“Babe,” she says slowly. “No. Listen to yourself. You were with him for six months. I know it was shit at the end and you guys barely even hung out anymore, but those months before were good, right? You know him better than anyone, and I know you better than anyone. If you thought for even a second that he would be capable of doing something like that, you would have broken up with him straight away.”
I scoff and drop the phone onto my bed, pressing the speaker button and burrowing my face into my hands as the devastation overwhelms me. “I don’t think I knew him at all,” I tell her. “I didn’t know he was doing drugs. How long has he been doing that?”
Erica sighs and I prepare myself for bad news. “Girl, he was doing the hard shit all summer,” she finally tells me, regret heavy in her tone. “It started when you began distancing yourself from him, well at least, that’s when I first noticed. Whenever there was a party that you skipped out on, he’d hit it hard and get completely fucked up.”
“What?” I breathe. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”
“Why would I? Everyone was doing it. He was just letting off steam like the rest of us and enjoying the summer. We were all dabbling, but why are you getting so worked up over this? It’s not like you’re an angel or anything like that. You tried it.”
“I smoked one joint, Erica. That is not the same thing as getting fucked up every weekend at stupid house parties, so don’t try and tell me any different.”
“Jesus, Bri. What’s gotten into you? Are our shitty house parties too good for you now? Do you only party in mansions with your fancy caterers and bar staff fetching you drinks?”
“What the fuck are you talking about? All I want to know is if you think Colby was the guy who did it. Why are you being so defensive and avoiding my questions? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
She groans and I roll my eyes, knowing that she’s about to play the victim card like always. “Are you kidding, Brielle?” she spits, using my full name, which she only does when she’s pissed. “A girl was attacked and raped, and you think I’m over here keeping secrets? Are you trying to accuse me of something? Holy fuck, girl. That place really is changing you. I don’t even recognize you right now.”
And with that, she ends the call, leaving me with even more questions than answers.
Frustration burns through me, and before I know it, I’m off my bed and pacing my room, but it’s not enough. I need to move, need to get out of this room, need to think.
Following the sound of Mom’s voice coming from the oversized living room, I walk in to find her seated on the ground in front of the coffee table with papers sprawled out before her while Orlando and Jensen slouch on the couches watching the game, ignoring whatever my mother is rambling about.
Mom mentions something about having dinner while overlooking the Eiffel Tower and my chest sinks, moving in closer to spy the papers around her. There are brochures in French for hotels and tours, and I shake my head. I should have seen this coming.
“What’s going on?” I question, narrowing my gaze.
“Oh, honey,” Mom rushes out, whipping around and giving me a dazzling smile as though the tension between us doesn’t exist. “Isn’t it fabulous news? Orlando is taking me to Paris next weekend. I’m finally going to get to visit the city of love and have dinner overlooking the Eiffel Tower, visit the Louvre, and walk along the Champs-Élysées only to finish beneath the Arc de Triomphe. It will be a weekend filled with romance, just as I’ve always dreamed.”
“Paris?” I ask, hurt blooming through my chest. She’s always wanted to go, but she’s always said that she wouldn’t dream of going without me. We had a pact. When that time came, after saving every last penny, we would go together. We always talked of it being that one special thing we would do together after I graduated. “I thought … I thought we were going to go together.”
Her face pales, her eyes widening in horror. “Oh,” she says, her gaze shifting toward Orlando’s before settling back on mine. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to exclude you. That certainly wasn’t my intention. Would you like to come? I’m sure we can arrange another room, or perhaps a suite.” She glances at Jensen, her face beaming. “Perhaps it can be a family trip. Jensen? Would you care for a trip to Paris? The four of us away as a family for the first time. It would be a dream.”