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“You know that isn’t me, though. I don’t even think I have something like that,” I confess, shrinking in my chair.
“Yeah, I know, but you can borrow the dress I wore to my birthday dinner last year,” Regan replies. She’s probably never seen me in something more scandalous than a tank top and jeans.
“The one with all the cut-outs? That’s hardly a dress,” I whine.
“Yes, that one. You’re going to wear that and some smokey eyeshadow. Then you’re going to find someone at least two tiers above Elliot appearance-wise, and you’re going to grind on him all night. I’ll be your photographer,” she explains happily.
I can see how excited she’s getting about this, but I can’t get rid of the sick feeling it’s causing in my stomach.
“Why can’t you just let me handle this the normal way? I’m not like you. I don’t like all the melodrama,” I say.
“Because your definition of ‘handling it’ is sitting him down at the kitchen table, crying at him, and letting him tell you that he’ll try to do better. That shit won’t work this time. You need to destroy him,” she replies as she sits down across from me.
Her voice is firm and unwavering. I get the feeling I’m not going to be able to argue with her.
When have I ever?
I think to myself for a moment. I know she’s right; if I do what I was planning to do, Elliot will just see that I have no spine, and he’ll know to be more careful next time so that he doesn’t get caught. There won’t be any real consequences for him.
On the other hand…
What other hand? I have nothing to lose that Elliot hasn’t already ruined by cheating.
“Okay, fine,” I relent. “But only if you don’t post the pictures where my family can see them. I don’t need to explain your revenge plot to them. They won’t get it.”
Regan squeals. “Okay! I’ll be back here at like eight so we can get ready together. Oh my god, I’m so excited!” she chirps, downing the rest of her coffee and getting up from her chair.
“I need to go to my sister’s house and grab it, but I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back,” she says as she gathers her bag and her jacket.
“Sure,” I mutter.
Once she’s out the door, I sigh heavily to myself at the prospect of our night out.
I’ve never been one to go out on Friday nights, at least not to large, loud establishments like nightclubs. The only time I’ve ever gone was when Regan parked herself outside my apartment and refused to leave until I agreed, and even then, I found myself taking a taxi home before midnight when my feet started to hurt.
I don’t have the confidence to pull off something like this. The whole thing might just end up making me look like an idiot, and I suspect that Regan might just be trying to do this to get me to go out with her again.
I remember being a teenager, thinking that going out on the town would be the most exciting adventure of my life every single weekend. It wasn’t until I got into college that I realized that only girls like Regan got to have fun on nights like these.
When Regan wants to, she can make an entire room of men turn heads, becoming completely oblivious to the other women around. Whenever I go out with her, I realize that I’m just as ordinary as anyone, that nobody will ever look at me like they look at her.
She’s always been the type to pretend she doesn’t love the extra attention, as if that makes her easier to relate to.
It doesn’t.
What she doesn’t understand is that the people who don’t get attention are the ones who would kill for the kind of thing that she complains about for at least twenty minutes whenever she gets drunk.
“Oh my god, Levi wants to take me out for sushi again.”
“Have you ever had a guy offer to buy your ticket to Coachella? Jesus.”
“There’s a guy who tried to dance with me at my cousin’s wedding last weekend. It was so gross.”
Now with Elliot cheating, I’m even more self-conscious of how invisible I am to other men. He doesn’t even have the balls to be honest about how tired he is of me, but he’s willing to go out of his way to fuck another woman.
It feels like a joke at this point. I’m nothing to him, and I’m nothing to anyone but Regan.
I sulk to my bedroom, cautiously sifting through things I can wear instead of the dress Regan thinks I’m going to look good in. Sure, I might get some looks in it, but those looks might as well be calling me a whore. They’d be for all the wrong reasons.
