Page 167 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“I totally hit ignore, Katie—”hiccup“—jus’ like you said, bitch.”
The camera swings like a pendulum, finally locking on to a close-up of her lips as she tips back a bottle of tequila, chugging a massive gulp.
“Girl’s-s-s-s gotta have some standards, even if her—”hiccup “—vagina took a week-long vacation from them.”
Christ! She’s wasted.
I quickly place my thumb over my camera to avoid being seen. It’s not the most honorable move, but I’m past caring if it helps me locate her.
“Cam-cam-CAMILAAA,” she sing-songs. But I still can’t see her face. “That walking dildo probably—”hiccup“—had to stick his dick in Amanda’s boujee pussy a few times-s to scrub off my poor-people germs-s-s before calling me.”
The accusation burns worse than the tequila she’s drowning in.
She swigs from the bottle again. No chaser. No pause. “I bet he wants her bare too ’cause she’s so fucking special to him.”
That one cuts deeper. I bite my knuckle.
I haven’t laid eyes on Amanda. Not since Petra vanished. Not since Echo’s sketchpad became a crime scene. Not since the gut-wrenching realization that my best friend could be the next victim if we don’t put a stop to it.
“Fuck, I need my girls here,” Petra mumbles. “Remember our trip to Cabo? Well, I’m never coming back. Mexico canchokeon it. Bryce canchokeon it. Every billionaire in the world can choke on their billions and die while I laugh and key their stupidyachts.”
She goes for another drink, but this time she just… folds.
One second she’s upright. The next, she’s curled into herself, sobbing—violent, shoulder-shaking sobs that make your ribs ache from hearing them.
The camera finally stills, and her face comes into view.
Her phone’s harsh light illuminates the devastation I caused. Mascara streaks down her face like oil spills. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot. The defiant red lipstick is smeared across her mouth. Strands of black hair stick to her tear-soaked cheeks.
“He’s with her,” she chokes out. “He loves her, not me. Of course he does. He’s never going to love someone like me.”
Another sob escapes her while I experience what it feels like to have my intestines ripped out through my throat.
“You know what makes me the biggest fucking idiot alive, girls? I always thought… I thought maybe I was the one who saw him the clearest. Saw him as him, ya know. Just… Bryce.”
She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “He never looked at me like I was broken goods. When everyone else saw Gavin’s screwup sister, he just saw me.” Her voice dissolves into broken whispers. “Called me Pip like it was this secret between us—not Petra the disaster, just his Pip.”
The tenderness in her confession shreds what’s left of my heart. She’s laying bare every reason she fell for me—while tearing herself apart in the process.
The sound of waves hammering the shore fills the silence, and I catch sight of our carnival’s dying lights behind her.
She’s still in Mexico?
I spot her battered suitcase leaning against a piece of driftwood, contents scattered along the sand.
Jesus Christ.She’s planning to sleep on the beach? Drunk and alone and heartbroken because I’m a spineless piece of shit.
That’s when I break.
“Pip.”
Her head shoots up. “Bryce?” she calls out, her eyes searching desperately. “Where—?”
“I’m on the phone,” I say quickly.
Finally, she lowers her eyes to the screen, her gaze settling on my face, lip trembling.
“Petra, I’m so—”
