“Don’t bullshit me! You’re tagged in a bunch of stories on social media, and I’ve already been contacted by a news channel fromParamount. Did you really attack the son of one of the most affluent lawyers in that city?!” she barks.
I snap awake, sitting up, not caring that I’m butt naked, with drool dripping down my chin. “What?! I did not!”
“Well, there’s a picture of you on social media with him in a headlock and your other arm is aimed at his face. Margeaux! What. The. Fuck?!”
Shit. Shit. Shit. No. No. No.
I put Ashleigh on speaker and open my social media apps. Sure enough, my face is all over the place. A picture is worth a thousand words, and right now there are several showing me beating up this preppy asshole.
“Ashleigh, I swear. I was just pulling him off a woman who he was getting too handsy with. I wouldn’t just pick a fight like that. Come on,” I whine into the speaker.
“Yea. Well, it’s going to take me a few days to smooth this over. Margeaux, this guy’s dad is a serious lawyer. They’re probably going to press charges. Shit. Your match director is calling me. Just lay low the next couple of days. Don’t reach out to this guy.Don’t do anything stupid!I’ll get back to you soon.”
She hangs up before I can say anything else. Fuck, my match director is calling her now. Is this going to ruin my season with PEW? Will they take me off the roster? What the fuck is going to happen? Why couldn’t I just control my anger for once?!
My life is effectively over.
Ashleigh called me to let me know the damage my actions caused last night.
I’m off the roster for the next two weeks. No scheduled matches. Nothing. My attorney also called me to let me know that Brice Strickland– or as I’m now calling him Brice Doucheland—is pressing charges against me for assault. I barely touched him! And how many people do I have to explain to thathewas trying to assault one of Zoey’s friends.
Oh yea. And I’ve been asked to leave the bachelorette rental. Nocomplaints there. So, now I’m shacked up in the cheapest hotel I can find in this city, which is still costing me a small fortune. I may be a minor celebrity, but new athletes in the PEW don’t make nearly as much money as the established long-term contract holders. This is such bullshit.
To add salt to my wounds, Jacky called me, absolutely puzzled about what happened this weekend. I’m not going to shit-talk his future wife, but it seems like she had no problem doing that about me.
Apparently, Zoey said that I was rude to her and her friends all weekend. That I ruined her bachelorette weekend, and that she doesn’t feel comfortable with me at their wedding. She told my brother that I’m a safety risk at their fucking wedding.
“Jacky?! You can’t seriously believe her!” My eyes are stinging with tears as I talk to him, pacing my hotel room.
“What am I supposed to think, Mags?! There’re pictures of you all over the internet putting this Brice guy in a headlock, and he has other pictures showing he has two black eyes, and a busted lip. You fucked him up!”
“What. The. Fuck?! Yea, I put him in a headlock, but I didn’t punch him. I was just yanking him away from Zoey and her friends because he’s a fucking creep. If he’s bruised up and banged up, that’s not my doing!” I yell into my phone.
“Well, I dunno what to tell you, Mags. Mom is distraught over this, too. You know I love you. You’re my twin sister and my best friend. But Zoey’s about to be my wife. I love her, Mags. I thought this weekend would bring you two closer together. Did you even try?” he asks, frustrated and annoyed.
“So this is all my fault? Your girlfriend doesn’t like me and it’s all my fault?”
“Myfiancé,” he corrects me. “And no, Mags. I don’t think this is all your fault. I-I’m just freaking out. I had hoped that you and Zoey would walk away from this weekend being closer friends.”
My heart breaks a little for my twin. He’s such an idealist. He inherited our mom’s dreams of having the perfect family and life. I can handle Zoey disliking me. I’m used to our mom being disappointed inme. But I’ll be crushed if mine and Jacky’s relationship is strained from this.
“Whatever. Believe whatever you want to believe, Jacky. Maybe it’s best if I don’t come to your stupid wedding.”
He gets quiet and he sniffles.Fuck. He’s always been comfortable expressing his emotions with me.
“That’s not what I want, Mags. You know if anyone has your back, it’s me. I’ll talk to Zoey. The wedding has her on edge. I think it would be great if you two could just talk one-on-one. Ya know? No distractions. She’s really a great person.”
He keeps saying these wonderful things about Zoey. I’ve yet to see it.
“I can hear you rolling your eyes,” he says.
“I can hear your know-it-all smile,” I snap back at him.
I feel marginally better after our call. I didn’t agree to meet with Zoey. Everything is still too raw. And frankly, I’m all out of olive branches right now. The reality of my situation hits me, along with a fresh wave of hatred– for myself, for Zoey and her fucking Gally Gals, for Brice Doucheland, and especially for Paramount. I ignore all my calls for the rest of the day, even from Jazz. I just want to lock myself away and say ‘fuck you’ to the world.
After spending an entire day locked in my hotel room, and ordering room service, I wake up the next morning feeling like it’s safe for me to leave the hotel for a couple of hours.
I decided to go to a local gym to blow off some steam. Correction, I found the Mecca of gyms. This gym is a celebrity all its own. All the top athletes and movie stars train here when they vacation in Paramount.
