When My Boyfriend Let His Best Friend Torture Me

I found a stool behind the bar, near the kitchen door. Nobody looked at me there.

A busboy slid me a wet rag without a word. I pressed it to the bottom of my feet. The cold made me suck air through my teeth. The skin was red and shiny. A white blister had already swelled under my big toe.

Inside, the music was back. Nico's laugh rose over everything.

I checked my phone. 01:47:12.

Slow. But it was moving.

Then footsteps. I knew them. I had listened for them in hallways for three years.

Drake stopped in front of me. He didn't look at my feet. He looked at my face, and he didn't like what he saw.

"What are you doing back here?"

"My feet are burned, Drake."

"They're fine. You walked off on your own." He crossed his arms. "You're sitting here looking miserable on purpose. Everyone can see you."

I pressed the rag harder. Water ran down my ankle. "On purpose?"

"Yes. Making a face like we tortured you. It makes me look bad. It makes Nyra look bad."

"Nyra picked my name. She didn't even look in the bowl."

He rolled his eyes. "She's just having fun. God, Lil. Not everything is about you."

He crouched down so we were eye level. For one second, I thought he might take the rag. Hold my foot. Say sorry.

He didn't.

"Listen," he said low. "Nico asked what my dad does. Actually asked. Guys like us don't get a seat at that table. Ever. This is once in a lifetime."

"Guys like us," I repeated.

"Don't do that." His jaw ticked. "Don't make me the bad guy. I'm always thinking about you. Who bought you that designer compact for your birthday? Do you know what that cost me?" He shook his head. "But you never appreciate anything."

My hand slid into my dress pocket. My fingers closed around the little case. It was light. Too light. The gold paint on the logo was already flaking at the corners.

I knew what it cost him. I had checked. I knew what was inside it, too.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

He didn't hear the edge in it. He stood and smoothed his shirt. "Good. Come back in. And smile."

---

I went back in. I didn't smile.

The rounds went on. A spa girl ate a whole lemon. A bellman kissed a potted plant. Every time Nyra reached into the bowl, I watched her fingers. Every time, I checked my phone.

01:20. 01:04.

Then two waiters carried in three steel buckets and set them in the middle of the floor. Ice clinked against the metal. The smell hit me a second later. Sour milk. Fish heads. Fryer grease. Someone had scraped the kitchen trays into them.

Chloe gagged and laughed at the same time. "Oh my God, what *is* that?"

"Final dare of the night!" Nyra sang. "Three buckets. Right over the head!"

Nico clapped slowly. "Okay. I take it back. This party doesn't suck."

Nyra reached into the name bowl. I didn't need to watch her hand this time.

"Lilian!" She pressed her palm to her chest. "No way. Again? That's so crazy."

Nobody thought it was crazy. They were already turning to me, grinning.

Nyra pulled out her phone. Her thumb tapped fast. She held it low and tilted it up at me, the angle that gives anyone three chins. Her own face sat in the corner of the screen, soft and pink and pretty.

"Hi, guys! We're live from the cutest party ever," she breathed. "So this is Drake's girlfriend. Oh my God, you guys, she actually volunteered — she is such a good sport!"

I hadn't said a word.

Hearts floated up her screen. Then comments. I could read them from where I stood. *ew is that a maid lol. she looks so desperate. drake can do better.*

I looked at Drake.

Just once more. I didn't speak. I didn't need to. Three years. The shifts I covered for him. The rent I paid when he was short. The way he used to hold my hand on the cliff path. He knew what I was asking.

He looked at the floor.

"Babe," he muttered. "Just get it over with. Everyone's watching. Don't embarrass me."

Something in my chest went very still. Not broken. Just quiet. Like a door closing in an empty house.

I checked my phone. 00:58:40.

Less than an hour.

I set it face down on the bar. I walked to the first bucket. The handle was freezing and slick. It was heavier than I thought.

I didn't wait for them to count.

The cold hit like a slap. Ice cracked against my scalp. Something soft slid down my neck and into my dress. Rotten lettuce. Grease. The smell crawled up my nose and into my throat.

The room screamed with laughter.

I picked up the second bucket. My arms shook. I poured it. A fish bone caught in my hair. Dirty water stung my eyes.

The third bucket. I lifted it high and tipped it slowly. I let every drop fall.

Then I set it down. Gently. The way I set down a guest's things when I cleaned their room.

I stood there, dripping. My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached. A gray puddle spread around my burned feet.

Nico was bent over, slapping the couch. Chloe had her phone up too. Someone started chanting. "Maid! Maid! Maid!"

The number at the top of Nyra's screen kept jumping. 8,000. 9,500. 10,200.

She stepped closer and zoomed in until my face filled her whole screen.

"Aww, sweetie," she cooed. "You're so brave."

Outside, the wind howled off the water. The fire pit flared once, then bent low to the ground.

Like it was bowing.