gigi! I almost fell down," I groan and blink wildly, gripping her hand while trying to steady myself.
She ignores me. "What do you think?" I recognized the style of dress from our comparative ancient history class. Kalasiris were a distinctive garment worn by Egyptian royals and Gigi was wearing a jeweled, transparent Kardashian version of it. When I don't comment she says, "Omg! I'm Cleopatra."
With a flip of her silk dark hair she does a dramatic spin causing the guys around to whistle at her. Like always she pretends not to notice but I notice that she's wearing the costume she talked me out of wearing.
"I thought you were going as Kim Possible. That's the only reason I sprayed myself green and dressed as-"
"You look great," She says, dismissive. "But my mom wouldn't let me dye my hair orange and I couldn't find a wig in time so I had to improvise!" She leans in. "You haven't seen Megan around have you? She's really visiting her mom?"
If Megan were here she wouldn't have allowed Gigi to dress like this. Better than her. It was an unspoken rule and one she made sure to punish for had it been broken. I nod. "That's what I heard. Have you seen Philip anywhere?"
"Why do you hang out with the Bradford brothers?" She laughs. "You can always score from someone else you know,"
"I know, I just..." Speak of the devil. There he was on the interior balcony a floor above us, frolicking and passing out drinks. When I catch his eye he smirks, beckoning me toward him with just a look. "It's complicated. Don't tell Megan okay?"
She looks confused and I grab her by the shoulders and make her promise. "Winona, okay! You don't have to worry. We're best friends!"
I nod, but mostly to reassure myself. "Thank you. I'll be back I'm gonna get us drinks."
I disappear before she can protest, pushing my way through the crowd and climbing up the grand marble staircase. It's less crowded at the top and quieter after the song changes but I still have to nudge people out of my way and endure someone groping my ass to get to him.
"Hey asshole."
He doesn't look up. Instead he's organizing drinks on the table stand, splitting them up in two colors. I notice that people freely grab the red cups but a couple people ask for green cups specifically and Philip personally hands them off before bothering to acknowledge me.
"Aren't you a pleasure to look at."
"Because of you no one else will sell to me." I get straight to the point.
"We've been over this sweetheart. I told you what you needed to do to make that happen." A zombie football player comes up to whisper in his ear, and they do a bro handshake before Philip hands him a cup.
I think back to his proposition and feel my stomach churn. "You sick fuck," I hiss. "No."
He shrugs. "Then no it is." He takes two cups and steps from around the table to walk away and I catch the hook of his elbow.
"I'm not finished with y-" Instead of stopping him, he drags me along and it isn't until I threaten to tell the police that he faces me.
"You think you can go to the police about me?" He spat. His words are acidic. "And tell them what? What are you going to fucking tell them, Winona? That I sell drugs and alcohol to minors? That you only know because you bought it all from me?"
"I can tell them things a lot worse than that."
When you're feigning for a fix you become immune to knowing when there's danger right in front you, and dangerous was Philip Bradford and his entire family. It was rumored that his father was in bed with the Italian mob and was an important part of their drug trafficking syndicate in Connecticut. His father's unspoken power enabled him to get whatever, and whomever, he wanted, and when you turned him down he made sure to stand between the thing you wanted most until he got it.
I'd only made it so easy.
"Go ahead." He's collected because he knows my threat is empty.
I almost resort to begging when, from my peripheral, I see Gigi cuddled up on the lap of a boy I recognize that's dressed in a similar fashion to hers, and my stomach sinks when I recognize him as Mark Antony. It was never that Gigi couldn't get permission to dye her hair and thus we couldn't dress alike, no, she deliberately talked me out of dressing as Cleopatra so she could look the best and match with my ex boyfriend.
"My offer still stands," I hear Philip say. "You can have all the drugs you want, as soon as tonight even. But. It's either you...or someone else of your choice."
I watch as she nibbles on his ear and they share a joke. When she catches me staring she wraps her arm around his neck and beams at me. From the second floor I'm looking down at her, but she's looking up like she's won.
"Okay."
"What?"
I look back at Philip and for the first time I notice he's not wearing a costume, just Abercrombie jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt; what better way to dress than as your usual diabolical and demented self?
"What do I have to do?"
Grinning, he hands the two cups to me. "Green for go. Red for no." Simple. "My brother will come get you...depending on your choice."
I snatch the cups away, unable to meet his gaze, and slyly weave through the thinning crowd back down the stairs being careful not to spill anything ─ from the cups and from my mouth, because my stomach felt even more unstable and I couldn't tell if my symptoms were worsening or my morals at what I was about to do.
It didn't matter that I was over my ex but why didn't it matter to her that he'd been terrible to me? If she didn't care about girl code why should I care about her bodily autonomy?
There's an open seat next to Gigi and when I set the cups on the glass in front of us, my ex doesn't acknowledge me and Gigi doesn't offer an explanation. She never did. Like when we were kids that time at Girl Scout camp and she wet the bed, she changed into fresh pajamas and poured water on mine because even then, like now, she knew I was never bold enough to confront her.
But I was tired of her shit.
When Megan almost dropped her from the cheer squad last year for gaining weight it was me who helped her do the cotton ball diet so she'd be small enough to be a flyer. When she found out she was pregnant at sixteen it was me she asked to kick her in the stomach until she miscarried; everything I did because I thought she'd do it for me.
But she didn't love me the way I loved her.
"You said you were thirsty,"
"I did?" She reaches for a cup but I beat her to it, raising mine in the air.
"To friendship," I say, and she rolls her eyes.
"It's vodka punch not chardonnay."
I wanted to slap her.
She gulps hers like a shot and it's only after I do the same that I notice just how many other girls have green cups. I counted two ─ the freshman Ella Fitzgerald and the other I didn't know, but I recognize the football player that talked to Philip before is standing next to her.
I glare at Gigi's empty cup, not sure what color it is anymore, and I suddenly feel uneasy. A hand is on shoulder and someone asks me if I'm okay ─ the new girl, Chloe; she too is holding a green cup. My mouth waters and as if on cue my throat tightens before I heave my breakfast on the floor and I intentionally take Chloe's drink down with me.
The people closest laugh but I hear Gigi's exclaim of disgust before pair of rough hands drag me away and when he pulls me upright I have to clutch my mouth.
"If you puke on me I will throw you from the roof." Philip's brother. I try and push him away but my strength betrays me until he says, "You want to score or not bitch?''
A surge of adrenaline alerts me, like a lost traveler seeing water in the desert after days of dehydration and I hold him close, not wanting to lose my guide.
We're up the stairs again, and I don't know where he's taking me but Philip steps in our way and they share some sort of look before he raises his red cup to me and walks away. "Cheers."
"You're a sick fuck, Philip. Do you know that?" I didn't think he heard me until he's facing me again, jawline glowing under the strobe lights with a grin that's daring and unapologetic.
"I do, and by the way I always liked Shego more than Kim," He gives me a once over and it looks like he's over appreciative of my green and black bodysuit that hugs every curve imaginable, but it's not just my costume that he sees. "And playing the villain really does suit you..."
"𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?" Marcella says.
I apologize, shoving a piece of cake in my mouth that Elena brought in from her planning party. "I didn't mean to I was just... thinking."
"About what?"
I pop another bite into my mouth before answering. "That Halloween party back home."
She nods knowingly but only because she'd heard of it. She was fifteen at the time, a couple years younger than me, when she saw me coked out on our front lawn that night. Our parents were away and I swore her to secrecy but it didn't last long because she'd soon pick up my habits, and from what she told me earlier it had only been three months since she'd kicked them.
She says something else but my screen buffers because as always Skype is an ass. "...and everyone still talked about it even after you guys graduated. I mean it was mostly because of the video and what allegedly happened to that Chloe gir─ and why would Megan dress up and spy on her own party?"
I swallow hard, and swallow the memory even harder. "Mhm."
"─called it the Brat Pack scandal, and mother was livid when she found out you were involved, remember?" She stops laughing when she remembers that the scandal is part of the reason why mom and I don't talk and why she's not allowed to be speaking with me either. "And maybe it skipped me but I always knew."
"Knew what?"
We stare at each other plainly. "That there was something dangerous about the jealousy of teenage girls."
The way in which she said it sent a familiar chill down my spine. I didn't know how much she knew, but what I did know was that even before withdrawal sets in, you'll do anything to get that feeling back because as long as it lasts, nothing's wrong. It doesn't matter if you forget something, or lose someone. Or if you fail someone that you thought was your friend. Nothing is wrong and everything feels good, and you never want it to end until it's time to pay for what you did.
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