Page 59 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

Keaton looks comical, pacing back and forth in his tight man panties. “I assumed you’d—well, I assumed a lot of things. This is a lot to take in.”

“What does it matter to you that I’m a virgin?”

“It matters.”

“Is this about your little blackmail attempt? I get you wanted to bail me out in exchange for revenge on your ex and Wyatt. Were you hoping for an added bonus of sex? Were you planning to use me for sex in the time we were supposed to be together?”

“Not use, but it definitely would be a bonus. Besides, we’re not even doing that. That was stupid of me. It was manipulative, and I was trying to use that as a way to get you off drugs.”

That last part stings a little. Maybe I’m a little too naïve. “By replacing drugs with sex? What the fuck? I don’t understand? Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me not using? Do you go around and wean all women off drugs with your dick?”

“No. You were my first attempt actually. It’s been a shitty trial run.”

I feel a draft and realize I’m sitting here only in Keaton’s boxers. I reach for his shirt and jerk it over my head, roughly putting it back on. “It’s getting late in the afternoon. My parents are probably freaking out,” I clip. I’m over this conversation.

He nods in agreement and walks down the hall. He returns fully dressed in jeans and a gray shirt with a bag. I check the bag to find my dress and underwear. We walk out to the car in silence, and we’re quiet in the car until my phone dings, indicating a voicemail. It causes me to jump. I look at the screen to see it’s from Wyatt. Keaton notices as well.

“Let’s hear it. I’m sure it’s good,” he suggests. I hesitate, so he quickly says, “You don’t have to let me hear it. I was just thinking it would be better than the silence.”

I go ahead and press the speaker button and then play.

“I’ve never been this pissed in my life! The more I think about it. What the hell? I waited a year for you. A long ass fucking year. And you’re going to go give it up to some piece of shit like Keaton Sloan? He’s beneath us. I messed up big time by sleeping with Charlee, but at least she didn’t come from complete trash. Hell, I was just slumming it to not pressure you. I was doing you a favor! I’m so ashamed of you. You know what, if this gets out, I don’t know if I’ll be able to take you back. I plan to run for a political office and image is everything, Denise. We were going to be the perfect power couple. But I will not have spoiled-”

The phone beeps. He seemed on a roll, so I guess my voicemail cut him off. Silence fills the car. Wyatt sounded unrecognizable. I didn’t know he was like that. I didn’t think he could be a complete jerk. I always found him wishy washy and wimpy, but not a shallow asshole. Keaton is gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white.

“Maybe the silence would’ve been better,” I say to try and lighten the mood, but I’m sure he hears the slight shake in my voice. My chest is tight, and my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest. I just need to take something and lie down. But Keaton’s words come back. The story about his father. Is that going to happen to me?

Keaton doesn’t look at me. He remains focused on the road with a tight hold on the steering wheel. He pulls into the guest house driveway and parks the car. He doesn’t turn off the engine, and he doesn’t look at me.

“Thank you for a wonderful birthday. I really do appreciate everything. For what it’s worth, it was one of my best birthdays yet.” I give him a closed-lip smile and get out of the car.

As I’m walking toward the door, I feel dizzy. I begin to sway and suddenly feel cold. I hear the car door slam. He’s at my back before I can even turn around.

“Hey, you okay?”

My hands are shaking so badly that I almost drop my box with his gifts in it. My teeth are chattering and I can barely speak. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You’re trembling. Can you walk?”

I try to shake him off and make it to my front door, but he lifts me and carries me up the steps. I enter the code, and he opens the door. Keaton carries me to my bedroom as all of the events from last night and today begin to catch up with me. As soon as he places me on the bed, I’m up and wobbling toward my bathroom. I grab my bottle of medicine with quivering hands. “Stupid child safety cap. SHIT!” My voice is beyond manic.

Two large hands take it from me. “What’s this?”

“It’s for—for anxiety.” I gasp as though I just ran a marathon. “I’m having an anxiety attack! Don’t you see?” I shriek. “I need this! Give them back!”

I try to reach for them, but he holds them above his head, away from me. “Give them back,” I cry and tears stream down my face. Why doesn’t he give me my medicine? I’m going to die. I’m going to die if he doesn’t help me. My body is shaking uncontrollably and my heart—Oh my God! I’m having a heart attack. This can’t be normal. “Please, Keaton!” I reach for them again, and then whisper in a plea, “It hurts! And I’m scared.”

I fall to the ground and curl into a ball crying. Keaton kneels next to me and places a hand on my clammy forehead.

“What about the pills from last night? What if something is still in your system? Let’s go to the hospital.”

“Please.” I wanted to be strong, but I can’t. I need my medicine. Keaton helps me up and takes me to my bed. I crawl under the covers and try to practice breathing and counting. “I need more blankets. M-m-more blankets p-please.”

I close my eyes and pray that this will just end. All of it. Tears continue to fall as my body continues to shake. I feel the weight of more blankets, and it helps. So does the warmth from Keaton’s large hand as he cups my cheek and swipes his thumb at a tear.

“Here.” His voice is low and sounds defeated. “I can’t stand to see you like this.” Hope rises in me as I open my eyes and see a single tiny white pill. I take the pill and accept the glass of water he hands me.

I lie down and allow the attack to work through me until the medicine can kick in. I can’t stop my teeth from chattering, so I try to focus on not biting my tongue off. I focus on the weight of the blankets on top of me and sigh with a moment of relief. The weight and warmth help, though I still can’t get warm. I feel like I may vomit. I’m not even sure if Keaton is still here. I close my eyes and focus on breathing. I pray to God to help me get through this. Let this pass. Let me live through this nightmare. I need to distract myself and stop focusing on how hard my heart is beating, how nauseous my stomach is, and how unsure I am if I’ll ever be able to catch my breath.

There’s a dog barking outside somewhere. I start thinking of all the dog breeds I can off the top of my head. I finally begin to calm, but I keep naming breeds until I drift away.

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