Page 43 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

Alice takes a sip of her drink and then answers, “They’re going out with Noah since they haven’t had a guys’ night in almost a year.”

That’s right. Noah’s been on his military tour and he’s finally home. Definitely a reason to celebrate. Trent, Jeff, and Noah are all taken men. I doubt they’ll do anything too crazy. Poor Keaton will have to settle for a tame guys’ night, I guess. The thought makes me smile.

Rachel looks toward Alice. “Aren’t they just hitting the bars?”

Alice rolls her eyes. “I hope they don’t go to that tacky strip club across the river.”

“Excuse me? Why would y’all let your guys go to such a place? Isn’t that like cheating?”

“It’s only cheating if they touch the stripper. Keaton will be the only one free to touch, I guess.” Rachel shrugs and takes another sip of tea.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek so hard, I begin to taste blood. I don’t know why I care. Sure, I still might have a crush on him. But he’s such an ass. This is ridiculous. They’re messing with me. I know they are. There’s no way Rachel, of all people, would be so nonchalant about Trent going to a strip club. The bars I can believe but not strip clubs. I can barely believe Rachel would even let Trent go to a bar without her. Then again, of the three of us, Rachel is the more adventurous and open-minded one. I think her and Landon snuck into a strip club before.

“I was thinking…instead of going to that painting and wine place for my twenty-first.” I try to make a dramatic show of my hands like this is no big deal. Keep it cool, Denise. “How about we hit the town? Just a thought.” I shrug my shoulders.

Alice raises her eyebrows. “I’ve already paid the deposit and booked the private room. I guess we could see about bumping the time up? They might move our date to next weekend though. I’ll call and ask.”

Rachel wears a smug smile but doesn’t say anything. Just keep drinking your tea, Rachel. I huff out an aggravated sigh while I wait for Alice to finish on the phone.

“They said we’ll lose our deposit if we move it to next week, so I just bumped us up to an earlier time.”

“Perfect! I’ll text the rest of the girls to let them know.” I stand up and wave bye. As I walk out of the house, I’m pretty sure I hear the two of them giggling. It almost sounded like they gave each other a high five.

Was that their plan all along to make me jealous of the idea of Keaton out with other women?

The rest of the day I spend preparing for tonight. I give myself a good pep talk. It was ridiculous to get jealous over Keaton. Tonight, I’m going to focus on me. Denise Randall. The youngest and most forgotten sibling of the Randall clan. I miss Landon because he always gave the best pep talks. So I try to imagine what he would suggest for tonight.

He would’ve told me to pamper myself to the max and make everyone notice me without even trying. Tonight is not about Keaton or Wyatt or super sexy, older and married Doctor Hall. It’s not about Isabelle or Charlee. It’s not about one of my siblings and what crazy drama is going on in their lives. Tonight is about me. It’s my birthday. Mine. I’m finally twenty-one! This is a night to be excited, happy, and carefree. I’m going out. All out. I’m going to look hot. I don’t think I’ve tried to look sexy since I was fourteen. To be fair, everyone was calling me a whore, so I didn’t want to add any fuel to that fire. By the time I went to college, it was hard to get those voices out of my head after hearing it for four years. I shower, wax, pluck, lotion, and destroy my closet trying to decide on which outfit to wear.

Finally deciding I don’t have anything worthy of tonight, I rush to my car. I drive to a few department stores until I find the perfect outfit. A red, tight fitted dress with a dramatic heart neckline and a keyhole back. I buy a pair of sinfully black high heels with red on the bottom. I apply my makeup, a little more dramatic than usual, but end up looking like a clown. What happened to me? My hand begins to shake as I make another attempt at eyeliner. The line squiggles at the end of my lid. I scream and turn the pencil on the mirror. When I’m out of breath, I lean back from the mirror. I can’t even see my reflection from all the black lines covering the glass. My heart beats erratically. I gasp for breath. Stepping back from the sink, my back hits the wall, and I slide down.

Deep breath in. One, two, three, four. Release. One, two, three, four. Deep breath in. One, two, three, four. Release. One, two, three, four. Release.

Tears stream down my face, further ruining my botched attempt at seductive eye makeup. I’m already thinking about backing out. Excuses swirl through my mind. I stare at the angry charcoal pencil scribbles on the mirror. The longer I stare, the more upset I become. I bring my knees up and wrap my arms around them, beginning to rock back and forth. I don’t want to take another pill. A part of me knows that’s what’s wrong. I keep mixing my anti-anxiety pills to calm me down and one of my friend’s ADHD capsules to keep me awake and focused. I don’t even know what I’m taking from Roland. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I don’t take them regularly or at a set time. Biting my thumbnail, I turn my eyes to the cabinet door that is right in front of me, knowing there’s a bottle stashed safely away. It’s right there. My body trembles. I rush out of the room and crawl under my bed covers. Maybe if I can just get warm, I’ll calm down.

Deep breath in. One…

After I’ve counted several times, I call Alice crying.

“Denise, what’s wrong?”

“I u-used to be good at makeup.”

“What?”

“I can’t. I can’t, Alice. I just can’t anymore.”

“You can’t what?”

I can’t do anything. I can’t deal with life. I’m so useless I can’t even apply eyeliner. Everyone was right about me. I’m just a stupid, spoiled rich girl who’s good for nothing.

“I need help.”

“With what? You’re scaring me.”

I’m addicted to drugs. I’m scared all the time. I hate myself. I’ve been texting a married man. I’ve been lying to everyone. A possible drug dealer messaged me. Isabelle was right about me. You don’t really know me. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I just want to be happy.

“I can’t get my makeup to look right. I look like a clown.” Which is fitting since my life is a circus, and I’m not even the ring leader, I’m the sideshow.

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