Page 73 of House of Deceit

“I am going to cunt punch you if you kick me one more time,” I tell her as I rip the blankets off her face. “Molly!”

Hissing like a cat being baptized, she sits up in bed. Her copper hair sticks out in many different directions. She has one earring dangling from her ear, a smear of red lipstick on her cheek, and her bra wrapped around one shoulder. Her naked boobs are hanging out of the arm holes of the tank top she has on.

“I hate you,” she tells me, reminding me of Courtney.

“Whoa, there,” I say, covering my eyes. “Put the girls back in their assigned seats.”

“Whoops,” she says. “It’s safe now.”

I drop my hand. “You look very pretty this morning.”

“You have mascara down one cheek and a ‘90s side ponytail. I wouldn’t be casting stones anytime soon.”

“Fair enough. Why do my thighs hurt?”

“You made us have a twerking competition. Takes a surprising amount of thigh strength.”

“That tracks. Did I win?”

“You did, yes. Out of pity.”

“I’ll take it.”

“I gotta tell you, girl, you’re probably the worst dancer I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah,” I say, “I’ve heard that before.” I rub one of my eyes, and it comes away with a black ring. I’m sure I just made my raccoon eyes worse, but maybe not, based on Molly’s breakdown of my looks.

“Some party,” she comments. “A good way to go out if I get eliminated tonight.”

“You’re not going home tonight,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. The thought of my towering goddess leaving me makes me want to cry and throw up. Probably at the same time. But I have no control over the audience. Worry filters through the haze of yesterday’s alcohol.

“Do you want help packing?” I ask.

“Yes, please.”

I nod, but we don’t move. It has been a long forty-eight hours being unsure if my grumpy grandpa or Molly will be eliminated. The realness of the fact we are over halfway done is starting to sink in.

I could win this.

The light at the end of the tunnel is starting to show.

But to get there, I have to lose one of my friends.

As the day wears on, we don’t leave each other’s side. We talk of nothing and everything. Make plans to meet up in the real world. Exchange phone numbers. I reassure her over and over again her time in this mansion isn’t done. I keep a brave face and convince her it would make no sense to send her home over Keith.

But still, we pack all of her things. We track down every lost sock, and every loaned shirt. Every hair tie and makeup brush. I zip her bag, and I know, deep in my gut, we won’t be unzipping it.

Not here.

Not tonight.

Molly clings to my hand as we walk down the hallway to the living room. I hug her before moving to the couch to take my seat. The chopping block chairs, as we so lovingly call them, sit slightly apart from the rest of us. Parker sits next to me, his thigh pressed against mine in silent companionship. He’s given us our space today and it made my heart squeeze at the consideration.

The room is silent tonight. No side conversations or banter. One week ago, we lost half of our number, and we are all a little traumatized. I keep my eyes on Molly, offering her a reassuring smile any time she meets mine. Her copper hair is slicked to one side like a noir movie star.

Jacob Jacobson comes on the screen and we go through the normal drama. He reminds us what is at stake, like we could ever forget half a million dollars is on the line, and who is on the chopping block.

“Now that we are halfway through the season, there will be a new rule. Those who are not on the chopping block will be voting to eliminate one contestant. The audience’s vote will count as one vote for elimination and be added to the house votes.”

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