“Hey, Jackson! We’re having a beer pong competition in the next room. Up for a round against me?” Tyler asked. “Jill, here, wants to see if I can beat you.” He shot me a look and I could tell he wanted to impress the girl.
I wanted to turn them down, go back to my dorm, and call Chloe, but I knew that if I backed down from a beer pong challenge on my first full day of being a brother in the house, I’d never hear the end of it. I sized up the competition, and I could tell Tyler was already well on his way to being drunk. I was completely sober and was pretty good at beer pong. I knew it wouldn’t take long to beat Tyler and sneak out afterward. My dorm was only a five-minute walk from there, so I knew that I had plenty of time before Chloe was free to talk.
“You’re on, bro. I’m always game to kick some ass.” I flashed them a competitive smirk as I followed them to the other room where a round of beer pong was already in progress.
Before I knew it, three hours had flown by, and I was laughing and having the time of my life as the new beer pong champion of Alpha Sigma Delta house. I had a crown made of aluminum foil on my head, a blonde on one arm and Jill, the redhead, on the other. I felt like I was on top of the world as the whole house chanted my name in victory.
It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning in one of the extra bedrooms in the house that I realized I had never called Chloe like I’d said I would. I rubbed my forehead, feeling like shit. I was officially the worst friend ever. I looked over to the blonde and the redhead who were both naked in the bed with me, stinking of alcohol.
Fuck! How did things get so out of hand last night?
I had to squirm out from under both girls to get out of the bed. I looked around the room for my cell phone but couldn’t find it anywhere.
“What the fuck is wrong with me? This is the second time in twenty-four hours.” Feeling annoyed, I threw on my clothes and went downstairs, hoping I had left my phone in the room where the beer pong competition had taken place. To my relief, it was there under the beer pong table.
I immediately groaned when I saw how many missed calls and texts I had received from Chloe. I punched the wall with my bare fist in frustration and anger at myself. “I’m the shittiest friend in the world!”
As I scrolled through my missed call log, I noticed that one of her calls the night before—the last one she’d made to me at a little after ten—had been answered and the call had lasted almost half a minute. But I had no memory of this call or what we’d talked about.
Anxiety churned in the pit of my stomach as I quickly grabbed my stuff and headed back to my dorm. I knew I needed to talk to Chloe today, and this time, I needed to make sure I was sober and away from any distractions.
CHAPTE
R TEN
December 2003
Nineteen Years Old
CHLOE
During the last two weeks since my nineteenth birthday, anything and everything that could have gone wrong, had. Jackson broke his promise to visit that weekend. A crazy blizzard hit the area on the morning of my birthday, but because I didn’t want to be alone, I guilt-tripped Aunt Betty, Uncle Tom, and Charlie to drive into the city to spend the day with me. I knew the roads would be a mess because of the snowstorm. I knew I was putting them at risk. But at that moment in time, I hadn’t cared. It was my birthday, and I was more lonely that day than I’d ever been before. I’d convinced myself that it was okay to be selfish just that one time, that we’d experienced and driven through worse blizzards than that one so nothing would go wrong.
But of course, fate proved me wrong.
On their way to see me that day, they were going too fast on the icy roads, lost control of their car, and crashed into a tree. Aunt Betty and Uncle Tom both sustained several broken bones and some cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious. But Charlie had been driving and didn’t have his seatbelt on. When the car had hit the tree, his body was thrown forward through the windshield, and he sustained severe injuries.
During the past two weeks since the accident, Charlie had had to undergo a number of surgeries, and today was his latest surgery where they’d go in and take a look at his spinal cord. Aunt Betty had been texting me throughout the day to update me on the status of the all-day surgery. After my morning shift at McDonald’s, one of my two new part-time jobs I’d picked up the previous week to help with some of the hospital bills, I rushed back to the hospital to be there when the surgery was over.
After ten hours of surgery, one of the surgeons came out to talk to us. Despite the odds, we were still hopeful, and prayed for a miracle that we’d receive some good news.
But we didn’t.
Instead, the surgeon said the words we’d been dreading all along: “We had to go in and insert rods and plates along his spine to help stabilize it. Unfortunately, we were also able to confirm that your son’s spinal cord was indeed severed during the accident. As a result, he’s lost all motor function from the waist down, and he won’t be able to walk again. I’m very sorry.”
“No!” Aunt Betty let out a hysterical wail as she collapsed against me, sobbing like I’d never seen her sob before.
My eyes full of tears, I tried to comfort her as she continued to cry in my arms. “I’m so sorry,” I kept repeating as I stroked her back.
Grief-stricken, Uncle Tom fell back onto one of the chairs in the waiting room. He hunched over and buried his face in his hands. He didn’t make a sound, but I could see his body move up and down as he wept into his hands in silence.
Even though the doctors tried to prepare us for this outcome, the news was just as devastating and hit us hard.
This was all my fault, and the immense guilt I carried inside only deepened the hurt I felt from hearing the news. I had done this to Charlie and he didn’t deserve this. Aunt Betty didn’t deserve this. Uncle Tom didn’t deserve this.
Charlie had always been like a brother to me, accepting me into his family even though I had taken over his room and a big portion of his parents’ time and energy. He’d never complained or resented me. Instead, he treated me like his equal and spoiled me whenever he’d visit for the holidays. So hearing the news that he was permanently paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life left me feeling empty and numb with anguish.
But I didn’t deserve to be comforted by Aunt Betty and Uncle Tom. Their only son—the young, successful lawyer they were so proud of—had just had the rest of his life ruined because of me, because of my selfishness, because of my inability to love someone without them getting hurt.
While I didn’t deserve it, I still couldn’t help but want to be comforted. I still wanted someone there to tell me everything would be okay. I still wanted someone to tell me that I wasn’t an awful person. I still wanted someone to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, even when I knew that wasn’t true.
Jackson was the only person who I could talk to about this. He was the only person who could comfort me. Since my birthday, I’d tried to call him a number of times, to tell him what happened, to hear his warm, familiar voice. But every time I called, he was never there to pick up.
A part of me was mad at Jackson for neglecting me and not being there for me. But another part of me—the part that increased with each passing day that I didn’t hear from him—was worried sick that something had happened to him. With everything that’d happened recently, and everything that’d happened with my mom, I was terrified to imagine possibly losing him as well.
So on my way back to my dorm from the hospital, I decided to try calling Jackson again. I heard the phone ring several times, and on the fifth ring, I knew I’d get voicemail again and was about to end the call. But just as I was about to switch off, I heard a click.
I put the phone back to my ear, but instead of Jackson’s voice, all I heard was the rustling of fabric against the phone and what seemed like a loud party in the distant background.
“Hello? Jax?”
I heard a sudden movement and then, to my surprise, Jackson’s voice.
“Hey. Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?” His words were abrupt but slurred, and it was clear to me that he was drunk.
“Are you free to talk? Something’s happened recently, and it’s all my fault. I really need you right now.” The words flooded out of me in a trembling rush.
I expected him to say something right away, to ask me what was wrong, to console me in his own special way. But after a long period of time, I heard nothing but his heavy breathing, the party in the background, and the rustling sound of the phone being brushed up against something.
Feeling my irritation rise, I finally tried again. “Hello? Jax, did you even hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I heard,” he said flatly, almost defensively. “I’m so sorry, Clo. I wish I was there for you.”
I felt my irritation subside at his words. I desperately wished he was here too. But then I heard a crowd of laughter growing louder in the background. Jackson quickly continued, “But listen, I can’t really talk right now. Can I call you tomorrow morning?”
Then I heard a crowd of people repeat, “Oooohhh! Can I call you tomorrow morning?” before breaking off into laughter.
“I guess so,” I managed to say, trying so hard to hold back the tears. Then I hung up on him. A sudden pain pierced through my chest. I knew I should be relieved that he was okay—and alive—but I didn’t feel relieved. I felt hurt—especially because the real reason he wasn’t returning my calls wasn’t because he was busy with his classes. It was because he was busy having fun with his fraternity and getting drunk at parties.
In spite of my hurt, I still wanted to talk to Jackson. I still missed him deeply. So I waited for his call the next morning.
But the call never came. By one o’clock in the afternoon, when I left my second part-time job at Starbucks, he still hadn’t called or texted.
At this point, I felt my patience reach its limit and I sent him a text. Then another an hour later. And yet another two hours after that. Still nothing.
It wasn’t until six o’clock, when I was closing out of my register at McDonald’s, that I’d finally heard from him. After a few text message exchanges, he said he’ll call me in half an hour.
I tried not to be hopeful, but when I arrived back to my dorm room, I couldn’t help but feel the anticipation of finally having a conversation with him.
But then six-thirty passed, and he didn’t call. I texted him to see if he was still planning on calling.
When I hadn’t heard from him by seven o’clock, I shot him a text message and tried calling him. Still nothing.
When eight rolled around, I texted again. Silence.
At some point into the night, I had fallen asleep on my bed on top of the duvet. It wasn’t until ten that I woke up and realized I’d fallen asleep, waiting for him. I looked at my phone hopefully but was disappointed to see nothing new from Jackson.
Feeling frustrated and emotionally exhausted, I pulled up his number and dialed it. His voicemail picked up.
As frustration turned into anger, I dialed his number two more times, thinking at some point, he would have to pick up.
Finally, on my fourth attempt, someone picked up.
“Hello?” a guy yelled into the phone. I could hear loud music and people talking and laughing in the background.
“Hi! Is Jackson there?” I screamed into the phone, hoping he could hear me.
“Who?”
“Jackson! Jackson Pierce! You just picked up Jackson’s phone!”
“Ahh, yeah, my boy, Jackson!” Then I heard him chuckle.
“Can you get him for me?”
“Sorry. No can do. He’s in the middle of some fun. I’m not going to cock-block. You know, bro code and all.”
“What are you talking about? What is he doing?” I knew what the answer was, but the masochist in me still wanted to hear it for myself.
“Jeez, do I need to spell it out for you? He’s up in some room fucking two hot broads right now.” He laughed again. “And let me tell you, that wild redhead is our resident slut on Greek row. She’s definitely going to show him and the blonde a fucking wild time tonight. He’s going to have so much pussy tonight, let’s hope his dick doesn’t fall off.”
“Hey, Tyler!” I heard someone scream in the background, “Get off the fuckin’ phone! We’re all shot-gunning some beers here.”
“Sorry. Gotta go,” the guy, who I assumed was Tyler, said quickly before the phone went silent.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
December 2003
Nineteen Years Old
CHLOE
Half an hour later, I strode into the closest bar to my dorm, determined to have fun and cut loose.
Forget you, Jackson!
He wasn’t the only one who knew how to get drunk and have fun. Tonight, I felt reckless and I wanted to hurt Jackson the way he’d hurt me.
I was wearing my hottest little black dress; cut low in the front and high on the thigh. I put on extra make-up tonight, hoping I could trick the bartender into thinking I was at least twenty-one so he wouldn’t ask for my ID.
I sat on the stool at the end of the bar, trying to look like I belonged. The bartender pointedly-drummed his fingers on the sign that read,
Customers must be twenty-one to purchase alcohol,
and I knew I was busted.
“Can I help you with something?” the bartender asked with a knowing edge to his voice.
“No thanks, I’m just here to meet someone,” I bluffed, jutting out my chin to show I wasn’t intimidated, even though I knew I was about be thrown out on my ass and humiliated in front of everyone.
Then a man sitting alone at a nearby table came over and smiled at me. “I believe you’re waiting for me. Hi, I’m Michael Davison.”
“Michael! I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you face to face!” I smiled brightly as he acted like a mutual friend had arranged for us to meet.
His lie of a blind date was the perfect cover and I was grateful for his willingness to help me out in this embarrassing situation.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Michael asked. He was a cute guy with handsome features. He was wearing a very expensive suit and looked like a successful businessman. Maybe he was visiting Philly on a business trip. He looked like he was in his early thirties and from the way he eyed me up and down, I knew that he was looking for a good time tonight.
He’s perfect for what I want tonight
, I thought to myself as I actively forced out thoughts of Jackson.
I glanced at the bartender who was still eying me suspiciously, and then turned back to Michael and shook my head. “What do you say we get that drink someplace else?”
“Sure.” He flashed me a devious smile. “I’m staying in the hotel across the street. We could go there if you want.”
I wasn’t a virgin, but I wasn’t a girl who went to hotel rooms with strange men either. I knew nothing about this man. He could be married, or a criminal, or worse.
Maybe I should just go home and go to bed.
Suddenly I realized this was just the sort of worrying that Jackson always said I did too much of. I had gone out tonight to let loose and remind myself that I was single, that I shouldn’t be waiting by the phone for my best friend to call, that I had a life of my own. Tonight, I needed to have some mindless, uncomplicated fun, and that’s exactly what this stranger could offer me.
I flashed Michael my sexiest smile and bit my lower lip. “Sounds good to me.”
His hotel was very nice, complete with a doorman at the front of the hotel and gorgeously arranged bouquets in antique Victorian vases on all the tables in the lobby. I shifted uncomfortably in my outfit, feeling distinctly out of place in my slutty dress and darkly-drawn eyeliner. I followed him quickly through the lobby, up the elevator, and into his hotel suite.
“Make yourself comfortable and I’ll have room service bring up some drinks,” he said as he picked up the hotel phone and called down for a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Bacardi 151.
I considered sitting on the edge of the giant, king-sized bed in the center of the room, but I quickly stopped myself, realizing how bold that’d be, and how very unlike me that’d be. So I opted instead to sit on the sofa situated against the far wall.
The hem of my dress moved dangerously higher when I sat down. I caught Michael’s eyes looking at the exposed skin when I sat down as he walked over with the tray of Bacardi and Vodka. He joined me on the cushion beside mine and set the tray on an end table. As he poured us each a shot of the Bacardi and Vodka, I felt nervous about drinking hard liquor for the first time.
Think about Jackson. He’s sure enjoying himself with alcohol
, a voice inside me said encouragingly.
I drew in a deep breath and realized there was no way I was backing down now.
I clinked my shot glass of Bacardi 151 to his and said, “To a fun night!”
“To a fun night!” he agreed and we both downed our shots.
I’d never had anything stronger than beer before and wasn’t prepared for the difference. The Bacardi burned my throat and I thought I was going to die. Desperate to soothe the fire, I grabbed the vodka and gulped down the clear liquid that looked like water. But I discovered quickly that was clearly a mistake, and it was nothing like water.
Michael grabbed me a bottle of water from the mini fridge and offered it to me, but I shook my head, determined to try to act cool and collected. “No thanks; I’m fine.”
“Oh, you’re more than fine,” he said as his lips twisted into a smile. The meaning of his words were clear as he looked me up and down with lust burning in his eyes.
I blushed and my face grew hot, and I wondered if this was the effects of the alcohol. I smiled at Michael, feeling sexy, empowered, and uninhibited all of a sudden. “So, tell me about yourself, Michael Davison. Who are you?” I asked seductively as I leaned forward into him.
To my surprise, Michael handed me his business card and I whistled loudly to show how impressed I was. He was a lawyer from a big firm in New York City.
“And what brings you to Philly?” I flirted shamelessly, crossing and uncrossing my legs like I’d seen women do in the movies. It had just the effect that I was hoping for as I saw a bulge growing in his slacks.
“I’m here just for the week, taking depositions from witnesses for a case we’ve been working on.” He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, trying to adjust himself.
“That sounds fascinating! You must be extremely smart to be a lawyer.”
“Ah, it’s not as exciting as it sounds.” Michael shrugged off the compliment, but I could tell he was eating it up. He was grinning from ear to ear and poured us another round of shots. As he handed me a shot, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I’m more interested in you.”
“What do you want to know?” I gulped down another shot of Bacardi and then one of vodka. They went down easier this time, and I felt myself buzzing hard. To my surprise, the alcohol had made me feel relaxed, happy, and incredibly horny.
Michael looked at me. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t even know your name.” I watched as his eyes moved down my neck and stopped on my breasts.
“Well, I can fix that.” I took the hotel note pad from the nearby end table and folded it into a business card, seductively running the paper through my fingers as I made fuck-me eyes at him over the edge. Then I wrote my name and phone number on it and handed it to him formally, like we were business partners.
“I see. Well I’m glad to meet you, Chloe.” He grinned and tucked the paper into his jacket pocket. “So what do you want to do tonight? Anywhere in the city you wanna check out tonight?”
My body was on fire at this point from all the alcohol and all I wanted to do was release all the pent-up energy and stress I’d felt for the past few weeks. “Michael,” I said his name slowly as I licked my lower lip, “I think we should just stay in and make our own fun.”
Then I moved toward him like a cat preparing to pounce on its prey. The second round of shots had definitely lowered my inhibitions, and my need to prove to myself that I could have fun like Jackson fueled me on. I was going to fuck this stranger tonight, and I was going to enjoy it.
I lunged at Michael, pushing him back against the hotel sofa and pulling off his pants. His erection immediately sprang free and I took him greedily into my mouth, not waiting another second. I was determined to give him the best blowjob he’d ever had and took him deeply into my throat while I cradled his balls.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. He pushed his cock deeper into my mouth as he ran his hands through my hair, encouraging me on. “This is amazing, Chloe!”
Seconds later, he began to spasm and I knew he was near his climax. I pulled him from my mouth and did a sexy striptease for him so he could have a moment to cool down. I wasn’t ready for him to be done just yet.
Michael gawked in awe as I peeled the dress from my body and began to caress my naked body with my hands. His eyes grew wide as he watched my hands move down between my inner thigh as I began to pleasure myself, masturbating in front of him while he began to stroke his cock.
“You are making me so hot! I can’t wait to feel me inside you!” he panted as he grabbed a condom from the night stand and put it on. I saw little beads of sweat glistening on his forehead and I knew he was more than ready for me.
“Well let’s not wait then,” I countered as I straddled him on the couch, enveloping his cock with my eager, wet folds.
“Fuck!” he roared out in pleasure as I took in the entire length of his shaft. “You are the hottest woman I’ve ever met. You’re so tight, and wet, and gorgeous!” Michael groaned as I thrust wildly on top of him, fueled by the need to escape my own problems and to prove to myself that I could have meaningless sex.
My body reacted to the physical stimulation and it began to feel good; really good! It didn’t take long before I orgasmed loudly on top of him, crying out as every muscle and nerve in my body surged with pleasure.
Michael rolled back his eyes and groaned as he reached his own climax.
We did it twice more that night, once in the shower and once in the bed before finally falling into a deep and drunken sleep.
When I awoke the next morning, my head was pounding and I felt sick to my stomach. It took me a moment to recognize my strange surroundings, and when I did, I felt even worse.
What was I thinking last night? Was it worth demeaning myself with some stranger just to show up Jackson?
I realized that I had to get out of there and talk to Jackson.
I didn’t care if he was busy. This was ridiculous and I needed to see him.
I’d never had a one night stand before, or anything remotely dirty like this, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do before I left.
I turned toward him on the bed and whispered. “Thanks for last night, Michael, but I’m afraid I’ve got to go.”
When he didn’t respond, I tried shaking him. That was when I realized the body sleeping beside me was actually a pile of pillows under the sheets.
I sat up on the bed and realized that Michael was already gone. Then something on the nightstand caught my attention.
It was an unmarked envelope.
Confused, I picked it up and opened it, expecting to find some kind of goodbye note. But to my surprise, it was filled with hundred-dollar bills. Thirty of them to be exact. It was three thousand dollars in cash.
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, and the loudness of my own voice made my head want to explode. I don’t think I’d ever been so hung over.
This didn’t make sense. Why did Michael leave me money? There must be some explanation for the money. Some detail that I’d missed because my head hurt so badly.
Then I turned the envelope upside down and a piece of paper fell out of it. It was a business card that read
Madam Celine’s Escort Service; attractive companionship for the busy professional male. Always Discrete, Always Satisfying. Client Cums First.
“Oh my God! He thought I was an escort,” I gasped. And just like that, I felt more sick at that moment than I’d felt all morning, and I immediately ran into the bathroom and vomited until there was nothing left in my stomach.
Afterward, I should have felt better, but I didn’t.
How could he have thought I was an escort?
I thought back to last night and tried to remember all the things he’d said and done, and all the things I’d said and done in return. As each embarrassing scene from last night came into focus, it all became horribly clear: he’d gone to the bar to meet up with an escort and when I said I was waiting for someone, he’d mistaken me for the escort he was meant to meet.
I riffled through the room until I found the business card he had given me. I needed to give him the money back. I felt dirty just being in the same room as that envelope full of cash. I dialed the number on Michael’s business card and got a receptionist at the law firm. When she offered to take a message, I hung up the phone as fast as I could, mortified beyond words at the idea of leaving a message to someone who just paid for my body.
What do you even say to such a guy? “Hey, remember me? Well, I’m not an escort, I’m just a slut. Call me back so I can return your three grand. Thanks.”
I reached for the envelope and looked at the cash again. Maybe I should give the money to the police or donate it to a charity?
Aunt Betty and Uncle Tom could sure use some charity right now.
I quickly pushed that thought from my mind. No, that would be completely wrong to keep the money and give it to them. That would basically be turning myself into an escort.
And I was not an escort. This was just a mistake. I’d been looking for a one night stand and it was just a misunderstanding. If I intentionally kept the money now, it wouldn’t be a mistake any longer; it would be prostitution.