Life Of A Bitch

25

I look at the dreary greenish-grey salad on my plate. Ugh, not again. Today's the third day of having this bland salad as dinner, and that too in a row.

I glare at Mom. She shoots me a look which says 'Honey, just because you had a bad day doesn't mean you have the right to be mean to the boss of the house'.

I quickly look down at my lap. I lost an expensive phone, which means I'll have to act like I'm the best daughter in the world for at least a week- talking freely with her, helping her with the laundry, not letting Dad do the dishes because she gets angry when I misbehave with Dad- until she finds out.

Alz pokes me softly on the elbow. I turn to her, only to see her scrolling on her phone at the table. I kick her in the shin and whisper, "Mom will take away your phone if you don't stop using it."

"I know that." She whispers, frowning. "But I saw something very strange on-"

"Keep it away." I whisper fiercely.

"But-"

"What's going on?" Mom asks and notices Alz slipping her phone quickly into her pocket. "Alz, why're you using your phone at the table?"

She smiles meekly. "I was- uh, just checking if I had received- uh, any notifications from the school website, if there's any holiday tomorrow."

Dad starts laughing. Mom just shakes her head.

"She sucks at lying." Dad says to her. "Tomorrow is Sunday, Alz."

Alz's cheeks turn a bright scarlet and she quickly looks down at her plate, stabbing a poor piece of cucumber with her fork. We chat for a while, about school, Alz's tutor who would be taking her first class tomorrow and about our neighbours, the Tunnels. I like it when everyone at the table has a smiling face. It makes me feel happy, God knows why.

*

I brush my teeth and splash water on my face for a while. Today was the worst day of this year, but I'll try to make the most out of it.

I look at my water-splattered face in the round mirror on the wall. I try to understand what Brandon likes in Callaghan. Not that I like him anymore; I'm just curious.

She has deep brown eyes, and deep brown hair. That's the most I can remember. I try to picture myself with brown hair, tied in a messy bun like hers. And large, horn-rimmed nerdy glasses.

I end up looking like Callaghan. Huffing, I wipe my face and walk out of the bathroom.

I almost jump out of my skin when I see Alz sitting on the bed.

"You frickin' scared me!" I yell.

"That's good." She says and looks back at her phone. "Did you change your profile picture on Instagram?"

I frown at her. "No."

"Did you change your bio?"

Wrinkling my brows further, I shake my head and sit beside her on the bed. Then a wild panic seizes me.

Did whoever stole my phone open my Instagram account?

I snatch the phone from her. And I gasp.

Instead of my cute, smiling face in the profile, an image of the butt of a pig has been set.

"Check the bio." Alz hesitantly says.

I check it and nearly faint.

Hey all, sexy people. You've reached the page of a slut, who'll do whatever you want for free. No payment required.

Call 213-595-6995 for instant response.

"What the fuck is this?!" I exclaim, my heart-rate increasing.

"Still not done." She says and points to the phone number. "Recognize this?"

I stare at the number and then, my insides freeze.

"Right." She whispers uneasily. "That's.. Uh, Mom's number."

Oh my God.

"And... in your posts," Alz continues. "There's a very unflattering photo of yours."

I scroll down to see what it is.

In the photo, I'm in my underwear, my hair all around me and I'm lying on my bed, in a somewhat provoking position, with my hands on my chest and my eyes closed.

I want to puke. I really want to puke.

"Get Mom's phone now." I tell Alz, my voice shaky.

She nods and runs out of the room. I open my laptop with trembling hands, click on the Instagram icon and proceed to edit my bio.

Alz returns within seconds, out of breath. "Here it is." She pants.

"Switch it off."

She begins to do so, when Mom gets a call. From an unknown number.

"Reject it." I whisper to her. She does. Suddenly, messages start flooding into this phone. All from strange numbers.

"Oh no," I say, my breath hitching. "Oh no!"

She switches off the phone and sits on it, like that would help. I turn to my laptop, where indecent comments about my newest post start popping in.

"Delete this account!" Alz shouts. "Now!"

I nod and go to the app's website. Unfortunately, the password which I entered showed wrong.

"Whoever accessed the account, changed its password. Now what?" Alz asks.

I click on the 'forgot password' option and enter my email. The screen instructs to check my email for a link.

I open Google, type in Gmail and proceed to enter my gmail and password.

The password that you entered is incorrect.

My knuckles turn white.

"Try entering your phone number in the forgot password option." Alz urges me.

"The link will be sent to the messages on my phone!" I snap. "Which I don't have!"

I feel tears stinging my eyes.

I'm stuck.

Between a mountain and a cliff.