Page 73 of Meet Hate Love
I’m seriously re-evaluating our friendship right now.
You remember our senior year of high school when I banged that hot guy in Bob Freeze’s treehouse? And afterward, I cried because I felt like a big nasty whore.
Bob’s treehouse was the envy of everyone in high school. He’d run power cords to it from his parents’ house. Not only did it have electricity, but it also had a pull-out sofa, a mini-fridge, and a TV. All so he could play Xbox and watch his porn in peace.
You realize I was in the treehouse when you banged him on that pull-out, right?
You and that other guy had fallen asleep on the beanbag.
We had until the creak of bedsprings woke us up.
What was his name? Sapphire? Onyx? Pearl? Some kind of gemstone.
His name was Diamond.
I still stand by the fact he lied about that name.
Who names their baby Diamond?
At least she’d veered away from the topic of me banging Vance. The taxi driver slammed his brakes again.
The point is. I told you.
Andwe were back.
It’s not even comparable. It wasn’t a surprise when you told me the next morning at Waffle Hut that you’d, in your own words, become one with him. I was there.
So you DID fuck Cock-a-doodle doo?
It was a setup. One I’d stupidly fallen for.
Yes, Margot. We had sex.
I can’t believe you!!!!
You beautiful…
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A picture Vance had taken of his dick from our hotel window in Rome popped up. He’d Photoshopped a gladiator helmet onto its head, a rudimentary drawing of a spear tucked to its side, the Coliseum in the dreary, rain-filled background.
You rode that and didn’t tell me as soon as it happened?????
I was going to tell you in person…
