Chapter 2
Ali Kat
The footage plays on a small screen attached to the wall. It’s heavily pixelated, but there’s no doubt that it’s me sitting at the bar next to Alistair Whent, a frozen blue drink in front of me. My friend Eva is lingering nearby, her body pressed against someone I can’t identify.
It’s like watching a foreign film. I kind of know what’s going on, but there are missing pieces. My memory holds none of the answers. At one point, my friend Eva pulls me atop the bar to dance as Alistair looks on enthusiastically, but we aren’t the only ones. There are at least seven other women dancing in various levels of undress.
“Okay, let’s fast forward a little bit,” Caleb says in a condescending tone.
I hate that I’m trapped in a room with him, even though he’s one of the best lawyers for my case. His family, the Conways, are lawyers and career politicians, or rather, soul-eating snakes.
They’re also notorious elitists, preferring only to afford their time to those with generational wealth. Sure, they’ll take my money and represent me in court, but there’s little chance they’d mingle with me outside the immediate promise of financial gain.
I watch myself on the dance floor, those around me seemingly enamored by my presence. Even Austin McGregor, a famous baseball player, makes a bid for my attention, though I seem to only have eyes for Alistair.
Eva and I come together, laughing and hanging onto each other as we snap selfies. I’m drinking an orange drink, my third of the evening.
Because I have to attend several events where I’m expected to drink and mingle, I’ve developed a color system so I can remember how many drinks I’ve had, and when I should stop. I drink a blue drink, then a red drink, then an orange drink, then switch to water.
We get into a small spat with the Heiresses of Harlow, Jean Harlow’s obnoxious grandchildren, but it doesn’t go much further than hateful glares, finger pointing, and snappy words.
“Do you remember why you were arguing with the Harlows?”
“You know how the blue-bloods are,” I say. “An upstart dame like myself so much as breathes on them, and they act like they’ve contracted the plague.”
Caleb snickers, fully realizing I just took a jab at him and not at all caring because he’s so annoyingly arrogant.
I see myself laughing with Alistair, who is ridiculously handsome. He gets distracted, and I go to the bar with Eva, and the bartender gives me glass of water.
“Almost there,” Caleb says.
I drink a little, then get up from the bar. Eva grabs my wrist, but I push her hand off and walk away, heading to the bathroom.
“Ah,” Caleb’s eyes light up, “pay close attention here because this is where it gets interesting.”
He slows down the feed as I come back to the bar and grab my water. I look a little spaced out, swaying and gesturing wildly.
Caleb slows the feed further. “Almost there,” he says in a tone so smug I want to slap him upside the head.
I have to clench my hands to stop them from shaking. Surely, it can’t be as bad as the jailer indicated. They’re known to embellish, to ‘scare people straight.’ I know I get a little rowdy at around drink number four or five, which is why I always stop at three drinks and switch to water. There’s no way I was violent with the amount I drank last night.
“There,” he says, pointing to the screen.
I’m on my feet, swaying, drinking my water. Eva whispers something into my ear and points at the bartender. Knowing Eva, she’s probably telling me she’s going to make a play for him.
What I do next is as surreal as it is frightening. It’s like I’m watching someone else control my body. I begin to yell at the bartender, which catches Alistair’s attention. At first, the bartender ignores me, then, he leans over the counter. I don’t know what he’s saying, or what I’m saying for that matter. All I know is it ends with me punching him and four other people, one being Alistair who is trying to pull me away from the bar.
My limbs are flailing, reaching, grabbing, and finally hitting anything within reach.
“Turn it off,” I say.
“I don’t know, I kinda like this part.”
“I’m paying you, and rather handsomely, I might add. I want it off.”
He complies, then snaps back with, “Do you think turning it off is just going to erase what happened? This is just the tip of the iceberg. Videos have already hit YouTube. You’re lucky this was at a high-end, invite only club, or else you’d have everyone filing charges against you. As it is, Alistair Whent is stepping in to help quell the victims, and for that, you should be thanking your lucky stars. The bartender will be dropping his request for a restraining order, and no one will be filing charges. Count yourself lucky.”
Victims. The word makes my stomach twist from shame.
