Zooming in reveals that it is. I haven’t seen her since high school, back when she was the blonde knockout who was prom queen junior year. She always seemed so normal back then, even though we never hung out much. Now though, she’s almost unrecognizable: her long hair is now black to match the black lipstick she’s wearing, and she has what looks like a whole palette’s worth of purple eyeshadow on her sultry eyelids. It’s her, though, because I recognize her features. There’s no doubt about it.
I don’t even have time to wonder who took the pictures; I’m already on the verge of slamming the laptop shut. Total shock runs through my mind, a terrible queasy feeling bubbling up in the pit my stomach. Maybe this was before he met me, I tell myself. Maybe he’s changed. But even as I pull up the properties menu, that idea rings hollow. The photos looked like they could have been taken days ago, and sure enough, I see that they’re dated from earlier this month. There’s no denying the fact that these photos are current, and it’s not long before my dismay gives way first to confusion, and then to anger.
Patrick Arrington is cheating on me, with a girl from my high school, no less, doing the kinkiest, most depraved things I have ever witnessed. I never knew he was into this kind of stuff. He made me think he was respectable. He always said the Bible came before everything else. And yet, here he is, being dominated in some kind of underground sex club by one of our former classmates.
Bile rises up again in my throat, and I swallow hard against the sour taste to make it go away. Then, I stare at the pictures for another long moment, thoughts of revenge already flooding my head. Pastor Ed’s words about turning the other cheek briefly echo in my mind, but I shove them away. The anger and heartbreak are overwhelming. Not letting myself think, I copy the contents of the entire folder before attaching them to an email. I have the addresses of everyone in our Bible study group. If Patrick thinks he can mess around behind my back like this, he’s got another think coming!
I hesitate for just a moment, my finger hovering over the send button, and wonder if I’m being rash. But then my mind drifts back to the sight of Raina grinding her pussy onto my boyfriend’s face as his eyes go bloodshot from lack of oxygen, and that seals the deal. Gritting my teeth, I hit send before slamming the laptop closed and shoving it away like it might catch fire.
I realize that I’m breathing hard, sweat beading on my forehead from the adrenaline rush. There’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought that I just exposed my boyfriend’s fetish to our entire study group, but once again, I shove it away. Now everyone will witness his depravity, and Patrick will see what happens when someone wrongs the woman that is Libby Rain.
2
Libby
* * *
The irony is that, even after a good five minutes of fidgeting and waiting, Patrick still hasn’t come back yet. I can’t help the irrational fear that he’s actually at that sex club right now, doing God knows what, but he wouldn’t take that risk. It’s clear he’s gone out of his way to keep that part of his life out of my reach, and with good reason too. I’ve never seen anything more insane. I mean, his eyes were literally bloody from lack of oxygen. Does that truly turn him on?
Getting shakily to my feet, I begin to pace the room, stealing the occasional glance at Patrick’s laptop now that I’ve discovered its contents. I wish I could unsee it, I wish I could pretend it never happened, and that I had never been so stupid as to look through his computer without asking. What the hell did I think was going to happen, anyway?
I thought I would finish the evening on Cloud Nine, I muse. Instead, I’m heartbroken. They always say that curiosity killed the cat. Now I finally know what it means.
I realize I’m still trembling, nervous energy making me move restlessly about the room. Fumbling in my pocket, I pull out my phone. I should have stayed on the call with Dakota instead of going down this road, but it’s too late for that now. Maybe she’s still free to talk. Hands shaking, I tap out a text message to her: Are you there? Something’s happened and I’m freaking out. I don’t have high hopes that she’ll answer though. Jack is probably back with the babies, and my friend will have her hands full.
To my surprise though, my phone immediately begins to vibrate, and I scramble to snatch it up. “Libby,” my bestie’s voice comes through. “What’s up? What happened?”