Chapter 8
Victoria
ONE DAY EARLIER.
My phone buzzes nonstop against the couch cushion next to me, vibrating loud enough to be annoying but not loud enough to make me care in the moment.
I don’t even look down at it. I’m too focused on the season finale of Chainsaw Man, sprawled out across the couch with a half-melted chocolate bar in my hand and crumbs stuck to my shirt like I’ve completely given up on life.
The phone keeps going.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
It’s persistent as hell, which means only one thing.
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face, already knowing exactly who it is without even glancing down at the screen.
Mom.
I think about ignoring it, but I know she’ll just keep calling. Then texting. Then calling again. And if I continue to ignore her, she’ll somehow convince herself I’ve been murdered and start blowing up everyone I know.
Including the police.
So I sadly cave in. I lazily lift my iPhone from off of the couch and swipe to answer the FaceTime call. “Hey, Mom.”
The second my face appears, she throws one hand up dramatically. “Victoria Miller, for the love of all that’s good, answer your phone the first time I call.”
I roll my eyes, shifting slightly on the couch. “Mom, I’m an adult. I live on my own. I have a job. I’m-”
She cuts me off immediately, holding her hand up like she’s about to smack the shit out of me through the lens. “Yes, yes. You’re a grown woman, I get it. But you’re still my baby. And when you don’t answer my first four calls, I get anxious.”
I let out a small laugh, glancing down at the chocolate smeared across my fingers. “I think you need therapy.”
Her face tightens into an instant scowl. “Not funny, Victoria. And you know how I feel about therapy. That’s where I met your son of a bitch father.”
I groan softly, leaning my head back against the couch. “I know exactly what you’re about to say.”
She keeps going anyway, like she always does. “Your father was a whore who couldn’t keep it in his pants. The only good thing that came from him was you. Otherwise, he’s the reason I swore off men entirely.”
I just let her talk. It’s easier that way.
She moves on eventually from the topic of Dad. Now she’s rambling on about Irene, my step-mom, and how she’s planning some “important family announcement” for tomorrow and wants everyone there.
I have no idea what they’re trying to pull, but I already know it’s not going to be good. Big family gatherings are always awkward as hell.
With every sentence she completes, I just agree and say, “Yes. Yep. Uh-huh.”
Eventually, she winds down, saying she needs to get ready for bed, and the call ends right after a quick love you is muttered.
My show is paused and the house is silent. I glance at the time on my phone and see that it’s already 1:01AM.
“Shit.”
I glance down at my shirt seeing the smeared chocolate. It’s also all over my fingers.
Yeah.. I definitely need to shower before bed. Otherwise, tomorrow at work people are going to think I’ve been digging around in my own ass with how my hands look.
I push myself off of the couch, stretching slightly as I head toward the bathroom, already dreading tomorrow.
Another long, annoying, mind-numbing day of pretending I care about numbers and emails and people I don’t even like. Just another normal day at work.
I already know it’s going to be a pain in the ass.
Just like every other day at that godforsaken job.
As I head toward the bathroom, already thinking about how the hot water will feel on my sore muscles, my phone vibrates in my hand. I glance down at it while I’m still moving, thumb dragging across the screen to unlock it.
Unknown Number.
He’s working *hard*, you must be proud.
My brows scrunch together. I’m already annoyed because I know it’s my sibling pulling another prank on me, but curiosity gets the better of me and I open it anyway.
And now I wish I hadn’t.
My steps slow, then completely stop. My mouth drops open as I watch the video.
My brain can’t comprehend what I’m seeing.
Garrett is bent over a locker room bench and very exposed.
Another man is posted behind him, gripping his hips, fucking him like it’s nothing.
Like it’s a normal routine.
My stomach drops so fast it feels like I just went down the main slope of the VelociCoaster at Universal Studios.
They’re in the locker room at his job.
They are fucking at his job.
My fingers tighten around my phone, knuckles flashing white as heat crawls up my neck, my chest, choking me out from the inside.
I sit there watching it play out like some sick fucking show meant just for me.
Garrett lifts his head, eyes locking on the mirror in front of him.
Watching himself. Watching them collide together.
He bends me over the same way. Right in front of my vanity mirror.
My jaw locks so tight it aches, like I’m trying to grind the feeling out of me. But it doesn’t hold. Slowly, it loosens, and then tears start trickling down my face.
My grip on my phone tightens as it hits me.
Who the fuck sent this?
Why did you send this to me?? Who are you?!
Unknown Number
Why not? You don’t need him. I’m your dream come true.
Oh, great.
A stalker.
Just another fucking thing to add to my list.
I block the number instantly before moving to Garrett’s contact in my phone next. My patience is stretched so thin, it’s seconds from snapping.
He answers quick. “Hey, baby. I’m almost finished-”
That did it.
It snaps.
“I know you’re almost finished, you son of a cunt!” My voice comes out loud enough that it echoes back at me. “I don’t know where in the fuck that video came from, but I just watched you get dicked down by someone who is clearly not me, at your job!”
There’s a pause. Then his breath hitches over the line. “Vicky, what are you talking about? Are you having confidence issues again? You know I’d never-”
Something feral crawls up my throat, and I don’t even try to swallow it down. “Don’t fucking gaslight me. I have two eyes, Garrett.”
I can picture him on the other end; frozen as the panic hits him. He knows I’ve seen it. Knows I know exactly what he’s been doing at work. All those “long sessions.” All that bullshit.
“Vicky, I-”
I pull the phone away from my ear and scream my next few words toward the bottom of it.
“LOSE MY FUCKING NUMBER!”