Page 23 of Ecstasy
Now I’m at the center of the death of the cheerleading captain.
Super.
But at least I’m not the only one. There were dozens of people at that party, and as fascinated as people might be with me, Alex and Eli are much more interesting. People know them. Respect them. Wanna fuck them.
The gossip around them should eclipse me.
Plus, a girl died for fuck’s sake. They should hold pep rallies and memorial services for her and leave me the fuck alone.
Or take their concerns about my tits and the pool up with Alex.
The last I saw of him, I was in the passenger seat of Kylie’s car after she, very kindly, came to pick me up when I was done talking to the cops. Alex was getting into his Jeep to follow an officer to the police station.
Eli had already left. He’s the one that called the cops after he came up behind me in the kitchen.
I haven’t spoken to either of them since then. Maybe I should reach out to Eli, considering Rihanna was all over his ass at the party and maybe he’s upset about it or something, but I can’t do it.
We weren’t friends, and despite what went down with us Saturday night—the fuzzy memory thankfully, or not, having come back—he wouldn’t expect me to reach out.
Not to mention Eli wasn’t dating her. They were just fucking around, I guess. I don’t know. Eli never talks about women. Or anything. Not to me.
Besides, it’s a little late to reach out now. Three days, and no arrests have been made. Toxicology results aren’t in yet, but it seems the consensus is that Rihanna Martinson fell into that pool alone, and drowned because she was drunk off her ass.
Eli was asleep in his bed, his alibi vouched for byanother girl that was at the party, because his dick was in her mouth most of the early morning hours so I’ve heard.
Lovely.
Alex, of course, was in the guest bed with me. My statement wasn’t great, and I had to admit that I’d drank the night before even though I’m only twenty. They let that shit go since I wasn’t drunk when they were talking to me, although if they’d given me a breathalyzer, I’m pretty sure they’d have found that I actually was,and of course, I didn’t tell them about the drugs. Mine or Alex’s.
I didn’t need my mom breathing down my neck more than she has been since the Narcan incident. I didn’t even tell her I was at the party. She’s too spooked as it is that a girl died there.
No need for her to get all bent out of shape about my presence there too. She threatens to bring a drug test to my apartment every other week as it is. Thankfully, as long as I visit her often enough and behave myself, she never shows up. Thank fuck for that. It’s probably because she’s a little busy with her soon-to-be fourth husband.
But when I moved into this apartment, she made sure to tell little Kylie Jones that I was in recovery and Kylie should keep an eye out for me.
Kylie wants to be a pharmacist, and she’s an overeager kiss ass, so she was more than happy to agree to be my babysitter.
“How was your weekend?” I clear my throat. “Week?” I amend my statement, trying to avoid any awkward conversation about my tit video or the rumors going around about me, Alex, and Eli, like how we were the last people to see Rihanna.
That last rumor isn’t true.
I didn’t see shit after Alex pulled me into his arms and kicked Eli out. I mean, no offense to fucking Rihanna, rest in peace, but I had nothing to do with what happened to her.
But I do remember her screaming at me, presumably because she was fucking around with Eli and I was fucking around with him.
And I remember Alex’s words to her. “If you touch her, I swear to God Rihanna, I’ll fucking drown you in my pool.”
I start to make my bed after tossing my phone on my nightstand, pushing Alex’s words from my mind as a chill slides down my spine. Yeah, no. Not gonna think about that.
I yank up the white sheet, then my pale green comforter. Kylie is still in my doorway, shifting from foot to foot, awkward as hell. I don’t know who she hangs out with or what exactly she knows about last weekend, but she doesn’t party. She at least knows about Rihanna though. Caven isn’t a huge university, and despite her appearance, Kylie does not live under a rock. Besides, she dropped me off andpicked me up from the crime scene.
Not to mention I’ve been skipping classes.
I guess that’s why she’s standing there.
“It was okay,” Kylie finally answers me as I throw the pillows on the bed and open my curtains, looking down at the woods that edge our apartment complex. It’s a nice, sunny day outside already.
I hate it.
