Hello, my name is Loser

Chapter 12: Blackmail and Vodka

I laugh and it sounds hollow to my own ears, "You're trying to fucking blackmail me?"

"Oh, honey. I'm not trying to. I am." Rebecca's phone buzzes again. Her lips spread into a slow grin as she looks at the screen, the blue glow lights her face. "Wow, you have quite the problem, huh?"

It would take a million years to decipher which specific problem of mine she's referring to at this point. So I ask, "What are you talking about?"

"See for yourself." Rebecca turns the phone to me.

It's a picture of me asleep in my dorm room bed surrounded by empty liquor bottles on the blankets and floor. The sharp memory of clinking glass bottles enters my brain. There's a shattered window with bits of glass on the sill, just above my head and my prone form is tangled in sheets, only clothed in my bra and underwear with bruises purpling my back. My face isn't visible on camera. Thank God.

I never want to think about that night.

I can argue that it's not me. Deny, deny, deny. I can say she's crazy. But the tattoo of a snake is the same one trailing down my back now, the same one visible with my halter dress on. And I know suddenly with perfect clarity that this is Tom. He was the only one there that night, Tammy was visiting family...wasn't she?

Instead I push her phone down and out of my face. I whisper, "If you really want money you'll shut the fuck up about this tonight."

"Afraid I'll tell your boyfriend what a fucking mess you are?"

At the mention of Bobby I scan the throng of people, drunkenly swaying, and spot him just as a curvy short brunette commandeers him, attempting to grind on him while leaning on a shrub. A pang of jealousy shoots through me.

Yes. I'm terrified Bobby will hear how different I am, how awful. Is it selfish to want a fresh start? Had I fucked up? Yes. Was I deserving of karma? Yes. But not like this. Please. In my panicked state I don't bother correcting her that we aren't even dating.

"How did you get that photo?" I ask instead.

"Tom sent it to Tammy." That's what I'd thought but why would he do that? He'd called Tammy 'wifey' material. That's why he never wanted to break up with her and would rather hook up with other women, because at the end of the day she was exactly what his upper class traditional family expected of him and she would make a great mother. His words, not mine. That didn't sound like the cowardly Tom I knew. He wouldn't show her the evidence of his crime.

"And Tom sent it to you," I finish when she doesn't elaborate. My heart is racing at the same speed as my thoughts. I don't notice that she doesn't corroborate my thoughts because I'm too busy struggling to get a handle on my breathing, to pretend her words have no effect on me.

I know I'm not convincing when she slots the phone between her breasts, displayed by her low cut white tank top, and says "You and me, we're going to meet on Mondays at Sunny's. Five pm sharp for dinner – on you. Bring the first installment of fifty bucks." She taps my nose with a manicured finger and it takes everything in me not to chomp down on it, "We'll start small."

I'm on fire. I want to rage and scream and sob, but most of all I want to shut it all off. This panic that's rising to the surface, threatening to flood my eyes and stifle my breathing, I want it gone.

Rebecca is shorter than me, but still manages to peer down her long nose condescendingly, like I'm lower than the dirt under her feet. I notice Bobby breaks away from the brunette with his hands raised, palms outwards. He makes eye contact with me, and frowns when he takes in my expression. I slather a smile on my face and wave at him.