Page 5 of The Emerson Effect
“And thank you for understanding. It won’t happen again.”
As soon as I tap the icon to send it, I close down the app and toss my phone to the mattress beside me. I try to relax as I close my eyes and will away the ache in my head. That only lasts a couple of seconds before I open one eye and look down at my phone. Groaning, I pick it up and reopen the BingBang app.
There’s no new message from Emerson.
Good.
We’re obviously done, here.
Dropping the device back to the bed, I toss my legs over the edge and stand. I need coffee. Stat.
I need a clear head, because this hangover is obviously fucking with me. It seems like Emerson’s being anice guy.And that image doesn’t jibe with the smarmy, exploitive, opportunist I’ve painted him to be in my head.
Yeah, it’s definitely the aftereffects of over-imbibing. Ugh. No more frugality when it comes to tequila. Only top-shelf shit from now on.
Wait. No. Never mind. I’m never drinking tequila again, remember?
Once my cup finishes brewing, I blow across the surface to cool the steaming liquid gold as my mind wanders back to Emerson’s messages. Was he telling the truth? Did his friend really exaggerate his vision by drowning him in water and then post the video without permission? If it is true, then Emerson isn’t to blame. He wasn’t being intentionally malicious by implying I’d make a splash that huge.
No. No going soft on him. He still uses my videos for his own gain instead of creating his own content.
It actually helped, at first, because viewers would navigate to the original video I made, giving me some extra visibility. Butthat’s been declining, lately, along with my organic reach. I’ve started having to put money into my videos, promoting them to boost visibility, and that’s just not sustainable. Not if I want to keep my houseandpay off my credit card debt.
Debt that’s not even mine in the first place.
My ex-boyfriend lived with me for a while, an act of kindness on my part since we’d only been dating a few weeks when he lost his job and was having trouble finding a new one. He was getting evicted and was obviously hinting at staying with me by making frequent comments about how nice and big my house is for only one person. He basically guilted an invite out of me, but I felt okay about it. I mean, what was the worst that could happen?
After we broke up, and he moved out, I found out he’d used my personal information to open two credit cards, ran them up to their limits, and hid the bills that came in the mail before I could see them. And good old trusting Twila let him use her laptop without logging out of her email, so he was able to intercept email correspondence and permanently delete it before I saw it. By the time he moved out, and I finally saw a bill, he’d racked up nearly ten thousand dollars in debt.
I tried to claim fraud with the credit card companies, but the bills came tomypermanent address for months. Online purchases were made from myAmazonaccount. Hell, he even bought things for me to make it look like I was using the cards. He’d gone into a few things I had automatic reorders for, like my vitamins, my hair products––even my tampons––and replaced the credit card info to the fraudulent ones he set up.
He effectually made it seem like I knew about the cards and was using them, a layer of extra insurance for himself when the shit inevitably hit the fan and I found out what he’d been doing.
I can’t prove it wasn’t me and that I had no idea. So, I’m stuck with thousands of dollars of debt and nothing to show for it.
And after he was gone, those damn credit card bills are how I found out he was cheating on me the whole time he lived here. He was using the fraudulent cards to buy expensive gifts for his side piece. Jewelry. Designer bags. Red-bottomed shoes.
No one knows about the cheating. Not even Joey. It’s humiliating, and I have zero desire to dredge it all up again. Like I’m doing now.
Sighing, I chug the rest of my coffee and push off the counter. Setting the empty cup in the sink, I pad back up to my bedroom to pick out and outfit before I shower and get dressed. It may be the weekend, and I may be hungover, but there’s no rest for me today.
I need money, and my content isn’t going to make itself. Time to get to work.
FOUR
Emerson
“Hey, dude. What’s up?”
Stone plops down onto the couch next to me and takes a sip of the water he just grabbed from the fridge. Stone, his twin Mason, Ritchie, and I share this four-bedroom rental house, and it’s usually great, but I’m still kind of pissed at Stone for his antics with my BingBang video yesterday.
When I just grunt in response, he laughs. “You’re not still mad at me for yesterday, are you?”
We know each other too well. “Yes.”
“No, you’re not. Youloveme. Besides, it’s not like she’ll call you out, or anything. She can’t afford to tarnish her image, right?”
I toy with the idea of showing him our messages but quickly discard it. I can’t. I told Twila I wouldn’t share it. With anyone.
