Page 49 of Fool Me Once

I walk over to the mirror and look at myself. I have too much makeup on, my long hair is curled, and my dress is too short.

The lost girl stares back at me, giving me a look that’s questioning why I’m trying to fool myself into thinking I’m okay.

I’m never going to be okay.

I go back to a time when I ran some errands before I stopped driving. It was a hot day in California, and I had on a simple pair of shorts and a tank top. There was nothing seductive about what I was wearing, but when I got home and Richie saw me walk in, he thought differently.

Richie’s voice comes into my brain, and I flinch.

“You wore that out today, Gemma?” He sat on the couch, his arm propped up on the back of it as he craned his neck to look at me.

I saw the clear glass of bourbon in his other hand, and I knew right away that it was going to be a bad night.

“Do you think I want my fiancée to dress like a slut?” The words came through his gritted teeth, sending the hairs on my body shooting upward.

“N-no,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t think I looked—”

He was off the couch and stomping toward me before I got the chance to finish my sentence. His hand gripped my neck, and he pushed me up against the wall.

“You don’t think that those shorts barely cover your fucking ass, Gemma?”

He pushed his hand harder, cutting my air supply off, and I began to panic.

“You stupid fucking bitch! You think I’m dumb? You think I don’t know when my fiancée is out, trying to find another man to fuck her?”

“No.” I croaked out the word as best I could. “I wasn’t. I’d … never.”

I had thought about leaving countless times, but it seemed hopeless to believe I’d ever get away from this man. Or that anyone else would ever want me.

Grabbing the fabric of my shirt, he ripped it into shreds. I didn’t care though because, for a second, I could breathe.

His palm came down hard on my cheek, just like it always did, and I fought back a yelp. By this point in our relationship, I knew none of this was normal.

And yet I stayed. I stayed a long time.

I’m pulled back to reality when Saylor begins shaking me.

“Gemma!” she screams. “It’s me! I’m right here!”

The dark fog lifts from my brain, and sluggishly, I return to the present, staring in the mirror at the girl whose makeup is now running down her cheeks.

Smith rushes into the room and barrels toward me. Gently putting his hands on my shoulders, he spins me to face him. “What’s wrong, Gem? What happened?”

He’s panicked, and even though I’m crying, I feel numb.

“I …” The words get stuck in my throat.

I’m embarrassed that he has to keep calming me down. I’m angry that every time I’m enjoying myself, the darkness creeps back in, reminding me that it owns every part of my soul.

“I’m fine,” I finally whisper, looking from him to Saylor. “I just … I-I need a minute.” I step back out of his embrace before going into the bathroom and closing the door.

I sink down onto the edge of the tub, feeling my heart race and my stomach turn.

How long can I go on like this? I’m fucking tired.

My eyes are on Gemma and that stupid fucking dress, which is turning me into an idiot because I can’t focus on anything besides how good her ass looks in it and how much I’d love to take her to the restroom, tear her panties off, and fuck her against the wall right now.

I look reluctantly at my sister once I see Gemma talking to Paige and a few other women.

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