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I feel sick. Literally sick. I think I’m going to puke. My mouth fills with a rush of saliva, and I throw myself off the bed and race to the bathroom. I get there just in time and vomit a hot acidic rush of old alcohol into the bowl. My skin is clammy but cold, and tears fill my eyes.
I need to check for any signs that I had sex with them. Them? Oh, God. Did I fuck them all? Surely, I’d remember something like that. I’m pretty sure I’d be feeling the aftereffects too.
Gingerly, I reach between my thighs, feeling for any signs that I’ve had sex. Everything feels normal. I’m not swollen, and there’s no sign of semen. Maybe they used a condom, but I’m pretty sure I’d be sore if I’d been with three men. Even if I’d been with one, I’d be able to tell. It’s not like I’m some blushing virgin. I have experience.
I groan again and lower my forehead to the coolness of the toilet rim. I’m still not one hundred percent sure that nothing happened, though. Even if we didn’t have full sex, that didn’t mean that a sexual act hadn’t taken place. Was it really all three of them? Even if they didn’t lay a hand on me, they saw me naked.
Tears stream down my face. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? What is it about me that attracts these kinds of men? Do I have a notice written on my forehead that reads ‘up for some sexual assault?’
I’m going to have to ask them, I think, but then immediately can the idea. No, I can’t do that. It would be mortifying. But what could be worse? Not knowing? Having that hanging over me?
I’m pretty sure Dom is going to let me know exactly what happened soon enough. He’ll use it to crow over me, probably to make his point that he got me all figured out, and yes, I am a whore. Three men at once? My God. It won’t matter that they’re the ones who took advantage of me, that I was the one so drunk I can’t remember a thing. They’re known here. They have a reputation and power. I’m the newbie.
I think of something else and want to cry all over again. What if this gets back to my mom? She’ll be devastated, especially after what happened with the professor. She’ll think there’s something wrong with me—that I’m broken. Maybe there is. I can’t let that happen. She’s already trying to figure out how to live with a broken heart, and finding this out will destroy her. I can’t do that to her.
No matter what they say, I can’t make a fuss about this, or it will definitely get back to her. Besides, I remember what Camile told me last night about the girl who killed herself. She said the police were called, but they were paid off to go away. Is that what would happen if I made a complaint against the Devils?
I’m heartsick as well that Valentino would treat me that way. I know I’ve only known him a matter of days, but I’d honestly thought he was a decent guy. This blows that idea out of the water.
A memory hits me then. Of Kirill at the bar with Verity and the other girls when they were buying champagne. He topped up my glass, didn’t he? I definitely recall as much. What if he put something in there? He’s depraved enough, I do believe. What if Kirill roofied me, and that’s why I feel so bad? Is that the reason I can’t remember much? Shit.
Normally, I’d be thinking about calling the cops, but I can’t do anything to alert people to Mom and myself being here. It’s too dangerous for us right now, and we need to keep a low profile. It makes me realize how vulnerable we are. I reassure myself that it doesn’t seem as though anyone has touched me.
I need to sort myself out. I have class, and I can’t let my mom see me like this. Knowing her, she’ll stop by shortly and ask how my night went, and then I’ll have to lie. Not about all of it, but certainly about this part.
I nip back into the bedroom and take the Advil—though it feels a little like accepting poison from a monster—and drain the glass dry. Then I get in the shower and let the hot water run over my face, drumming on my closed eyelids, hoping it’ll wash away everything that happened last night.
When I know I’m running out of time, I turn off the water and get out. I dry myself off and dress in the baggiest outfit I can find—a pair of sweats and an oversized tee. I don’t care that it looks like a sack on me. I don’t want to be noticed. I just want to vanish into the background.
I could have done with running myself through some sun salutations—it would do both my body and my soul a whole lot of good—but I don’t have time.
I’m sick with nerves at the thought of bumping into any of the Devils. What will they say to me? At least, with the weird way the classes are organized around here, I won’t run any risk of bumping into them during lessons, but we have a Sociology lecture later this week—a subject I’m sure everyone has to take—and they’ll be there for that. I wonder if Camile can help to fill in any of the blanks.
I manage to sneak out and avoid a conversation with Mom. I feel bad not saying bye to her before I set out for the day, but it’s better she doesn’t see me like this.
Not wanting to see anyone in the cafeteria, I avoid it and make do with some soda and chips from a vending machine. Not exactly healthy, but the grease, salt, and caffeine will do me good. I eat out on an embankment around the far west side of the campus, where not many people tend to gather from what I’ve seen.
When it comes time for class, I gather my courage and say a mantra in my head, repeatedly.
You’re a bad ass bitch, and you got this.
By the time I enter the small room, I’ve tricked my nervous system into cooling down and asserting a sense of calm. Ever since I found meditation, yoga, and manifestation, it’s helped me cope with some super dark times. I’ll be damned if the stuck-up kids here manage to drag me down. I’ve been through far worse.
I smile as I enter the room as if everyone in here is my bestie. Camile waves at me from the corner of the room and I walk over to her.
“Hey, sexy lady,” she says with a soft laugh. “You got the guys revved up last night.”
“Yeah, about that.” I lower my voice. “I was drunk, and I can’t remember what happened. Did I leave with the Devils?”
“God, no. You think I’d let you go with Domenic?” She shudders. “You danced with the Devils. Hey, that could be a song. I danced with the Devils,” she sings.
I roll my eyes but I’m smiling, too, even though it feels forced.
“Even Dom?”
“Yes, even Dom. Well, sort of. He kind of hovered around like an angry cloud. Then Kirill got all hot and heavy and did his stripper routine again for you, while you perched on a stool laughing. But you started to sway, and you were clearly inebriated, so I said I’d take you home, but I couldn’t hold you up. In the end, Valentino walked back with you and me, holding you up. When we got to your room, Valentino helped you onto the bed. I got a call, so I waited outside to take it, but he was only like three minutes. I swear if he’d been long, then I’d have checked in.” She shrugs. “He came back out, said you were in bed, and that was that.”
“I woke up naked,” I tell her. “I hope he didn’t see me naked.”
