Page 6 of The Final Straw

I stare at the screen for a minute, before flipping over to my text messages to see if she sent one. She normally does before going to bed, and when she wakes up. Shit, I do the same thing, but I have a nagging feeling I didn’t do that last night.

I have two new messages, one from Olivia and one from Barbi.

Why the hell is she messaging me?

Opening Barbi’s up first to see if there are any clues on why I feel like this. It’s a video. I click play and see the two of us together in my bed.

What the fuck!

She’s rolling down my boxer briefs. Then all you can hear is a familiar sound, one I know well, and holy shit, I hear myself moaning. Barbi pops back into view in nothing but a thong before asking if I want her to ride me.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It has to be a joke. Please don’t tell me I cheated on the love of my life. The girl I was planning to marry and have kids with.

This has to be a joke. A cruel, horrible joke.

I hit play and watch the video over and over, looking for anything to tell me it was forged in some way. Everything looks normal, minus me. I’m slurring my words and seem unable to form whole thoughts.

That fucking bitch slipped something into my drink. She roofied me. I know it.

It’s then panic sets in. Because I know why she did this—she wants to hurt Olivia, and knew this would do it. I’ve got to talk to her before she sees it. Warn her about it and explain what happened. God, I hope she can forgive me.

It doesn’t look good looking at it from the outside, not knowing all the information.

Anyone looking at it would automatically assume I fucked another girl, but I didn’t cheat on her intentionally.

The video cuts off after she straddled my cock and jutted her hips forward, so I’m not sure what happened after that. All I know is she had her fucking mouth on my cock. Did I fuck her?

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why the hell did I go to that party? I didn’t want to go.

I hit the icon for Olivia and try calling her again, but it goes to voicemail. I sit on my bed and try to call her over and over, with no success, and I’m getting worried. What if Barbi sent it to her? What if she watched it and believed it?

Shit, I need to know if Barbi just screwed up my life. It isn’t like Olivia to not answer her phone, or text to at least tell me she’s busy. Clicking over to Barbi’s video message, I tap on the phone icon and call her. It rings three times before she picks up.

“Oh hey, baby, do you miss me already? I would've stayed, but I had to come home and let the dog out. If you want, I can come over tonight for round two.” Her voice is full of venom, even though she’s trying to sound alluring.

“Fuck no, I don’t want you coming over. What the hell is with the video? Did you fucking put something in my drink?” I yell through the phone. If she was here, I’d ring her fucking neck, but all that would do is land me in jail.

“Aww, baby, don’t be like that. You know you loved every single minute of it. Didn’t you see the video we made?”

“You know I didn’t enjoy shit. I saw the video where I’m obviously drugged and not aware of anything going on. You know I’m with Olivia. Do you remember her? You’re supposed to be her best fucking friend.”

My blood pressure rises with each minute I’m on the phone with her because I’m getting nowhere, and I can’t get the love of my life to answer my call or text me back.

Her shrill laughter rings out through the phone. “That bitch? I’m done with her. She’s just a blip on the radar for me. Hell, I thought you were done with her too, the way you fucked me last night. Screaming out my name as you shot your cum inside of me. Who knows, we may already have a baby brewing inside my belly.”

Fuck this bitch.

I end the call and try Olivia again. Fucking voicemail. Shit, shit, shit, this keeps getting worse.

What if she is pregnant? It would mean we did fuck, and I truly cheated on Olivia.

If she does come back later and say she’s pregnant and it’s mine, we’re having a test done by my doctor. I wouldn’t put it past the bitch to try to pawn some other man’s kid on me.

Dropping the phone on the bed beside me, I try to think about what to do and how to handle this.

No matter how hard I try, nothing comes to mind. I rake my fingers through my hair in frustration, tugging on the ends as I fall backward on the bed.

Unable to hold it in any longer, I yell. “Fuuuuck!”

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