Page 56 of Am I the Only One

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, those messages will be traced back to me.”

“The only person I’ll be showing them to is my attorney, I thought you knew that. I promise you they will remain private. You trust me, right?”

“You know as well as I do that nothing is private. What if they get leaked? Because chances are, they will.” Her voice grows uneven, a sign that she’s starting to freak out. “I’ll be the villain, and you’ll be the victim. And Tripp ... well, he’ll just be another politician, one of so many others who strayed. The media and public will destroy me, my name, my future—”

“No, Emma. I would never let that happen.”

“It wouldn’t even be in your control. Just look at the Clinton’s, look what happened to Lewinski. It was the media and public that persecuted her. I’ll have no voice. No one will believe anything I say because all they will see is a slut that ruined your marriage. Or even worse, if they ever find out about the money you paid me, I’ll be nothing more than a prostitute—a whore!”

“Emma, please.”

“No way. I can’t risk the crucifixion. I just can’t. I’m sorry, but no.” And just like that, she ends the call.

“Damn it!” Slamming my palms against the steering wheel, I scream out, hating myself for being so stupid, hating Tripp for ripping us apart, and hating Emma when I don’t even have a true reason to hate her. Her concern is valid, and truth is, it’s what is likely to happen.

So, what was all this for?

What have I done?

Emma

The bass of the music thumps heavily, rattling the dance floor and sending its vibrations through my body, which is halfway to numb. With my arms in the air, I lean my head back as the guy I’m dancing with moves in closer from behind me. Lights strobe throughout the club, and Olivia’s laughter echoes from nearby.

Where?

I’m not sure.

I’ve drowned my anxiety in liquor to the point of freedom. Freedom from my financial burdens, freedom from Carly calling me the other day and stressing me the fuck out, freedom from just about everything.

One shot, two shot, three shot, blasted is what I am.

Hot Guy pillows my head with his broad shoulder as he moves in perfect time with the music. He told me his name, but that was after my blood dissolved into alcohol, and I don’t remember what it is. With his hands low on my hips, he turns me around when the DJ shifts into another song with the same beat. I slip my arms around his shoulders to keep my balance, and when one of Olivia’s friends holds out another shot for me, Hot Guy takes it and pours it into my mouth as they all cheer me on.

There’s no flavor.

No burn.

No anything as I dance the night away.

My head spins, taking me on a wild tilt-a-whirl, and when I open my eyes, I find myself on a small leather couch in the back of the club. Hot Guy is nowhere in sight, but Olivia is stumbling up the two steps to where I’m sitting. She flops down next to me in a fit of giggles as the rest of her girlfriends follow up the steps, equally amused by whatever the hell they find to be so funny.

“Are you having fun?” she yells over the music, to which I give a lazy nod. “Are you wasted?”

Again, another nod. I’m not sure how to get my muscles to move in order to talk.

Girls’ night. When the day rolled around, I was already regretting my choice to join them. It’s one thing for me to hit a local campus bar with Luca and have a few drinks, but this is the nonsense I try to avoid. Yet, here I am, in the throngs of desperate, horny drunk people who are looking for their next lay.

I’m blinded when the lights flash on, and then someone announces, “Last call!”

“Shit,” I groan, slinging my arm over my eyes.

The music lowers in volume, and a few people flock to the bar to get their last drink before calling it a night.

“I need a taxi,” I slur to anyone who’s paying attention. “Can someone call me a ride?”

“I’ll be your ride,” Olivia chirps. “I’m not tossing you in some skeezy taxi.”

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