Chapter 3
THREE
Twila
A tiny monkey beats out a syncopated rhythm of pain in my head as I blink my eyes open. My mouth is dry and, quite frankly, tastes rancid. And my bladder feels like it’s about to explode.
Welcome to the morning after, folks .
Groaning, I slide out of bed and stumble into the en suite bathroom. After using the toilet and washing my hands and face, I brush my teeth to eradicate the remnants of last night’s poor choices.
Pulling open the medicine cabinet, I swipe a bottle of aspirin from the shelf, tap two into my palm before popping them into my mouth, and then I shove my head into the sink for a drink straight from the faucet to help swallow them down.
I’m never drinking tequila again.
Of course, I’ve said that before.
Tequila is the devil.
I’ve said that, too.
Shuffling back to my bed, I collapse onto the mattress before grabbing my phone from the nightstand and yanking the charging cord free a little too forcefully. I swipe away my overnight notifications, freezing halfway through when I see one from BingBang that steals my breath.
A direct message from The Emerson Effect .
What in the actual…?
Why is he messaging me? We’ve never interacted this way on BingBang before, so why––
“Oh, no,” I whisper as a flash of memory skitters through my brain. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.”
I tap the notification to open the app, and there it is. The innuendo-filled message I sent him last night in a tequila-driven rage.
“So glad the sight of me in a bikini made you wet, douchebag.”
Oh, God. Why did I do that? Fuck you, Tequila. Fuck you very much.
Holding my breath, I finally allow my eyes to dip to Emerson’s reply. Misery fills my body and seeps through my pores as I read it again. And again.
“I never knew you had such a dirty mind, Twila Greene. For shame, woman. For. Shame. What would your many adoring fans think of you now?”
I try to pick his words apart to find some hidden meaning. Is he being facetious? Teasing me? Or is he seriously threatening to share my ill-conceived DM with the world? I just don’t know. I don’t know him . At all.
Should I ask him not to share it? If I do that, it’ll look even worse if he decides to screenshot the conversation, won’t it? Like I’m trying to coerce him into not revealing my less-than-pleasant side?
Maybe I should just…apologize. Apologies are good, right? But, fuck , if this one wouldn’t make me choke. I don’t want to apologize. However wrong it was of me to send the message in the first place, Emerson deserved it for that insulting video.
But I have to say something . He’ll be able to tell I’ve read his message, and if I don’t say anything, I’ll look like even more of an asshole. Or worse, a coward.
I’m staring at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard when a new message pops up, startling me. I take a couple of deep breaths and read what I’m sure will be another threat.
“Relax, T. I was just kidding. I’m not going to be an asshole and screenshot our conversation or anything like that.
Also, it was my idiot friend Stone’s idea to use that much water, and he did it without my knowledge or permission.
Then he stole my phone and posted it, again, without permission.
He has this insane idea that if he can get you to hate me as much as possible, it’ll give him better odds if you two ever meet irl. Did I mention he’s an idiot?”
Before I can fully process that message, another one comes through.
“On second thought, I won’t post any screenshots if you tell me one thing… What were you drinking last night when you sent that message?”
I huff at his assumption that I was drunk when I sent the DM.
Of course, he’s right, but still. Maybe I was just fed up with his antics.
He can’t prove alcohol was involved. My shoulders slump at the thought.
If alcohol wasn’t involved, that makes me look even worse, doesn’t it?
At least with the truth, I can blame that dirty devil, tequila.
I sigh and tap out a single word.
“Margaritas.”
After I send it, I bite my lip hard enough to hurt and send another message.
“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 a nice 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.
But that’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 house and pay 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 to my permanent address for months.
Online purchases were made from my Amazon account.
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.