Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Through my rage, I manage a smirk, and that sets him off. “Libby, what the hell?” he demands again, his face going red with anger. “How could you do this to me?” I spread my arms out in a you deserved it gesture. “You bitch,” he roars, taking a step back and running his hands through his hair. “You evil, crazy bitch! I can’t believe - you’re - I’m-” He seems to be having trouble articulating his thoughts. Good. Let him experience how it feels.
Texts continue to pour in, and Patrick lets out a roar of rage that makes me take a step back. I’ve never seen him this angry before. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him angry before, period, because he’s generally pretty easygoing. Shooting me a glare, he dials a number into his phone and puts it up to his ear. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Calling the cops,” Patrick spits. “This is illegal, Libby.”
My heart stops in my chest, my stomach dropping as his words sink in. “What?” I demand. “You can’t do that to me!”
“Oh yes I can,” he hisses, eyes gleaming. “Hello?” he speaks into the phone. “Yes, can you connect me to the police department? I’d like to report a case of revenge porn.” There’s a pause. “Yes, I’ll hold.”
Revenge porn. The words sink in, and as they do, so does the significance of what I’ve done. Images of policemen brandishing billy clubs flood my mind, my stomach turning to ice. Terror washes over me, alongside a fresh bout of frustration. “How dare you!” I scream. “You can’t do this, Patrick! I’m your girlfriend!”
“Not anymore,” Patrick hisses right back. “You can consider us done. Through. Kaput.” Then, he listens in the receiver for a moment. “I’m at her apartment now. She just leaked the photos. How soon can you get here?”
“Get the fuck out!” I yell. It’s the only thing I can think of. “Get out of my apartment!”
Patrick shoots me another icy stare, but to my surprise, he does as he’s told, retreating out the door and onto the front steps, where he sits down, still speaking into the phone. He’s waiting for the police, I realize, a lump forming in my throat. What do I do now?
Turns out, not much. Feeling like I’m in a dream, I pace the living room, breathing hard as fear and anger battle for dominance in my mind. He won’t go through with it, I tell myself. We’ve been through too much.
Wrong. After what feels like an eternity, there’s a knock at my front door. I go to open it, fully expecting to see Patrick, but instead, I find myself face-to-face with two uniformed police officers. “Libby Rain?” one of them asks, flashing his badge at me.
“Look,” I say, my lip quivering, “this is just a misunderstanding. I can explain-”
They don’t even let me finish. “We’re going to need you to come with us,” the second cop says.
The next thing I know, they’re pinning my hands behind my back and putting handcuffs - actual handcuffs - on me. How could they do this? How could Patrick do this? I realize I’m crying as they lead me out the door, tears of rage and fear dripping down my cheeks. Even through my swollen eyes, though, I can see Patrick watching me from the front porch, and goddamn it, but the son of a bitch looks happy.
3
Libby
* * *
Once we get to the station, the officers half-push, half-drag me into a holding pen where a bunch of other women are waiting to be processed. They all look like they’ve been through the wringer, and I can’t say I’m in much better shape. The cops really manhandled me when they shoved me into their cruiser, and by now my face is red and puffy from crying. At least the tears have finally stopped, giving way to pure fear that only gets worse when I see my new environs. I’ve never been in jail before. Hell, until today, I didn’t even know what the inside of a jail cell looked like. Turns out, it’s not pretty.
My new cellmates a rough-looking bunch. Some of them are clearly drunk or on drugs, rattling the bars and screaming at the guards who pass by in the hallway. Others, perhaps even more creepy, are just sitting on the benches, completely dead behind the eyes as they watch me stumble inside.
“What’s the matter, little girl?” one of them slurs when she sees me.
“Don’t fucking eyeball me,” another one snaps, lunging for me enough to make me jerk back with horror.
The guard who brought me here shuts the door and retreats, but not before I call to him, panicking, “Wait! What’s going to happen to me? Don’t I get a phone call? Hey! I have rights!” I continue to shout after him, but it’s no use. He’s completely tuned me out, and before long I’m left alone with the other delinquents.