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Four years ago I lost my virginity on live, streaming television.
Too bad I wasn’t awake for it.
The video went viral. Of course it would. A Senator’s daughter on camera? Wouldn’t you click “share”? Besides, that’s what three of the four guys in the video did.
Share.
They shared me.
But that fourth guy? The nondescript one in the background in the upper left corner of the screen, just sitting on the couch? The only one who did nothing?
Not one single thing.
That was my boyfriend, Drew.
And that was the last time I saw him.
Until today, when my father—now on a path to the White House—hired him as head of security for my new team as I return home after four years of “recovering” in an undisclosed location that involved white lab coats, needles, pills and damage control.
You see, the other three guys never went to jail. Never had charges pressed.
Never faced consequences.
Until today.
Game on.
Chapter 1
In the video I’m wearing three scarves. One around my waist as a bright, electric blue belt that cuts neatly through my white, A-line dress.
One around my pony tail, a vibrant purple that was supposed to be the “in” color that season. Maybe even the next season. I think I was trying to be ahead of the trends. I don’t really remember why I picked it.
Can’t we just say I liked it? Isn’t that enough?
And, finally, one around my neck, a red scarf the color of pinched skin and flushed fever. The color of arousal.
The color of pain.
When I got dressed that morning I didn’t know. Couldn’t know.
I had no idea three fashion accessories would be used to tie me up so a group of “friends” could assault me. It was as impossible as thinking that my morning coffee mug would be used to bash in my skull, or that my purse would be used to choke me. That just doesn’t happen. Shouldn’t happen.
Boring objects in our lives should not be used to hurt us.
But those scarves burned. They bound me. They held me in place.
They gagged me.
Those objects of beauty became instruments of torture.
I don’t blame the scarves. They’re just pieces of cloth.
The men who used them are the ones I hold responsible.
And the man who did nothing to stop what happened was the worst of all.
Here’s some basic arithmetic:
