Page 113 of Remy

I check my cell, opening up the group chat with Ivy and Allison.

Ivy

Where is everyone?

Hello?

I’m thirsty. Who wants another drink?

Okay. Starting to freak. Are you guys still here?

Allison

I’m two feet behind you.

Ivy

lmao… Liv?

They upload a selfie of both of them. Ivy’s cleavage is smooshed together as she sticks her tongue out the side of her bright red lips, while Allison acts starstruck with a wide, gaping mouth and big bright eyes.

Guilt consumes me, devouring me from the inside out. I took them to a club with a bad reputation. I took them there knowing I was putting them in danger.

Allison

Paging Liv…

Ivy

Seriously, where are you? I’m getting worried.

The last message came two minutes ago. They’re going to kill me.

I blink furiously through my blurring vision and start typing.

Me

Sorry. Had an embarrassing stomach bug issue in the bathroom. Had to leave in a hurry. Will chat tomorrow.

I don’t wait for a reply.

I mute the conversation, already preempting their warranted responses of skepticism, and push to my feet.

The nausea grows with each blink. Each step. Each heartbeat.

We don’t cry.

We have to be strong.

I focus on the good things. My only things—my job, my home, my dad. But the taint of the week’s events only increases the churn in my gut.

Bile creeps up my throat.

The nausea wins.

I shove Remy’s ring into my pocket and rush to the bathroom, drop to my hands and knees, then purge.

It’s painful. My limited energy makes it a chore to even cling to the bowl. But at least I don’t cry. I let the anguish leave my system in violent bouts of acidic regurgitation. The heaves come one after another until I’m left spent on the cold tile floor, missing my mother, anguished over my father, and unwillingly craving a dark-eyed, sinister man to take care of me.

---