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Oh god, I moaned, burying my head in my pillow as hot tears started again. How could this have happened? I was an innocent girl, a freshman at Trinity, just trying to earn money for tuition. How had it gone so wrong? How would I ever face my peers again? I cried myself to sleep, the devastating revelation only subsiding as the darkness of sleep took over.
But things were only worse the next morning. As usual, a copy of USA Today was delivered to our door and I opened it up to find the headline screaming: “IVY LEAGUE STUDENT TURNED PORN STAR: Have tuition increases driven our girls into a life of sin?”
With trembling hands, I forced myself to scan the article. Oh my god, I was on national news and newly dubbed “The Trinity Whore.” Plus, they had slipped in my real name, Melanie Jones, and given away my address. I’d been doxxed. The floor came rushing up at me as I collapsed into a heap.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zander
We flew her out as soon as we realized the extent of the damage. Our stepsister had been victimized by someone, although it’s still a mystery who.
“Wasn’t me boss, nuh uh,” said Ralph over the phone. I could almost see him chewing his cud, he was so fucking gross. But he had a point.
“Why would I endanger my living?” our employee asked. “You pay me good money to scout girls, and I fuckin’ love this job. So why would I throw it away?”
“Because, you asshole, journalists pay for scandal. It makes or breaks their careers,” I snarled. “Did some reporter come by the Donkey Club looking for a scoop?”
I could hear him chewing.
“Naw,” he drawled. “Nothing outta the ordinary.”’
“Well nothing better have happened,” I threatened into the headset. “You lost control over those videos and now a little girl’s life is destroyed!”
“What the fuck?” ground out Ralph. “She was lookin’ to be a porn star. If anything, this is a step in the right direction.”
I stopped to consider his words. There was some truth to his statement, to be sure. Many a reality TV career was launched on the back of an illicit sex tape. But the problem was that Melanie wasn’t a Pam Anderson or a Kim Kardashian. She was a sweet co-ed trying to earn money for tuition. She was smart and resourceful, and not some attention-grabbing whore.
“Listen,” I said wearily. “We’re keeping an eye on you. DON’T FUCKING LET ANYONE INTO YOUR OFFICE!” I roared into the phone.
“Got it, boss, got it,” Ralph mumbled, before hanging up.
But I wasn’t so sure that he got it. We dispatched a private investigator in New York to trail that skeezeball in an attempt to figure out what the fuck had happened with Melly’s tape. In the meantime, I’d encouraged her to fly out to LA.
“Listen baby, it’s bad, I know,” I soothed. “Why don’t you come and hang with us? Zeke and I miss you, and you were going to come back anyways.”
“I know I was, as soon as exams were over, but Zander,” she cried, “What do I do about right now? Everybody looks at me when I walk by now. I’m a pariah,” she sobbed tearfully into the phone.
My heart broke. An eighteen-year old girl’s college career and future job prospects had just been flushed down the toilet because that’s what the adult entertainment industry does. Good-bye to a white collar job. Good-bye to leading a normal, quiet life. The internet is forever these days and Melanie would likely never be able to escape the claws of her past.
I was floored. I didn’t know how to comfort her except to say, “Come to Los Angeles, honey. Everything will be better here.”
Feeling hopeless, our baby agreed. Now she’s due to arrive in a few days, but what can we do to help? My twin and I don’t know either, and that’s the problem.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Melanie
The firestorm only intensified, raging hotter as word spread that I had a double life as a porn star. Lauren and I stopped by a bar one night to grab some dinner and as soon as we walked in a girl eyed us and rushed over to her friends. They sniggered and looked over at me while speaking in hushed tones.
I felt so awful.
“Lauren,” I whispered. “This is embarrassing. Those people,” I whispered shame-faced, “they’re talking about me.”
“Do you want to go?” she whispered back. “We don’t have to stay.”
But it would be like this no matter where we went. So instead I held my head up and walked through the restaurant, sliding into a booth by the window.
That was a huge mistake. Everyone in the restaurant literally craned their heads to get a look at me. Plus, passerby could see me through the big glass window as they walked outside, doing double takes when they realized who I was. One guy even stopped in his tracks, pointing me out to his friends before laughing nastily.
