Page 41 of The Wicked Virgin

“I confronted him but he didn’t say anything,” I replied dully, my eyes listless. “He didn’t defend himself, didn’t say anything,” I repeated again.

Marie paused, looking puzzled, before speaking.

“That’s weird. Mr. Martin didn’t defend himself? Usually guys like this are manipulators, they’ll gaslight you, make you think that everything you saw was a mirage, make you question yourself. He didn’t do any of that?” she asked quizzically while taking another sip of tea.

I shook my head miserably.

“Everything just happened so fast, you know, I tore into his office ready to confront him and then I … I … I found panties in his suit jacket pocket,” I choked, tears welling up again. This was the humiliating part, that I’d been so trusting, so naïve. I’d been a fucking dunce and Nick had worked me for what it was worth.

Marie patted me comfortingly on the shoulder, leaning over to hand me a Kleenex. Gratefully, I took it and blew into the paper with a huge honk.

“I take it they were another woman’s panties, right?” my friend said gently. “They weren’t yours?”

“They definitely weren’t mine,” I said vehemently. “These were so disgusting, they were crusted and gross, and it was obvious she’d creamed into them.”

Marie leaned back and giggled slightly, trying to look serious even as she held a hand over her mouth

“I know it’s TMI,” I said huffily, sitting up straighter, “but seriously, there was all this crusted gunk, it was flaking off like dandruff or some shit, totally ratched.”

And Marie lost her battle then, bursting out into full-fledged laughter, gale force gasps that made the few customers in the store turn to stare our way. I was so mad and humiliated at once that I glared at her, my eyes volcanic.

“I’m glad you still have a sense of humor,” I said frigidly, “when my life has been ruined.”

And the blonde heaved and gasped, trying to sit up straight on her small stool but failing, bent double from deep belly laughs.

“Honey, I’m so sorry, I know you’re in pain,” she apologized through wheezing chuckles, “It’s just … you’re a really funny girl, you know that?”

I wouldn’t even grace that with a reply, instead shooting her another frigid glare. How could she think this was funny? Hello, I was suffering in the ninth circle of Hell.

“Okay, okay,” replied my friend, holding her hand up in an appeasing gesture, schooling her expression into a reasonable semblance of seriousness. “I got it now, I’m under control,” she said, just a quirk of her mouth giving her away. “So you found the panties and what did Nick say then?”

And I wailed again.

“He didn’t say anything! He just stood there and took it!”

But Marie leaned back and shook her head.

“Not one thing? He didn’t say one thing to defend himself?” she asked, eyebrow raised somewhat skeptically.

“No, nothing at all!” I wailed. “Nothing at alllllll!” my voice rose about an octave higher, causing customers to look over at us again. Shit, I was going to get Marie fired if we kept carrying on this way.

But the blonde was unperturbed and took another sip of tea.

“Something’s off here,” she said musingly, her eyes contemplative as she looked off into the distance. “Something tells me that the situation’s seriously off. Guys who see multiple women usually have excuses, they try to justify it somehow. ‘Humans aren’t meant to be monogamous,’ ‘Neanderthals had multiple partners,’ heck, even ‘Mohammed had four wives’ and shit like that. Mr. Martin didn’t say anything of the kind?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

I shook my head miserably.

“Nope, nothing,” I replied in a small voice.

Marie was silent again.

“Hold on, let’s back up for a sec and tell me again exactly what happened when you confronted him,” she encouraged.

I took a deep breath, the events so painful, the wound throbbing excruciatingly.

“I was in Nick’s office but he wasn’t there yet,” I recounted, frozen. “I wandered around and saw that his jacket pocket was bulging a little and reached in. Voila! Out tumbled the panties,” I shuddered again at the memory. “Nick came back and I launched myself at him, screaming epithets, I was furious.” God, the memory made me want to bury myself alive, it was literally the lowest point in my life.

“And then what happened?” my friend asked, her eyes encouraging.

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