Page 289 of Filthy Elites

“Look, I’m sorry I went through your phone,” she says. “I should have asked, but… you lied to me, and it threw me. I wasn’t trying to one-up you or make you feel stupid.”

“Bullshit.”

“I wasn’t,” she insists.

“Yes, you were. Don’t fucking lie to me. I know how you work. You got it in your head that I might actually like Aubrey and you had to get ahead of it, even if it meant blowing us up in the process.”

That actually gets through to her because deep down, she knows that’s exactly what happened.

Now that I’ve landed a hit, I don’t let her have a chance to recover.

“You went through my phone like some insecure, basic-ass girlfriend. What the fuck is that, Anae? If I wanted to date a normal girl, I would. I thought you were different.”

Because I took a swing at her own idea of herself—Anae thinks she is supremely different—I make contact.

She swallows and looks down guiltily. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I told you I was working on this girl, and I thought we had an understanding that how I went about that was up to me. If I don’t do this my own way, I don’t do it at all.”

“I just… You’ve been leaving me out,” she says. “I thought we were going to do this together. I thought you would tell me things. I don’t care if you fuck her, you know I don’t care about that, but the secrecy concerned me. It’s just not what I expected.”

I shake my head, looking off in the distance.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, because she knows she stands a better chance at forgiveness if she pouts. Wrapping her arms around me and leaning her head on my shoulder, she asks, “Forgive me?”

I sigh like I have to think about it. “You’ve gotta delete that fucking video,” I tell her, but I’m calm this time. “I told her I’d get it done, and right now, I need to buy some goodwill just to get her to talk to me again.”

“Fine,” she says, easing back and taking her phone out of her handbag. I watch as she opens the app, then I watch her delete the video.

Some of the tension in my shoulders eases. The damage has been done, but at least it won’t keep circulating. “Thank you.”

She nods and slips her phone back into her bag. “I’ll have to make a post and pretend it got taken down for going against community standards or something. What are you doing later? Maybe I can come over, we can shoot something on the beach around sunset.”

“Sure. I’ll let you know if it changes, but I don’t think I have anything pressing tonight.”

“Good.” She leans in to give me a kiss. “I’ve gotta catch up with the girls. Let me know if you need anything, though, all right? Even if it’s just to bounce ideas. Don’t be afraid to talk to me about her. I’m not one of those clingy, jealous girlfriends; I’m happy to brainstorm with you. I’ll help you corner her if you need me to, or I guess back off a little if that helps. Just let me know what’s going on. If you don’t tell me what’s happening, I think nothing is, and you know me, I’m a woman of action.”

I crack a smile. “Noted. I’ll do better at keeping you in the loop from here on out.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “That’s all I wanted.”

I watch her leave and my smile drops.

I’m glad that’s handled, but I’ve still got major fucking damage control to do.

TWENTY

Aubrey

I don’t turnmy phone on again until late Tuesday morning.

I already told Mom I’m exhausted and need to take a day off from school to get some rest, so I don’t have to set an alarm or go to work.

After a while, disconnected from the little rectangle of technology that keeps me constantly threaded into other people’s lives, I find peace. It doesn’t matter that out there in the world around me is a revealing picture I never wanted anyone to see. Here, in the sanctuary of my house, all is as well as it can be.

That’s the reality I need to live in for a while. The one I was living inbeforeAnae Richards slithered into my life.

Unfortunately, the moment I turn the phone back on, my peace bubble pops. I never have much action on my social media accounts since I rarely post anything, but today, I have quite a few notifications. Every new comment is some form of insult—body-shaming, name-calling, creative insinuations that I’m an ugly whore. It’s a great time.

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