Trina’s perfectly applied mask dissolved. Fake lashes peeled at the corners. Streaks of black ran down her cheeks. She looked ragged. Desperate. And because her lifelong instinct was to deflect, to find a scapegoat, her wild eyes landed back on me. Still standing there. Still soaked in wine. Still silent.
“YOU!” she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger. “You did this! This was your plan all along! You’re obsessed with me! Always been jealous! You planted her here! This is your pathetic revenge, isn’t it?!”
Every head in the room swiveled towards me. Caught in the spotlight again. But this time, something was different. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t ashamed. I just felt… tired. And strangely, pityingly, clear.
Before I could even formulate a response (not that I planned to), Monica spoke again, her voice laced with dawning realization and disgust. She looked confused, shaking her head slightly. “You mentioned her name once,” she said to Trina, then looked at me. “Just once. Called her… ‘Maggot Girl’… from high school?” The room winced collectively at the name. “Said she was some creepy stalker, obsessed with you online, trying to be you.”
There it was. The final, pathetic twist. She hadn’t forgotten me. She’d been thinking about me. Weaving me into her web of lies. Painting herself as the victim of my supposed obsession. Ten years, and she was still fighting high school battles in her head. While I hadn’t thought about her in years, hadn’t even followed her curated life online. She remembered every slight, real or imagined. And now, cornered, her instinct was to drag me down with her.
That’s when the police arrived. Two uniformed officers, calm, professional. They spoke quietly with Alan first. He handed them the folder of documents. People watched, whispered, kept their distance. Trina tried
