Somehow, I make it back to my room and move to my closet. Monster. I can almost hear them panting. My mind won’t stop replaying it, and I doubt it ever will. It’s hard to believe I once thought being humiliated and tortured by my ex was the end of the world when he laughed and bragged about fucking my mom. That seems so juvenile now.

“Darren just hurt you. Jett, just fucking destroyed you.” God, I’m losing it. I’m full-on talking to myself. “Whatever.” Pulling out my suitcase, I rip clothes off hangers and toss them into my bag. I must be crying. Can barely breathe or see as I move to my drawers and continue throwing clothes into my bag. Then I grab my handbag and start throwing my makeup in, but my hand freezes.

“Fucking bitch,” I scream as I spot the American Express Black Card my mother gave me earlier, just sitting on top of my powder case.

I almost start laughing, but it’s too sick, really. She planned all this. She wins. I’m taking her bribe card. She can pay to have me out of her life until I get on my feet. After that, I’ll never see her again.

I bring out my phone and call Cher, trying not to hyperventilate while grabbing my various moisturizers and tossing those into the bag too.

“Hey, babe. I’m dying to hear what happened.” Cher’s voice is taken over by loud music.

“Fucking get to a spot where you can hear me,” I scream, barely hanging on and not about to compete with a club.

“Oh shit. Hold on. Don’t go anywhere. I’m almost out,” Cher says as the music fades. “Oh God, what happened? Did you tell him what I told you to?” Her voice is coming in clear now.

“No. He broke it off with me, and I just walked in on him having a threesome with my mom and some blond bitch.” My voice doesn’t even sound like mine, and I wonder if I’ve snapped and am dreaming all this.

“Oh, Raven, oh no.” Cher’s voice cracks.

Nope, not dreaming, and this shit hurts, almost burns so much that I want to clutch my chest and curl into a ball. That can come later, though. First, I need to get the fuck out of here.

“I just… how could h—”

“Stop, Cher. I need to leave. Are you fucking listening? I need to get away, now.” I take a breath and bring the phone down to look at the screen. What am I doing? Cher is in Italy. She can’t help.

“I have to go. I’ll call you later,” I snap.

“Raven, wait, don’t hang—” I press end and turn, looking at my door, and then I call the only other friend I have.