The computer chirps, registering the device. When my computer doesn’t have a complete meltdown from malware, I click on the drive and wait for it to open. There is just one folder. It’s labeled “To Be Shared.” I tap on it, and my body temperature drops.
A bunch of .jpg files pop up joined by one .mov file.
Oh god. Did Chase film us? Are these photos of me?
I never sent him any nudes…but that doesn’t mean he never took any of me. He was always on his phone, and we were together for years. I didn’t look for cameras hidden anywhere, but why would I? Whose natural inclination is it to even do that?
My heart thumps heavily in my chest.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I double-click on the first file, holding my breath as it loads.
The image generates, and I’m…
Confused.
I tap on the right arrow, and the next image loads. Then the next. And the next. And the next.
My blood turns to ice as I see a pattern forming, a story unfolding. Some of the pictures are annotated, little notes and arrows decorating them. There are collages weaving images together, connecting threads.
Bile rises in my throat.
I get to the last image and hesitate. My finger trembles over the mousepad.
Eventually, I tap the final file. The video loads with an ugly play button front and center.
I click on it.
I watch the entire one minute and twelve seconds.
I’m glad I’m sitting.
Because my entire world just fell out from under me.
***
I step into the elevator sopping wet, hitting the penthouse button with my knuckle.
Francis was horrified when he pulled up to my apartment complex to find me standing on the curb in the pouring rain. It probably made matters worse that I was holding a disheveled bouquet of roses in one hand, a plastic bag full of cookies in the other, and said no words to him at all during the forty-minute drive.
I’d sat on the floor for a few hours after opening the files last night, not moving a single inch as my brain shut down. When it finally rebooted, I got up to try to do something, anything. My entire body was shaking, fifteen million thoughts running through my mind. It took a little while for me to realize that I wasn’t even breathing properly. When I collapsed on the floor among the broken roses and started crying, I realized I was having a panic attack. I probably would have stayed on the floor all night, wheezing, if Ms. Arkin hadn’t come knocking with her lavender cookies. I have no idea how I managed to open the door; I think I crawled.
She took one look at me and said, “Please let me take care of you.” How I didn’t send her running, I have no clue. That woman is too good for this world. She cleaned up my floor, tossing all the flowers and torn petals into my trash can. Made me wash my face and change clothes, sweat having soaked them. She helped me hold a glass of water until I finished it, then made me drink another before forcing me to nibble on some cookies. When my hiccupping calmed down, she tucked me into bed and recited poetry until I fell asleep.
I woke to her still in my apartment even though it was midday. She watched me choke down a bowl of cereal and change into new clothes. But she was still worried. It wasn’t until I informed her that I was heading to my boyfriend’s that she relented and went back to her own apartment—which is how I ended up with an extra bag of lavender cookies to share.
“Penthouse,” the elevator announces.
I step out of the puddle I created and into the apartment. It’s quiet. I don’t hear any voices. The only reason for that would be if they were all streaming or sleeping. But it’s midafternoon, so everyone should be awake.
I wait for a few minutes before knocking on everyone’s doors, then cracking them open. No one’s here. Of course. I just want to curl up and forget everything. I wish I’d never gone home, never walked up those stairs, never opened that stupid flash drive.
I stare at the room around me, at all the awards and trophies The System has won, the limited-edition gaming merch, their giant poster. The poster haunts me. They look like champions, rulers of the world. The three of them, side by side, and I’ve ruined it all.
My vision becomes a blur of red, blue, and green, their masks haunting me as tears spill down my cheeks. I can only tell I’m crying because they’re hot against my cold, wet skin.
The elevator pings open, carrying a flood of conversation with it. My brain can’t piece any of it together. It’s broken.
I turn around and watch as the guys walk into the apartment, Aleks holding Parker in a headlock, Jackson shaking his head but laughing with them.
I capture this moment in my mind, burn it into my brain. Their happiness, their ease, their life still whole. Because I know the moment they see me, everything will change. The second our eyes meet, the match will be lit, and I’ll be setting their world aflame.
THIRTY
* * *
ALEKS
“Ew, the elevator’s wet.” Sydney does a weird tiptoe into the elevator, skirting the damp circle in the middle.
Parker leans down, getting a closer look. “Doesn’t look like pee.”
“Who would pee in a private elevator?” I hit the buttons for Sydney’s floor and our own.
“I don’t know. Drunk rich people can get pretty wild. There was this lad’s weekend in Windsor where—”
“Please, not the Windsor story again,” I groan.
“You’re just jealous you’ve never had sex on a horse while playing polo.”
The door pings on Sydney’s floor. “Oh, thank the heavens. I’m saved from this conversation.” She jumps over the puddle and out the elevator. “Good job today, boys.”
She waves us off as the doors close, and the elevator begins to rocket to our apartment.
“You know, the logical explanation is that it’s rainwater,” Jackson throws out.
“Agreed, it’s pouring out.” We barely missed getting drenched, our interview finishing just beforehand.
“Yeah, but rainwater is a lot less fun,” Parker huffs.
“Less fun? Parker, do you have a kink you haven’t told us about?” I jostle him, and he reels back.
“What? No. I am not into urolagnia.”
I widen my eyes, giving him a scandalized look. “Urolagnia? Wow, you even know the proper term. You’re a true believer.”
He shoves me, and I grip him in a headlock.
“Let me go, asshat,” he growls, trying to twist out of my hold.
“Here I am, calling it golden showers like a total noob when I should’ve been saying urolagnia.” The elevator opens onto our floor, and I drag Parker out with me. “I feel so uncultured. Tell me, Parker, do you prefer when they pee on you or—”
“I’m going to piss on your bed, that’s what I’m going to do. Then we’ll see how funny this is, dickhead.”
Jackson just laughs at us, shaking his head.
Parker continues to struggle out of my grip, when suddenly he slips, bringing me down with him. His elbow goes right into my stomach, and I let out a grunt.
“What the hell, dude?”
“Don’t yell at me, I slipped on something.”
I clutch my side, rolling off him. I land in something wet. Gross.
“Why is the floor wet?”
“See, I told you it wasn’t me.”