Izzy never turns down an excuse to drink, let alone in public, where she can be seen and fawned over by her fans.
“You sure?” I frown at my sister, perplexed.
She nods. “Seriously, go drown your sorrows, sissy. You totally earned it.”
Nana and I opt to sit at the far corner of the bar. She is still wearing her wedding gown and the brightest, stupidest grin, and I’m tucked into a gray, loose-fitting garb I sometimes use as my period pajamas. No bra.
Like Izzy said, I deserve it after everything I’ve been through.
I knock down drink after drink in between chewing my swizzle stick. It's already approaching 10 o’clock, and I know Ty's fight should be starting right about now.
I don't want to think about it.
I can't stop thinking about it.
“This is so jacked up.” I finally rest my head on the bar. The room spins around me and I feel nauseous.
“He's been pimping himself for...what? Four years now? Ever since he started doing this professionally. That could be a thousand women. How irresponsible can he be?”
“It's deplorable,” Nana Marty agrees, wrinkling her nose, "but he didn't know you back then, and by the time he met you, he’d already changed his ways."
I scan her face in horror.
Maybe it's because I've punished myself and searched for pictures of him on the Internet again, this time with women. I can't see a picture of him with a woman without wondering…has she paid to sleep with him? Has she writhed underneath him like I did? How many times? What positions? When and where? How much money? Who did Ty get to fight afterwards?
Ugh.
“Let’s play the devil’s advocate here, shall we?” Nana raps the bar loudly to snap me back to reality. Billows of cigarette smoke travel between us, and I cough in annoyance. I may have smoked the occasional blunt, but I absolutely hate cigarettes. How it’s possible to smoke inside hotels here is beyond me, but I’m starting to realize that in Vegas, you could puff directly into a baby’s face if you’re willing to put some cash next to a blackjack dealer.
“He wanted to build his career. I agree that he was very young and unbelievably foolish to do what he's done. It's appalling, really, but is it your place to forgive him? He hasn't done anything to you, sweetheart. He just has baggage that is incredibly difficult to stomach."
Is Nana high?
“He. Was. A. Male. Prostitute,” I pronounce slowly, hoping it’ll drill into her brain. "And he messed up my best friend's car. And he kept this information from me, even though he knew it was one hell of a deal-breaker."
She watches me swirling the ice in my empty glass and hands me her drink. I guzzle it.
“I know how you feel, honey.”
No you don't, I think. You have no idea.
"I'm just saying you may feel differently in a few months. You can close the door on your relationship with Tyler for now. Just don't lock it."
I rest my forehead on the bar counter and close my eyes. This is a nightmare. Ty loves sex. Even if I do change my mind about him (which I won't), there's no way he'll wait for me. Hell, he's probably already planning to either lick his wounds or celebrate his win with another, brand new girl tonight.
I should totally lock the door behind my relationship with Ty. I already slammed it hard enough for everyone around me to hear.
***
I crawl back to my room and push the door open. The first thing I notice is that Izzy isn’t here. Our huge bed is empty, sheets and bedtime mints still neatly in place. We’ve been moved to a different suite since yesterday, seeing as our previous room had its door kicked in by a violent, man-whore maniac. For a moment, I wonder whether I’ve actually entered the right room. But I did.
And it’s still empty.
I stagger to the dresser and pick up a box with a card addressed Barbie. The box is white, sophisticated and inviting. I don’t need to guess who it’s from. I open the small box and find a fancy new cell phone inside. I turn on the phone and watch as the screen lights up. One new text message, the cell alerts. Checking it, I see Ty has already saved his contact number under the name “My Remorseful Boyfriend.” His text says Don't do this to us.
It was sent way past midnight, a few hours after he was done fighting, and it clearly suggests there was no after-party on his agenda.
Not that I care. We're done.
I stay up most of the night, re-reading Ty’s message over and over again. This is bad. I should not be left alone, with my feelings so confusing right now. Where the hell is Izzy? I mull over Ty's conversation with Ray.