Alicia
I awoke the morning after our night at the club and immediately reached next to me for Ryan, but his side of the bed was empty. I stretched and opened my eyes, then looked at my phone. It was only seven o’clock, too early on a Sunday morning to be awake. I rolled over to go back to sleep, but my curiosity about where Ryan was kept me from drifting into my dream world. I got up, brushed my teeth, threw my hair into a ponytail, and grabbed a pair of his sweat pants and a t-shirt to wear.
I walked down the stairs and went into the kitchen. Ryan was sitting at the table drinking coffee, staring out the window. He looked upset.
“Hey, baby,” I said, putting my arms around his shoulders and kissing his neck. “You’re up early.”
“Yep,” he said shortly. He took a sip of his coffee.
“What’s wrong?”
“Like you don’t know.”
He was obviously angry. I felt anxiety spike in my stomach. What had I done?
“I don’t know, but you sound mad. Did I do something wrong?” I thought back to the club last night, to Justin, to Tammy, had I said something? Done something? Maybe the whole thing had been my fault.
“Nope, you’re just the same as all the other girls who have tried to take advantage of me. Who used me for my money, my things, my status. I don’t know why I expected anything different.”
“What are you talking about? I love you, I told you that. I don’t care about your money or anything else.” I heard my voice becoming desperate and high-pitched, and I worked to control it. “What’s this all about? Please tell me.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he pointed at his phone, which was on the table next to the coffee pot. It was on, the screen lit up, and I walked over to it. When I saw what was there, my stomach sank to my knees. It was my blog. But not just the main page of my blog; it was the sub-blog, the Diamond Club Diaries.
“I can explain,” I began, though I had no idea how I might actually do that. I picked up his phone and began to scroll to the bottom of the latest entry; I had more than a thousand comments and almost three thousand shares. The comments were supportive. Just skimming through, words jumped out: Amazing characters! So funny! OMG, these people are crazy! The post had gained a tremendous amount of traction and undoubtedly someone had recognized one of my characters, maybe even a member of the Diamond Club himself—or herself—
I was busted.
“As much as I’d love to hear you fashion some sort of an explanation for this, I seriously doubt that you can come up with something believable besides that you’ve been using me.”
“How did you find this?”
“Does that really matter?”
It didn’t matter, not really. But I couldn’t wrap my head around how he had stumbled upon the blog. I was so careful; I had a pen name, and I never used real names for any members of the Diamond Club or the real names of places we’d been to. It didn’t make any sense at all. I felt myself blushing.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Didn’t mean to what, exploit me and my friends? Show us off like we’re these dramatic freaks? Make our lives look like complete jokes and like all we care about is money and shallow complete bullshit?” His voice raised with each word and by the time he finished, he was yelling. He grabbed his coffee and stood up, walking over to the sink and turning away from me.
“I never used any names,” I insisted. “There’s absolutely no way to trace anything I wrote back to you or to any of the Diamond Club. I would never do that, don’t you understand?”
“What I understand is that if investors, clients, and other companies find out I pay women to date me, my career is over. Do you understand that?” He slammed his cup into the sink and turned back to me, his eyes flashing with anger. “Absolutely ruined!”
“I was doing it for the writing experience, that’s all. I never wanted to expose you, the club, or anyone. I have a career too, you know, and it’s not just waiting tables.” My voice was weak, squeaky, because I felt like such a jerk for even posting it in the first place. But the fact was, people were reading it. “I bet there will be job offers that come from this. Maybe even a book deal.”
“You bet there will be? You bet? You ruined my life!” Ryan picked up his phone and threw it against the wall. The face shattered and it broke into pieces on the floor.
I stared at him and at the phone on the floor. He was glaring at me, hot with anger. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Well, at least you can afford a replacement!” I yelled.
I grabbed my purse—thought briefly that the driver must have brought it from the club—and stormed out of the house. I walked down the hill and, when I was a safe distance away, I called the only person I could think of—Amber, another server at Afternoon Delight—to come pick me up. When she did, I looked back at Ryan’s house and felt my eyes fill with angry tears.