Sex and the Social Network

by Victoria Lexington

  “It wasn’t like that. Please,” I begged him.

  “I have to go to work now. Some of us actually care about how the normal world operates. Like I said, I want you out by the time I get home. Don’t make this difficult. I’ll tell the kids you went to your sister’s for a while.” And with that, he closed the door behind him.

  Despondent doesn’t even scratch the surface of how I was feeling. I lay in the guest room bed for an hour before I made myself get up. I dragged myself to the bathroom; the cold travertine tile on my feet sent shivers through my battered body.

  I hated Todd. I hated Steven for not letting me explain, but I hated myself more than anyone or anything in the whole world. My girls were my life, my everything. Steven would take them away from me; he’d meant what he said. Without my girls, I didn’t want to live.

  Suddenly, I felt better. There was a way out. The idea of losing my girls, my husband, my life, the thought of my friends and family finding out: it was just too much to bear. My life had already been so full of pain. I just wanted the hurt to be over.

  The medicine cabinet was full of narcotics. Steven had some leftover OxyContin from his car accident, and I had half a bottle of Percocet from when I had knee surgery.

  A bottle of Evian was on my nightstand, so I grabbed five Oxys and took a huge swig of water to wash them down. I wondered how long until I’d feel sleepy, how long before the painkillers could numb the pain in my heart.

  Twenty minutes passed and I barely felt anything, so I popped three Percocets. I went into my bedroom, grabbed a few photo albums off the bookshelf, and started looking at my beautiful girls. Katie was such a chubby baby and always smiling. Kerri had the biggest, bluest eyes and came into this world looking like she had been here before. I threw down the album, grabbed a frame off the shelf, and brought it back with me into the bathroom.

  Okay, ten more Oxys and a few swigs of vodka, and my body started to realize I meant business. I felt light headed; I knew my time was limited. I didn’t want to chicken out, so I quickly filled the hot tub. Rosemary bubble bath always helped me relax.

  My iPhone had over a thousand songs to choose from, but I knew which one would be playing for my final act. Thank you Mom, for introducing me to Broadway, to my favorite musical of all time, Les Misérables.

  I set my iPhone music to repeat “I Dreamed a Dream.” Tears started streaming down my face. Quickly, I grabbed a pen and paper. I had to tell my girls how much I loved them. I left the note on my bed and hurried back into the bathroom. I was getting so sleepy.

  I dreamed a dream in time gone by

  When hope was high and life worth living

  I dreamed that love would never die

  I dreamed that God would be forgiving

  I climbed into the tub with the bottle of vodka in one hand and the pills in the other.

  Then I was young and unafraid

  And dreams were made and used and wasted

  There was no ransom to be paid…

  My tears were coming so fast I didn’t even try to stop them. Flashbacks filled my foggy mind: my uncle raping me, Todd and Floyd laughing at me, abusing me, sucking the life out of me.

  But the tigers come at night

  With their voices soft as thunder

  As they turn your hope apart

  As they turn your dreams to shame

  I replayed the horror of seeing Steven watch the video of me on his computer and the absolute hatred and disgust on his face. No amount of pain was as great as hearing him tell me that I had to leave and that he would take my girls from me. My sweet, sweet angels. I picked up the frame and looked at their smiling faces. I kissed the frame. “I love you, Kerri. I love you, Katie. Please know Mama is always with you. I’ll be with you forever.”

  I had a dream my life would be

  So different from the hell I'm living

  So different now from what it seemed

  Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.

  I could barely keep my eyes open; sleep was calling my name. I knew it was almost time. I wanted it to be over already, so I took five more Oxys and a big swig of vodka. I prayed to God, if there was a God, to take care of my girls, to help them forgive me, to help them know that my love would always be with them. And then I closed my eyes for the very last time.

  LIZ

  I thought what Maria was going through was horrible until I got the kind of phone call no one ever wants to receive. It was after ten o’clock when my cell rang, kind of late for a school night. It was my friend Amy.

  “Liz, listen. I have some really sad news. Can you sit down?”

  “What’s wrong?” I felt a knot in my stomach.

  “There is no easy way to say this. Gabby committed suicide this morning.”

  The phone fell from my hands. Oh my God, no! Not Gabby. I grabbed the phone off the floor. “Oh my God, why? Where? How?”

  “Apparently, she took a bunch of pain killers and vodka and then got into her hot tub.”

  “Why? Why would she do that?” This couldn’t be happening.

  “I don’t know all the details, but I heard a rumor that she cheated on Steven with Todd Roberts and he found out.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. I knew all about Gabby’s affair with Todd; why hadn’t I done more to try and stop her? “Oh my God, that is so sad. Poor Gabby, why didn’t she talk to anyone? What about her little girls?”

  “I don’t know, Liz. Sorry, I don’t have any more information. But I thought you would want to know.”

  “Thank you for calling me, Amy. If you hear anything else, please call me.”

  I hung up the phone and just sat there. Gabby had killed herself. How could anything be so bad to have to make that choice? I sat on my couch and sobbed; it was so dumb, so tragic.

  The next day I got an email from Steven.

  Hi Liz,

  I know you were one of Gabby’s good friends, and I know she looked up to you. The funeral is tomorrow at St. Joseph’s Church at 10 a.m. If you could please tell her friends that you know, I’d appreciate it. Also she left this note. I’m not going to share it at the service, but I think she would want you to read it.

  Thanks,

  Steven

  My Dearest Loved Ones,

  I am so sorry I had to go. I made some horrible choices that I knew I’d have to live with, and I just couldn’t go on. Living without my girls would have been a fate worse than death. Steven, I don’t blame you for wanting to take the girls. This is just easier, no divorce attorneys and messy battles. They will hate me less being dead than being a whore who abandoned them.

  Please kiss them every day for me. Tell them how much I love them and how they were my everything.

  I love you all forever. I pray you will forgive me.

  All my love, now and always,

  Gabby

  Tears were streaming down my face. Poor Gabby, poor Steven. I couldn’t imagine the hell he must be in. My heart broke for their little girls. I had never met them, but their pictures were plastered all over Gabby’s cubicle. Her face lit up every time she mentioned them, and I knew she loved them more than anything. I couldn’t believe Gabby was really gone.

  How could I not have seen this coming? Why hadn’t I listened to Gabby’s cries for help? But much like when people are drowning, they can’t shout for help. They’re mostly submerged under the water, sometimes too weak to even wave their hands to get your attention. They bob up and down, gasping for air, frantic beneath the water. All the while looking safe on the surface—to anyone who might be looking—until they can’t fight it anymore, and they stop kicking and slip away. But someone has to know the signs, to know what that struggle looks like, to recognize it so they can try and rescue them.

  Maybe we were all drowning in our own way, frantic beneath the surface, gasping for air, hoping something or somebody will notice and rescue us.

  Maybe what my friend Rebecca said was true: “We all live in quiet desperation.”

 
The day of Gabby’s funeral, it was miserable out, cold and rainy. Very fitting for the mood of the day. The church was packed, and I was happy to see so many people had come to honor her life. I had been to a few funerals before, but this was the saddest I had ever attended. Gabby was so young and her death so senseless.

  Maria and Julia were there, and I was thankful they had come. They had only just met Gabby at my party, but they knew she and I were good friends. I wanted to scream at them and say, “Look! Look what can happen when you cheat. You need to stop right now!” I knew my words would fall on deaf ears. So instead, I squeezed their hands and hoped they would feel my love and concern for them.

  They sat on either side of me and consoled me through my tears. I was grateful for their support and silently prayed their stories would have happier endings than Gabby’s.

  The priest delivered a somber message. I wasn’t sure if he believed she went to Heaven or not. I know we’re not supposed to commit suicide, but what about God being the ultimate forgiver?

  On second thought, maybe there is no God. A good and loving God would have stopped the abuse that led Gabby down this road. Hell, it's not like the Catholic Church doesn't protect priests that play grab ass with little kids.

  It's all so backwards. They basically endorse pedophilia from their own. That attitude “told” Gabby that it was okay for her uncle to rape her. At least it would have been if he was wearing a collar. Goddamn hypocrites!

  Poor Gabby had endured so much in this life; I had to believe there was peace for her on the other side.

  The funeral was heartbreaking. Jesus fucking Christ, everyone around me was coming apart at the seams. One little loose thread and the world around me was unraveling. The room felt like it was spinning, and I just wanted it to stop. Maria and Enrique, Julia and Tyrone, and Gabby and Todd. Failing marriages, broken hearts, friends dead in the tub. How did we all get here? I felt like I was on a hellish merry-go-round. The web of lies and deceit had gone from steamy and sexy to deadly and dangerous. I wanted off . . . and I wanted off now.

  A week after the funeral, life seemed to be getting back to normal, but work just wasn’t the same without Gabby. I didn’t realize how much I loved her Philly accent or her potty mouth. It was weird going through an entire day of work and not hearing at least one “fuck.”

  Life went on; it always did. That was one of the craziest parts about death to me. Even on the most tragic day, the sun still rises and sets. But for those grieving, it’s like the world should stop, or at least pause for a little while. Because that’s what it feels like to them; their world, life as they knew it, would never be the same.

  My heart hurt so much for Gabby’s little girls; to be raised without a mama must be so devastating. I hoped they would never know the truth about how she died. I hoped their dad could protect them from that because that is not who Gabby was. It was part of her story, but it wasn’t the whole story. I was afraid the wonderful person she was would be erased by the way she left us, and that seemed so unfair.

  A few girls in my sorority had reputations for being promiscuous, and I’m ashamed to say that I’d looked down at them. What if the same thing had happened to them? I felt like an ass; just a few months prior, I was the first to cast stones.

  Gabby’s suicide and her saga made me realize that each of us has a story. Seeing life through my friends’ eyes gave me a whole new perspective. I promised myself that from then on, I would give people the benefit of the doubt, even for cheating. I wouldn’t judge people, not for leaving, not for staying and not even for doing it in the first place.

  Mostly, people have their reasons, and whether or not you are privy to them or agree with them is beside the point. Nothing is ever black and white.

  That night Braden was out of town, and I felt empty and lonely. I was trying to remember something Nick had written to me in one of his letters shortly after we broke up. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew I would know when I found it. I took out my old memory box and rifled through it. A pressed rose, his fraternity pin, a card he sent with roses and dozens of letters. Maybe it was in the Valentine’s Day card:

  Dear Liz,

  I couldn’t let this special day go by without sending my love. It’s been a month since I last saw or spoke to you. I hope it wasn’t the last time. I hope you enjoyed the CD of songs I sent you. I hope you felt me inside your heart when you listened to it. Liz, you are very special to me and I miss you so much. Every night, I pray that you will come back to me.

  I hope you still feel wonderful inside when you think about all the love and special times we shared. Not a night goes by when I don’t think about holding you in my arms, keeping you safe and warm and making you feel loved. The best memories of my life were the ones we made together. I want more than anything to feel that way again with the most amazing woman in the world; that’s you. I miss being able to talk to you and seeing your gorgeous smile.

  Take a moment and close your eyes. Picture the first time we made love, the last time we made love, holding hands, cuddling, talking, our friendship, our love. You still feel the passion, don’t you? As do I. I wonder if you’re feeling the same. I hope you can still feel “Wonderful Tonight” the way I feel it in my heart.

  But even if I’m not with you today and you are not with me, I hope someone sends you roses, takes you to an incredibly romantic dinner, and treats you with the most love, respect, and caring as I wish with all my heart that it could be me.

  I will always love you. Call me if you’re thinking of me.

  Love,

  Nick

  I got teary eyed, but that wasn’t it. Some other letter held the key to my mystery. I was about to read more letters when I heard Alexa crying on the monitor. It would have to wait.

  JULIA

  The weekend finally came, and I was bursting. I couldn’t wait to see Tyrone and spend the night with him. I wore a hot pink spaghetti strap sundress and a simple strand of silver beads.

  I made the one thing I knew I couldn’t mess up: steaks on the grill with lump crab meat sautéed in butter on top, a garden salad, and a bottle of Chianti.

  Sharing a meal with Ty in my house, in my kitchen, felt surreal. He looked so comfortable sitting there, enjoying every bite he put in his mouth. He complimented me on how delicious everything tasted. He made me feel like my efforts were appreciated. I loved being with this man.

  After dinner, Ty offered to make us a drink while I started cleaning up. I was standing in front of the sink doing the dishes when he quietly came up behind me and kissed my neck and pressed his stiff cock against my ass. I pushed back into Ty a little to let him know I was horny too, rotated my ass in circles, and I could feel him getting harder and harder. He kissed my neck a little more and nibbled on my ear before I turned around to greet his lips, so hungry for mine.

  We parted for a moment so I could tell him how I felt. “Mmm… I love your lips on mine, Ty. You make me so wet.”

  We kissed passionately for a minute, but I could see the lust in his eyes, and I knew what he needed. I dropped to my knees, pulled his pants down, and took his muscle into my mouth.

  “Mmm… Julia, you feel so amazing. I love feeling your pouty lips on my swollen head.”

  Slowly at first, I gave him soft, wet kisses on the tip. I made him wait for a few minutes until I took all of him in my mouth. I licked the head in circles, then sucked on it like the most delicious lollipop I've ever tasted. A little pre-cum escaped and I licked my lips, it tasted so good.

  He moaned so nice. “Mmm… I love when your mouth is on my big, black python. You are amazing at giving head. C'mon, sugar lips, take more."

  So of course I did. Giving Ty that kind of pleasure turned me on. Hearing his words and moans made me so wet, I started to drip onto my panties. I continued to suck him, slow and then faster. I could feel what his body wanted, how he moved in and out and tugged my hair a little. His moans got louder and more intense. I knew he was about to explode into
my mouth. I was aching with anticipation. I cupped his balls and moved my soft hands up and down his shaft as he was coming, milking every last drop of his delicious love juice.

  I licked my lips. “Thank you, baby, for letting me taste you whenever I want.”

  I could tell by the smile on his face that Ty was pleased with my skills. Without a word he took my hand to help me off the floor, and then with his strong arms he lifted me up on the kitchen island.

  He hoisted up my dress and could see where my cream had soaked my panties. He rubbed my milky thighs for a few seconds before his fingers roamed where I was aching for him.

  First he played with me on the outside of my panties; then carefully he slid them aside and slipped a finger inside me.

  “Oh, Ty, you feel so good,” I moaned.

  Ty knew how to read my body, sensed just what I needed, and made his way straight to my G-Spot. He stroked the inside with one hand and played with my clit with the other.

  My body was no longer my own; I rocked to the rhythm of his touch. He grabbed his glass of bourbon and took out an ice cube. He put the ice in his mouth and slowly started to suck on my nipples. First one and then the other, my nipples got so hard, and it sent shivers coursing through my body.

  “Oh, Ty,” I moaned. “I love how you make me feel.”

  His mouth continued down the rest of me, kissing and teasing my body with the ice. It was so cold, but so tantalizing. He gently pushed me down so I was lying on the island with my booty on the edge and my legs dangling to the side.

  Then he took more ice and started to suck on my clit. He moved the ice away and just his tongue flicked in and out. The contrast of cold and his hot tongue had me pulsating. He swallowed the ice and then just his tongue worked its magic.