Page 65 of The Accident

Stella’s jaw drops. “You mean, like… you’re his girlfriend?”

I shake my head quickly. “No. Not like that. More like…” I search for the phrase, and when it comes, I say it quietly, but with the weird clarity that comes from speaking your own doom: “I’m basically a fuck on demand. Like a sex slave.”

The silence is absolute, except for the soft whir of the vent fan and the distant shriek of a city bus.

Then Stella opens her mouth, shuts it, and then says, “Yeah, but you can’t be a slave if you’re getting paid. Are you getting paid?”

I laugh for real this time, loud enough to spook the pothos on the window. “Actually, yeah, I think I am. He offered me a salary to be his personal assistant, so I’m expecting some direct deposits.”

Stella squeals and flings a pillow at me. “You bitch! You’re living the dream!”

I double over, and for a minute, we’re just two girls in a falling-apart apartment, howling with laughter, all the bad shit gone for a moment.

But when the giggles die down, Stella glances at my wrist. The right one. The faint red mark is still visible there, a soft ring like the world’s smallest tattoo. Her eyes narrow.

“Is he into, like, BDSM shit?” she asks, voice soft.

I jerk my sleeve down, heart skipping. “No,” I say, but I can’t make it sound convincing.

Stella leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Listen to me, Kay. If you ever see a hidden room, or a weird hallway, or a closet that seems deeper than it should be, you GTFO, okay? You know about those guys? The ones with red rooms and, like, soundproof walls? Some of them have literal torture dungeons.”

I giggle, because the image of Trevor in a gimp mask is so absurd I can’t hold it in. “He’s not Christian Grey, Stells. He has a glass office and a $20,000 coffee machine. Good joe is his fetish.”

She doesn’t laugh. “I’m serious, though, because people have kinks. Billionaires have kinks squared.” She says this with the gravitas of someone who has definitely read every tabloid article about Jeffrey Epstein. “Just be careful, okay?”

I nod before giggling. “Of course. But where are you even getting this weird knowledge, anyway? Did you date a dungeon master and didn’t tell us about it?”

Stella flushes pink, then waves a hand. “God, no. I just went home last weekend and accidentally overheard my dad and Andie going at it. For, like, twenty minutes. With noises that should not come out of a human. I legit almost called the police, it was so disturbing.”

My eyes widen. “Are you traumatized?”

She gives a mock-solemn nod. “They were going at it like monkeys, Kay. It was genuinely horrible. I had to sleep with earplugs on for the rest of the trip.” She leans in, voice dropping: “Because my dad and Andie are definitely into something kinky. And now I’m haunted forever.”

I dissolve into laughter again, and she grabs my hand, squeezing hard.

“Anyways,” she says, “I am very proud of you. For losing your virginity before me, even if it was to your stepbrother.”

I gasp. “Stella, shut up! Are you seriously a virgin”

She throws her head back and cackles. “Yes, and you heard me! Kayleigh McEnroe, V-Card: gone. You are officially in the club.”

I look at her, open-mouthed. “But wait, don’t try to duck, girlfriend. You’re still⁠—?”

She grins. “Last woman standing, baby. But I’m saving it for something special, you know?”

I shake my head, befuddled. “Yeah, but you’re the flirtiest, not to mention naughtiest, girl I know, and you’ve never⁠—?”

She shrugs, looking oddly serene. “I’ve done everything else, just not home base. Not yet.” She picks up her cereal, takes a dramatic slurp, then says, “I’m thinking about starting a new bet though, to see who does double anal or double vaginal first. Doesn’t that sound yummy and so good? Oh my god, I can already think of a couple guys I’d be interested in, and you know I’d need more than one,” she winks.

I groan and throw a pillow at her again, but she ducks and giggles, flicking a soggy Pebble at my arm.

For a moment, I let myself believe that nothing will ever change: that we’ll always be here, in this shitty apartment, laughing about things we’re not supposed to. But I know it’s a lie. I can feel the future humming, big and dangerous, just outside the window.

When I pick up my bags once more, Stella blows me a kiss and tells me to text her if Trevor chains me to a cross.

I promise I will.

The hallway is sunlit and empty, dust swirling in the late-day light, and as I head for the door, I feel lighter than I have in weeks.