Page 36 of Massacre Monday
You saw what happened to Gwen and you sat and watched. Be careful who you allow yourself to be associated with.
I read the text twice.There’s no name. No number. Justguiltsharpened into a warning. Was someone watching me? Watching as I let her be claimed by all those men?
Tears sting my eyes as I slump against my bed, the weight of my shame causing me to grip my stuffed rabbit tighter to my chest. Maybe I should have thrown myself between them, sacrificed myself to try to save her and the other woman.
After spending Wednesdaynotin class but stuck in the campus police station, talking with officers and Gwen’s parents, I’m ready to curl up under my blanket and pretend my roommate isn’t officiallya missing person. The title they gave her makes me shiver. I’m too worried to cry, so I sit in my room, staring straight ahead as people rifle through it.
Mr. and Mrs. Newsome search Gwen’s stuff, trying to find any clues as to her whereabouts, while a detective assigned tothe case shuffles her neat stacks of clothing. Mrs. Newsome sobs. She appears panicked and a university representative tries to calm her down with unhelpful words. Elina leans against the closet wall, eyeing my half of the room with judgmental scrutiny.
Amelia paces outside my door and occasionally pops in to be helpful, but she never saw Gwen on Massacre Monday. Mitch said he did, but then blurted out a crude remark about her “taking all the nastyThetasinto every hole she’s got and they made more.”
I’m hungry, tired, and overwhelmed with my classwork, especially Criminology, but feel even more guilty for even being stressed about something so trivial when my roommate could be hurt. There are too many people in my room, and I don’t know what to say anymore.
My introverted self wants to hide, but there’s nowhere to go.
Amelia tugs on my hand and leads me aside. “Get dressed. We’re going to the Salty Oyster for some drinks. You deserve a reprieve.”
Maybe alcohol and food are exactly what I need.
Gathering my things while trying to be polite, I grab the package of new lingeriesomeonesent me. The fact that pieces of my favorite underwear are missing, and then this showed up inmy exact size, makes me grimace. But I need to get out of here.
I head to the floor’s shared bathrooms to change into one of the cheeky panties from the box, topped with an oversized band T-shirt cinched by a wide belt. Thigh-high lacy black tights and calf boots cover my legs as big bangles click over my wrists. After applying my makeup, I take a look at myself, deciding to go with a bold lip color for the evening.
When I slick on the red shadeScarlips, the taste is off, so I chuck the stick in the garbage. As I do, crusted lines catch my eye. They’re all over the cases. Hurriedly, I scan the rest of mylipsticks crowded in my cosmetics bag. Every single one appears to have the same white crud on them.
Ryan’s claiming.
With a tissue, I quickly clean my lips, then scrub them with a washcloth. Despite using a toothbrush after that, the flavor ofhimremains on my tongue long after. Instead of getting disgusted, I’m annoyed with myself for how intoxicating it tastes.
What iswrongwith me?
Valencia comes with us in hopes Logan will be there. When I attempt to get a feel for who Amelia’s going for, she only lets her blue eyes sparkle and says, “I like older men.”
“Well, I heard that the elders wear robes when they defile you in the Cathedral, so you have that to fantasize about,” I say, and she laughs while Valencia makes mock gagging sounds. My outlook already feels brighter.
The Cajun-Indian fusionrestaurant is located just off campus, and as I open the door for my friends, I balk at the number of students filling the place on a random Wednesday. Looking closer, it appears all ofBeta Kappa Etais crowding the tables, possibly having a game night of bonding just after Rush.
“Where are we going to find a seat?” Amelia asks as we scan the crowd.
Mitch and Logan sit at a corner table with the president and vice president ofBeta. Hand in the air, Mitch smiles and waves us over. The side along the wall holds a booth big enough for three, while the rest has chairs pulled up close to accommodate the group.
My dance partner stands to let me slide into the far side while Valencia hurriedly takes the spot on the end after Mitch gets in next to me. Logan sits in the corner in a painted wooden seat, seemingly uncomfortable, but still gives my cousin a shy grin.
Mitch points out the two officers ofBeta. “Pippi, this is Hunter Remington, our president, and Chase Warrick, our vice president. Hunter’s eyes are glued to Amelia’s tits as he holds out his hand to shake hers before striking up a conversation. It’s almost impossible to hear over the loud yells, forks scraping against plates, and clinking of glassware.
Mitch takes a sip of his sangria and says, “You didn’t make it to lecture today. Professor Hall gave us a new reading assignment that’s not on the syllabus. I can email you the article, if you want.”
“Sure.” The space next to the wall seems tight and uncomfortable, and the last thing I want to discuss is Professor Hall’s class. “Can I have some of that?” I point to his drink, and he slides it over.
“Yeah, of course. Want me to get you one?”
Valencia interrupts loudly, “I’ll go with you and Logan to grab our drinks! Order me some crawfish tikka masala if they come by the table, Pippi.”
I give her a nod and relax after the three of them get out of their seats, but scramble to think of small-talk topics while glancing at the two men across from me. Amelia doesn’t seem to mind the attention and pulls Hunter into another chat that I can’t hear. Chase Warrick ignores me, looking around the bar for someone else.
Not even a minute passes before a big figure slides into the booth next to me with a beer. I look up to argue that’s not what I wanted to drink, and Ryan’s steely blue eyes smile at me.
I lose my breath as he continues moving into the seat, lifts me off it, and places me on his lap in a smooth motion, like he’s doneit a thousand times. “Make room for the boys,” he says, gripping my waist with his arm and chugging a swig of his ale.
