Dahlia’s voice is so circumspect, I expect her to hand the phone to Clare. Instead, she passes it to me.
The image is a still from the video Zane threatened me with on the first Monday. Wilder pounding away at a sex worker with hair or a wig the same shade as mine.
Dahlia tries to be careful, but Clare grabs the phone, tilting it towards her, and her face suddenly looks like she’s been punched.
“It’s not me.”
Her lips press into a thin line as she plays the short footage. “Of course, it’s not you,” she says, but her frown grows deeper. “You’d never do anything to hurt me like that, but these…”
She shakes her head and I rub my abdomen again as the pinch grows tighter. “What? Should I look?”
“No. But these are the same as the other shit you uploaded.” She chews on her bottom lip, expression so troubled I can’t stand to meet her gaze. Her voice is thin as she asks, “What’s going on?”
I glance over to where Zane sits, staring vacantly in front of him. His friends pretend not to notice, louder because he’s quiet.
He told them straight away and got their help. The results were terrible for me, but I envy how they rallied in support. Whereas I kept everything inside, piling lie upon lie, trying to handle everything on my own.
How much time did I spend worrying he’d show Clare the video, and I’d lose her friendship? All that concern, yet she didn’t believe it for a second.
His leverage only ever existed inside my head.
“Zane and I had a run-in at his party. It was a mistake, but he got his friends to fuck a sex worker who resembled me, thenuploaded videos of it using my accounts as a warning.” I press a hand to my throat, like my subconscious is trying to hold back the words.
“My brother was one of them,” Evie adds, sending an apologetic glance my way. “It was never Avon. They were complete arseholes and deserve every bad word and thought you can send their way.”
“Well, shit,” Dahlia says. “That’s a new low in the art of courtship.”
Clare looks far more worried than a second ago. I wince, thinking I’ve misjudged, waiting for the same push back as in Auckland when I finally complained about my bullies and got gaslit into pretending it wasn’t as bad as it had been.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he threatened to release that video”—I nod at Wilder’s phone—“if I didn’t fall into line.”
She explodes. “Those absolute fuckers. Are you shitting me? I’m going to tear that boy’s gonads off and feed them to him while filming, then uploadthatvideo for everyone to gossip over.” Her face pinches tighter. “I should have known. No wonder you seemed furious.”
“Because I was.” I rest my head on her shoulder for a second. “But I should have told you, anyway. It just happened so quickly I couldn’t think.”
My explanation isn’t thorough, but it feels good to have said what I did and have her instant support. Looking around the table, it seems I have more allies than I thought.
“This is great,” I say, feeling a burst of happiness. “We should sit together every day.”
“It’s a deal,” Evie says, hooking out her pinky finger. “Everyone swear.”
“Chill, girl,” Dahlia says with a laugh. “It’s a lunch date, not a murder.”
Sporting a wide smile, I happily hook my finger, too. The joy lasts until I glance across the quad to see Zane staring back at me. His eyes immediately drop to the table.
“You’ve dumped him and he’s still eye-fucking you.” Clare shakes her head. “And he’s the richest royal. I’m gonna go home tonight and practice crying.”
“Rule one of the anti-royal club is nobody fucks any royals.” Dahlia glares. “Especially the royals who belong to other members.”
“Belong.” Clare rolls her eyes. “You have such a nineteenth century idea of dating. Some of us are just out here, trying to have fun and earn a little jewellery.”
“You know Wilder’s mum has practically cut him off. He’s poor.”
Clare’s head snaps around so fast, I burst out laughing. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
