Page 33 of Dirty Chorus

“Game?” I shake my head, scanning his face. “What game?” Brody turns the computer screen slightly. My blood turns into sludgy mud in my veins. There they are. Nudes of myself that I sent to him.

“Roulette sweetheart,” he says, and my chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. My limbs tingle as he clicks the mouse, and it’s me sucking him off.

His slow, collected footsteps coming back to me leave a thumping heart in my neck. He takes a piece of my hair and twirls it around his finger. “Dirty Roulette... and you have no choice but to sleep with someone whether you're a virgin or not. Or I’ll post them, and everyone will see you’re not the good little girl who goes to church.”

I slap his fingers away, but he snatches my upper arm, and I’m right in his face. His breath is minty fresh, and warm on my skin. I hear my own saliva swishing in my mouth and even the gulp that follows it. “You promised me you’d never share those.”

“And you really believed that bullshit? I’ll haze the shit out of you.” His grip tightens as he kisses my cheek. I’m tense all over, my body in overdrive. I can feel my blood pulsing through my veins at a million miles per hour. “If you wanna cheer, you play the game. Or I post it, and guess what? You’ll have to drop out of GCU entirely. They don’t like girls with that type of reputation.”

I press my lips together with the urge to spit in his face. “Is that what all of your videos are? You hazing girls?”

“Something like that... I can make it easy for you though. Forget your little rule of waiting a year and just let me fuck you. I won’t film it. Just me and you... I’ll never sleep with another woman. We can make it official online like you begged me for, and everyone will know you’re my girl.”

“No...” I keep my lips as flat as possible. The veins in his neck throb, and he’s getting mad. “If I sleep with anyone, it will never be you.”

Brody releases his grip on my upper arm with a rough shove, and through the computer light illuminating the room, I can already see the handprint from him. “Have it your way.”

“This isn’t fucking Burger King,” I shoot back.

“Oh, you think you’re clever. You’ll play, baby.”

“And I’ll win it.” I shoulder-check him and speed-walk out of the office and down the long hallway that seems to go on forever. I almost raced down the stairwell. He’s leaning over the open balcony as I storm down the steps.

“No one wins the game but me.”

I book it to the front door and leave without another word.

Chapter 17

Noah

Idrag the yellow cleaning cart to the women’s bathroom at the church, and prop the door open. The lights hum, with a few moths fluttering in circles around the fixture. I brace myself for the stall, unsure if Trouble left me a surprise.

With a hand, I push the stall door, its creaks open, and there's nothing. No new tips or drawings in permanent marker. My stomach shrinks and twists, and I’m not entirely sure why I’m upset she didn’t write something for me to clean. It’s only the faded outline of what she drew almost a month ago.

And I’m an asshole. I told her I would text her, and it’s almost been two weeks since the bar gig. I haven’t talked to her since that random drunk makeout session. I’ll make another mental note, like I have every day, to message her, but first I gotta get this bathroom cleaned.

I do my usual routine, emptying the trash overfilled with used paper towels, replacing the toilet rolls, kicking up toilet seats and scrubbing them clean. Bleach and lemon Pine-Sol is an interesting combination when you inhale it for almost half an hour. I Windex the shit out of the mirrors and leave the counters spotless without a single drop of hand soap to be found.

Finally, I finish and snap off the tight black gloves, leaving my hands saturated in sweat. I toss them into the trash, and sandals slap against the tile. The pop of a bubble grabs my attention. There she is in the mirror, wiggling her fingers at me with a cute smile that perks up her face.

She leans against the wall, smacking her gum with a hand planted on her hip.

“Hey, Trouble,” I say, admiring her short, tight-fitting skirt. Her tan legs shine in the low lighting, and she’s more toned than I noticed at first. “You look pretty, as usual.”

“You said you would text me.” She crosses her arms, and the thin strap of her pearly white tank slides down her shoulder. What I wouldn’t give to spend my time running my hands over her shoulder blades and kissing every inch of her neck.

But I can’t.

Gramps fights all of his doctors. The sudden edema, and dealing with his persistent denial that he isn't in heart failure is killing me. He snaps and throws his blood pressure medication at me. The doctors drill nails into me when I explain he refuses to wear his oxygen.

“Sorry, I’ve been dealing with a few things,” I say, tiptoeing around reality. If I had some sarcastic, witty remark to spike her blood pressure, I’d throw it at her right now, but my mouth is dry and my parched tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth.

“Oh, so you had another gig and found someone new and already replaced me?” She puckers her lips. The remark catches me off guard, and a laugh rattles my rib cage.

“Totally... I found a gorgeous groupie.” I take a step to the door and grab the mop to wrap up the rest of my volunteer duties.

She stops chewing her gum, and her eyes narrow. Wrong words. Her sandals click, and she fists the seam of my black shirt. “What?”