The silence feels like forever.
But then her voice thunders over the line, louder than all the slot machines I’m surrounded by.
“Shut the fuck up. Lies. Holy fuck. Dad’s going to kill you. You’ll need to change your name to Julia Roberts because your ass is sleeping with the enemy.”
“I know,” I squeal, laughing harder as I pass a wall of mirrors and get the full picture of my appearance.
Jesus. The back of my head is matted and sticking up like a broken-ass version of a bouffant. I can’t even look at my outfit because it’s worse than it feels. I knew it had to be bad, but I look crazy.
And my mouth… God, why did I wear red lipstick? The remnants left staining my face should be renamed blow job instead of starlet. It’s fucking smudged all over my mouth.
My eyebrows raise because if this wasn’t real life, it would be the opening of a very funny movie.
I swipe my thumb around my mouth, only able to remove some of the smeared red before I give up and keep walking.
“Oh my god. The back of my hair looks like when you made me go to that wacky goat yoga class, and we did that pose called plow. I’m that—minus the hay.” My voice drops to a low whisper. “And remember how one of those little furry assholes rammed me in the ass? I’m pretty sure that happened again last night too…multiple times.”
I squint, trying to remember the hazy parts of last night. Damn. There was too much alcohol.
“I think I may have fucked his friends. My memory’s not my friend right now. I can’t tell if it was a dirty dream or reality. I need coffee and a nap. And maybe an STD screening.”
Another chuckle brims as I run my fingers through the matted mess I call hair. But my sister isn’t laughing. My brows draw together just as her words are cracked like a whip.
“Bangs.”
I gasp, immediately stopping my trek through the casino. A full fucking stop just to answer her insult. Because that’s exactly what that word is.
“Bitch,” I hiss. “This is not bangs. How dare you call me a copycat. I didn’t even know you got bangs when I got bangs.”
She almost chokes her words out.
“The fuck you didn’t. I sent you a picture of myself, and then you went out and did it too.”
“Whatever. Maybe that’s true,” I huff, completely unwilling to own any of that, like a true little sister. “But dicks aren’t bangs. I didn’t copy you because I only fucked three dudes…allegedly. I breathe too, or have you trademarked that as well?”
She mockingly repeats my words as if I sound like a thirteen-year-old boy, making me grin harder. But I keep going.
“Don’t be sour because you can’t add. You’re fucking four dudes simultaneously—I allegedly did three. And I married one. Not the same. Way to be down for the sisterhood, ho… I would’ve thought getting double-dipped on the reg by your boyfriends would lead to a looser hole…but you’re still soooo tight.”
“You’re such a little twat.” She laughs.
I slide past a group of middle-aged guys with jerseys, all staring at me like cartoon wolves staring at a steak. Gross. So, I ignore them, continuing with my sister.
“I’m starting to think we must have some crazy-ass genetic disposition. They say kinks are inherited. That means Mom’s probably doing the whole cul-de-sac. This is an epidemic. So you need to get it together, narcissist, because not everything’s about you. It’s about me.”
She howls, and I follow suit as she throws out, “You’re a dummy. And disgusting. And I’m telling Mom you said that.”
“I’ll hold you underwater like that scene in Basic Instinct. I’ll be like, ‘Shhh, go to sleep.’”
“Psychopath,” she jokes.
I look up at the directional signs, turning around, trying to figure out where I’m going as I counter.
“Nah, sociopath…I’ll feel no regret,” I breathe out absentmindedly, looking around, adding, “Damn, these casinos are like mazes. How the hell do I get out of here?”
Sami’s talking, but I can’t hear her past the whirl of the machines and some people celebrating. What the fuck? Where is the exit? I turn another hundred and eighty degrees, looking for divine intervention, but nothing.
“Fantastic,” I huff. “I’ll be stuck here forever with all this lipstick around my mouth that makes me look like I did when I was nine and wouldn’t stop licking a circle around it. Remember that? The skin chapped into a big red ring. I looked like I had an asshole on my face every time I puckered…I’ll be Eleanor Assmouth again.”
I chuckle to myself, pulled from my thoughts as Sami playfully snarks, “I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself. Jesus Christ, this shit only happens to you.”
I’m nodding, even though she can’t see me.
“I am the epitome of a walk of shame. I expect a trophy. If getting railed and smelling like sex was an Olympic sport, I’d get gold. Because there is no amount of cigarette smoke in this casino that could rid me of the smell of whore and unwanted pregnancy.”
“You didn’t use protection?” she shrieks.
The fake sound of coins spilling into a metal bucket rings out. The combination makes my head pound again.
“Sami,” I breathe out with a groan. “That tone makes me hate your whole face. Make your voice go away. It was a joke, dummy. Of course, I used protection…I think.” Before she can say anything, I add, “No, we did. I distinctly remember buying condoms that looked like poker chips. Because when they rolled them on, I yelled jackpot.”
“Liar. I can’t believe you raw dogged it.”
I laugh. “Shut up, lunatic. We exchanged records on our phones like normal people in the 21st century. But poker chips sound amazing, I should trademark that.”
My eyes tick up, finally seeing the exit sign just as the crowd in front of me parts. I swear to god I hear angels sing because—doors. Big, beautiful glass doors. I let out a relieved breath.
Samantha chimes in again.
“B.T. Dubs. Where the fuck is Millie? I thought you guys went out there together?”
“Ah yes, the bestie. Best guess? She’s tonsil-deep on a DJ’s turntable…if you get my meaning. He’s a douche, but she likes him. Plus, our room is a hep B containment center.”
I take a few quick steps, attempting to slide out between the massive doors, but a bald, potbellied dude gets in the way and doesn’t move fast enough, so they close.
I look down at myself. Shit.
Improvisation is required between holding my dress with one hand and squeezing my phone between my face and shoulder. The debate in my head only lasts seconds before I spin around and use my bottom to push it open. My heels dig into the concrete, making an awful scuffing sound as I get through. I spin off the glass, stumbling a few steps before righting myself.
“What are you doing?” my sister asks as I huff breathlessly before I answer, “Persevering.”
“Holy shit,” I gasp, causing eyes to dart in my direction, but I ignore them as the door closes behind me, taking with it the glorious air-conditioning. “Why is it so hot at six in the morning? It’s freaking scorching my skin, and I’m under the porte cochere.” I squirm where I’m standing, feeling like I’m already sweating. “This place is hell. It’s probably why it’s so fun.”