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September 19, 2018

Samantha's Chronicles: Sex scandal leaked

Thankfully, the doctor is less chatty than the nurse and sews me up quickly.

“Any dizziness? Nausea? Confusion?” he asks.

I shake my head. I don’t think a have a concussion.

“If you experience headaches or ringing in the ears, come back tomorrow,” he says.

We leave the hospital and ride home in silence after I give the player directions. I’m anxious to get into bed and rest. What a night! We drive up to my gate and he keeps the engine running.

“I’m sorry about all this,” I say. “You’ve really gone out of your way to help. I’m very grateful.”

He looks me over and shrugs. “Your man seemed… Indisposed.”

Is he really not going to ask what the prude and I were doing in the parking lot? Should I say anything? The elephant is in the backseat and here we are, ignoring it. I open the car door and climb out.

“I’ll refund you for the hospital bill,” I say.

“No need. Take my number in case you need anything,” he says. “Head injuries are unpredictable.”

“My battery is dead, take mine instead,” I say and give him my number. He waits until I’m safely inside before he drives off.

I enter my house and crawl into bed. I will deal with the mess that was this evening tomorrow.

I have no idea just how bad the “mess” is going to be. I wake up the next morning, and my first thought is that it was all a dream. That doesn’t last for long. I turn on my now-recharged phone and nothing can prepare me for what follows. 

50 missed calls and 100 messages! I open the first one; it’s from my friend, Anna: “You are trending on social media, there’s a video.”

My heart stops. Shaking, I open the second text message; it’s from Mr N: “What the hell have you done?”

On and on, the messages read like a horror movie and nothing can make me go online to see the video. There’s even one from my mother: “You have shamed us.”

One from my boss: “This is unacceptable.”

Five from Frank: “How could you?” “You whore!” “I hate you!” “Die, bitch!” “I loved you!!!”

I stumble to the cabinet, where half a bottle of vodka sits. I mix it with some bitter lemon. My head has started to throb. I’m not sure if it’s a concussion or my hangover. A video? What?! I down the drink and pour another one. I can’t hide forever. I need to know what’s going on. The booze kicks in and I finally feel calm enough to call Anne.

“What happened?” she asks after one ring.

“What video?” I counter.

“You are in a car getting it on with some guy,” she says. “Can’t make out his face very well but yours is distinct.”

“Break it to me gently, why don’t you?” I say sarcastically. I down the second drink and pour another. Those askaris didn’t wait one day before uploading a video? Bastards. I suspected they had recorded us. Crap! Crap! Crap!!!

“You look good, though. Pilates is really working for you,” she adds.

“Really, Anne?” I ask, nearly hysterical. “That’s what you’re going to say to make me feel better?!”

“Sorry. Jeez, just saying…” she says. A pause. “What are you going to do?”

“Drink,” I reply and hang up.

The ringing in my ears is there. I hear it. And I don’t care. I actually wish it were a concussion. I wish it were something serious enough to give me amnesia for life. My life is over! All over social media? Being screwed in a car? I down another drink. 

 

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