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I’m confused as to how Amy could betray me like that, how she could lure me out to a party just to humiliate me—days after she’d invited me to go with her and her family to their country club in the suburbs.
It doesn’t make any sense...
Besides the fact that what she’s done is beyond cruel, the fact that I had sex with Parker’s friend was nothing more than a mistake. A thoughtless, drunken mistake.
He’d followed me to my dorm after freshman orientation and I could’ve sworn I told Amy not to leave us in the room alone, but she’d been drunk too (I thought) and she’d left anyway.
I was horny and desperately lonely, so I allowed myself to kiss him back—wondering if sex with him would actually be pleasurable, but it wasn’t. Only his kisses were good.
It wasn’t until the morning after that I realized what I’d done, but I didn’t allow myself to feel bad about it. I chalked it up to being a simple mistake and put it behind me.
A few weeks later, I met Parker—the frat boy with a soft side, and made him believe that I really liked him.
Although the sex with him never made me feel anything and I’d never been a fan of his desire to cuddle, he always treated me nicely. He even seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me, but I never let him get close.
Maybe I should’ve...
Confused, I look down and notice that my skin is starting to redden underneath the steamy water. Taking several deep breaths, I manage to slow my sobs until they eventually fade into nothing more than staggered breaths.
When they’re finally gone and the only noise is the splattering of water against the tile, I start to think.
I need to come up with a way to deal with this, a way that’s more than sleep and alcohol. I know I can’t show my face on campus for a few days, but I can’t act like that video hurts me. I can’t let people think that I’m weak or easily intimidated, and I need to get rid of Amy. First.
I turn off the shower and look up and down the hallway before slipping back into our room.
I look around our shared space—shaking my head at all the high priced furniture and art her filthy-rich parents have shipped. There’s a Picasso—a fucking Picasso!—framed high above our full length mirror.
I walk over to it and lift it from its hook. Then I toss it onto the ground, shattering it to pieces.
I open my drawer and pull out my half-drunken bottle of tequila—the stuff I drink on my worst days, and prepare myself for what’s to come.
I know exactly how I’m going to get rid of this bitch...
––––––––
At four in the morning, the door to our room opens, and Amy stumbles in—laughing with one of her friends.
She hits the lights and her eyes immediately meet mine. “Well, if it isn’t NYU’s number one whore! Emerald ‘I Fucked Two Fraternity Brothers’ Anderson!” She slurs. “That’s what happens when you cross me. I’m Amy Houston...Amy fuckin’ Houston, and you should remember that for the rest of the year while you’re busy whoring it up.”
Her friend helps her to stand, and when she takes a few steps forward, she looks over at her side of the room and sucks in breath after breath.
I wait for the reality of what I’ve done to all of her things to settle in, wait for her to realize who the real queen bitch is.
All of her designer bed-sheets and clothes are in a pile on the floor, doused in my un-washable black acrylic paint. Her mattress is cut wide open—an automatic seven hundred and fifty dollar fee, and on her fifty inch flat-screen that hangs on our wall I have a video playing. It’s showing her giving our Ethics T.A. a blow job in our room last week.
She’s on her knees and he’s caressing the back of her neck, begging her to take him deeper and deeper into her mouth.
“I accidentally recorded that while I was gone,” I say flatly. “I left my webcam on and was planning to show it to you tomorrow so we could laugh about it over vodka. I was going to delete it right after.”
“That is not me...” She swallows.
“Ohhhh...Amy...Fuck...” The T.A. moans on the screen. “Fuckkkk...”
“Right.” I roll my eyes and turn the volume down. “Let me tell you how the next twenty four hours are going to go, Amy fuckin’ Houston. You’re going to have all of your shit moved out of my room by the morning. I don’t care what you tell our R.A., but you won’t mention my name at all. If you do, I’ll be the bitch you were to me and put this lovely video on Facebook, after I send a few copies to your parents’ colleagues. I’m sure the daughter of the governor’s top advisors would make front page news if this tape ever went viral.”
