Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Is there a chance he was lying? That he did watch it and decided it would be fun to put a video of us having sex up online? Perhaps as revenge for all the embarrassing memes I posted of him during the summer?
As soon as the thought is through my head, however, I dismiss it. That isn’t Christian. He cares about me. He might not feel the way I feel about him, but he would never hurt me on purpose. And it’s not like this is good for his professional reputation, either. People are always harder on women in situations like this, but I’m sure it will be mortifying to him, too. It’s a horrible invasion of privacy that will likely haunt us both for years to come.
I don’t know much about revenge porn laws, but I know the penalties aren’t that severe, even when you can prove who leaked what. And can it really be considered “revenge porn” if neither Christian nor I put it up online in the first place?
I have no idea, but I have to tell Christian what’s happened.
Now.
Before I reach out to Nora or Wren or my mom for help.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, gorge rising in my throat at the thought of telling my mom that there’s footage of me having sex online.
Mom is the sweetest, but she’s a very private person and super awkward when it comes to sex. She’s never talked about it with me or Wren, not even to give us “the talk” when we were growing up. She left that to the school system’s sixth grade puberty assembly and the other kids on the playground. She hasn’t dated since my dad left when I was a baby, has zero spice vibe, and if it weren’t for the existence of Wren and myself, I would seriously doubt that she’s ever had sex.
Though, there’s at least a chance my sister and I were both miraculous conceptions. Mom prays a lot, too. She and God are nearly as tight as she and her friends down at the Catholic Ladies’ quilting circle.
The Catholic ladies who are going to break their tongues in half gossiping about what a nasty slut her daughter is and make the rest of my mother’s life in the community an exercise in mortification.
“Oh God, oh God,” I hear myself chanting beneath my breath, but I’m not sure if I’m praying or having a mental breakdown.
I’ve never been as keen on church as my mom—I prefer to worship the glory of creation with a long walk in nature with a furry or feathered friend—but right now, praying for a miracle might be my best bet.
Or I could change my name, alter my appearance, start speaking with a French accent, and move to Bangkok. Wren loved Thailand when she was there. I could disappear into the chaos of the city, wait until I’m so old no one will recognize me from the video, then move back home to live out my final years in peace.
But I’d miss Wren and Mom and my friends so much. Not to mention the nieces and nephews I hope to have someday soon, the job I love, and Kyle and Keanu and Christian.
“Christian is going to kill whoever did this,” I mumble, the words sending a prickle of worry shivering up my spine.
What if Christian already knows about the sex tape and has an idea who uploaded it to the web?
What if that’s why he ran off in the middle of night?
What if, even now, he’s on his way to avenge my honor and potentially end up ruining his life in the process? If he has an assault charge on his record, there’s no way he’ll be able to keep his job at a charity for battered women and children.
It might even get him fired from Furry Friends.
I glance down at Bella, to see her watching me with a worried expression, as if she’s read my mind. More likely, she can sense the stress-induced physiological changes going on in my body, but either way, I feel obligated to offer her comfort.
Scratching gently around the scruff of her neck, I assure her, “Don’t worry, buddy. We’re going to figure this out and make sure everyone stays safe. I won’t let your dad get in any more trouble than he’s in already.”
But ten minutes later—after numerous calls and texts to Christian go unanswered—I begin to think I’ve spoken too soon. I try one more time, leaving a voice message this time, “Hey, it’s me. I know about the sex tape. I’m thinking you must know, too, or you’d be here right now. If you do, don’t do anything rash okay? Come back to my place and let’s talk it through. We can figure this out. I know we can. We’ll just think of it as another public relations issue we have to sort out by the end of the business day. We’ve got this. I’ve got your back and I know you’ve got mine and we can make it through this without freaking out, okay?”