Page 97 of Relapse
“What?”
Georgia turns her head clumsily, smiling with drunk, ruined confidence.
“I fucked him.”
The bathroom noise seems to dip around us.
The crying girl near the mirror goes quiet.
The girl fixing her eyeliner pauses with the pencil hovering near her eyelid.
Even I freeze with my hands under the sink.
The dark-haired girl’s expression changes so fast it makes my stomach tighten.
Soft concern disappears.
Gone.
Like somebody turned off a light inside her.
“Who?” she asks.
Georgia giggles.
Wrong choice.
The kind of wrong choice you can practically hear destiny cracking its knuckles over.
“Tanner. Obviously. It was only supposed to be a one time thing,”
The dark-haired girl’s fingers tighten slowly in Georgia’s hair.
Georgia winces, but she’s too drunk to understand danger properly.
“He said you were getting clingy,” she slurs, laughing again like this is gossip. Like this is funny. “Said I was easier, and that my Georgia peach was just so juicy and sweet, he couldn't get enough”
Oh.
Oh no.
The dark-haired girl stares at her for one terrible second.
Then she moves.
Fast.
Her hand fists hard in Georgia’s hair and shoves her face straight back toward the toilet.
Georgia makes a startled, muffled sound, both hands slapping weakly against the seat.
Everybody starts yelling immediately.
“Hey!”
“What the fuck?”
“Stop!”
