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It was clear as soon as I stepped foot into the lecture hall this morning that everyone knew that I had dated a former escort and current brothel keeper. Whether or not it was Cassey and Patricia that spread the news is a theory yet to be proven. Needless to say, I’m glad today I only have one last class at five p.m. It’ll give me time to prepare myself mentally before facing one more wave of whispers, giggles, and stares.
Elise bumps me with her elbow, looking bright and lively in a pair of dark jeans and white blouse paired with her beige overcoat and boots. She doesn’t look like she’s been in class for hours working on a high-stress business degree, but instead like she’d just walked out of a shampoo commercial. Young, beautiful, carefree, but still my painfully annoying sister.
“It’s just because you’re so brooding and mysterious. Everyone is thinking about how much they want to soothe your darkened heart.”
“Hilarious,” I mutter as we start scanning the free tables around the open layout. “Darkened heart, huh? You want to take over as the family poet?”
Elise keeps looking around, pretending not to notice the weight of everyone’s stares. “Um. No thanks. I think you’ve got it under control actually.”
The cafeteria isn’t usually part of my daily schedule at the university, but for Elise, it’s the perfect opportunity to make a bunch of her social appearances at once. Since it’s our first day of college after the winter holiday, she’d stuck to me like glue, no doubt commanded to do so by our mom. At least it isn’t like a high school cafeteria, with everyone separated into firm groupings that no one could ever infiltrate.
The cafeterias on campus have the life and harmony I had craved back then, but not in the way I had anticipated. It’s a conglomeration of exhausted juniors and seniors, some sleeping on their folded arms with a cold coffee cooling beside them, alongside freshmen taking full advantage of the meal pass they will soon grow tired of, and couples stealing private moments before they have to make their return to the hustle and bustle of class. Most students are looking to eat, drink, and get out.
Elise is the outlier, as she is in so many other portions of her life. It’s like she holds court over the place as soon as she walks in, at least she does most of the time. Today, though, all eyes are on me. Unfortunately.
I’d tried to leave this morning in a hoodie and sweatpants, but Elise had acted as if I’d personally wounded her when she saw me, so I was at least dressed in a manner considered presentable to my sister. If she had her choice, I’d be in a suit jacket at all times, but she’d have to settle for a cardigan today.
“I think I’m going to go,” I murmur to her, as the stares become more and more pointed. Some smaller groups are giggling behind their hands, and others are making more obscene gestures where they think I can’t see them. I can, and it’s making me more uncomfortable by the minute.
“Nonsense,” Elise replies. Interlocking her arm with mine, she then drags me to one of the empty tables. “Let’s at least get you a bagel and an orange juice. You look like you’re about to expire on the spot. What are those dark circles all about, anyway?”
“I thought it was considered attractive to look like you’re on death's doorstep.”
She scowls up at me. “Yeah, when you’re notactuallyon death’s doorstep. Which I’m convinced you are. Sit down and I’ll get your snack.”
“Yes, mother,” I huff.
As soon as she leaves my side, I feel… off. Like all the strange looks are something physical I can’t shake off, and now that I’m alone, the target on my back seems to be even bigger than before. I can almost hear the tittering and muffled laughter at my expense, even if I have no idea why.
I focus my eyes on the clock above the entryway arch, counting the seconds to keep myself busy and unaware of what is going on around me. Sixty seconds, one hundred and twenty seconds, one hundred and eighty seconds…what in the hell is taking Elise so long?
I spot her still in the checkout line, the tray with our food balanced on her hip as she talks to another girl in hushed tones. The second girl is showing Elise something on her phone, and Elise’s face goes from pale to bright red with anger. It looks like she is thanking the girl, and then she is coming back to our table, dropping the tray down with more force than is necessary.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
She is already on her phone, furiously typing. “Eat your bagel first and then we’ll talk,” she says, not even bothering to look up at me.
I eat in silence, my stomach complaining the entire time, washing down the dry hunks of bread with juice, faster than is probably healthy. I just want to see whatever has her in such a frenzy.
Once I’m done, I push the tray away from us, Elise’s fruit bowl still sitting on it untouched. “Okay. Finished. Now tell me.”
Lips pursed and expression tight, Elise lays her phone horizontally on the table in front of us, plucking her AirPods out of her backpack and handing me one. The video she pulls up on YouTube isn’t very long, but within seconds, the rage I’m feeling is murderous.
The YouTuber is a guy about my age, talking to the audience like he has some big, ugly secret to spill. It turns out he does, only it isn’t his secret. It’s mine.
“My friend said his channel is all about exposing the rich and famous for their dalliances,” Elise whispers. “She said he actually goes to school here, which was why he was able to get all the footage and information from your, and I quote, ‘circle of friends.’”
“That can’t be true,” I say, all of my attention now on the video. The YouTuber is telling his audience about my birthday party, and the toast I had given in honor of Roxanne. Among all the negative feelings I have been having for her, that one was untainted until now.
Her beautiful face as she watched me toast her, the gentle warmth of the champagne I had drank earlier, and the thrill of complete happiness I was feeling for the first time in my life had made that night unforgettable.
Watching the event unfold on Elise’s phone screen, through shaky footage that someone must have taken without menoticing, it didn’t feel like that grand moment I remember. Instead, it seemed fake and over the top. I looked like a besotted teenager, and while in the moment I had eyes for nothing but Roxanne, watching the video made me see all the strained, uncomfortable looks on some of the guests’ faces. They must have thought I was trashed and obsessed with the first woman to give me any attention. They couldn’t see the love that had been burning between us. None of those people would ever understand.
Once the video of the toast ended, the YouTuber reappeared, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he revealed his big “gotcha” moment. Using pictures captured by the paparazzi of both Roxanne and I and Roxanne with other men, he narrated how Roxanne was an escort, and like a moron, I had fallen for her and was sparing no expense in pampering her. There was even a shot of Roxanne in my apartment window, her pale hair undone and floating around her face. It made my heart seize in my chest.
The video is already at 37,000 views and climbing. The stares pounding into me from all around changed from curious to damning, now that I knew what they were about. They saw me as a fool… a stupid rich kid who fell in love with a fucking escort. And I had been not only sleeping with her, but also dating her.
The YouTuber was still talking, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I push the phone away, sick to my stomach. “Turn it off, Elise.”
