18 Molly

Mercy: SOS. I repeat. SOS.

Molly: Omigod, what's wrong???

Mercy: Well, if you hadn't bailed on the game, I could have told you in person…

Molly: Sorry. I just wasn't feeling it.

Mercy: Yeah? Well, why you weren't feeling it, the most embarrassing thing ever happened to me!

Molly: At the game? Is it over? How did they do? Did we win?

Mercy: Huh? Oh, yeah, we won. The guys kicked Jefferson's butts. Yay. Go Falcons, blah blah blah… Back to my slow death of humiliation please!

Molly: Okaaay….

Mercy: So, before the game, Rourke and I were doing the old horizontal dance and guess what the fuck happened!

Molly: Honestly, I'm kind of scared to think about anything that you and Rourke do behind closed doors…

Mercy: The condom BROKE!

Mercy: But that's not the worst part!

Mercy: It broke off inside of me.

Mercy: INSIDE

Mercy: OF

Mercy: MY

Mercy: VAGINA!!!!

Molly: Oh my freaking god! What did you do?

Mercy: That's where it gets really embarrassing.

Molly: I'm intrigued…

Mercy: ROURKE HAD TO PERFORM MINOR SURGERY ON ME!!!!

Mercy: FML….

Molly: WTF????

Mercy: He had to put his fingers inside of my vagina, fish around, and then PULL it out.

Molly: Ahhhhhh. Lol lol lol…

Mercy: Bitch, don't laugh at my misfortune. I'm dying over here.

Molly: I'm sorry, but lol lol!!! Where you at now?

Mercy: In the car with Rourke. On the way to homecoming.

Molly: Tell Rourke to wash his hands…

Mercy: Just did. He told me to tell you to get your dress on. Daryl's on his way to pick you up... *Maybe you guys can do the horizontal dance tonight, too – minus the condom fishing*

Molly: I'm not going, and, no offence, but I don’t wanna do any type of dance that involves my dancing partner fishing props out of my vagina afterwards.

Rourke: Like fuck you're not. My boy is on his way for you. Get your ass ready, Peterson. NOW!

Molly: You shouldn't text and drive, Rourke!!!

Rourke: We're here. I'm parked up. Don't change the subject and don't make me come get you. Trust me, I'll drag your ass kicking and screaming – and I won't wash my hands before I do it…

"So gross, Rourke." Shuddering, I tossed my phone down on the bed and did the universal heebie-jeebies jig. "Ugh."

Less than a minute later, my phone began to ring.

"Hello?" I answered cautiously.

"Well," Rourke's familiar voice came down the line. "Are you done being a princess or do I need to come and drag your ass over here?"

"Rourke." I sighed heavily down the line. "I'm not going."

"Because?"

"Because I'm not."

"Because," he repeated sharply.

"You know why. If I go to that dance with Daryl, I might as well hang a bullseye target on my forehead. You know what those girls are like. Well, I'm not about looking for trouble –

"Don't give me any of that woe is me shit, Peterson," he cut me off by saying. "I remember the girl with balls of steel that you used to be before that damn fire snuffed the feistiness of out of you. That girl wasn't afraid of Brittany fucking Beckett and her clone of brats. Hell, that girl wasn't afraid of any damn thing, much less a few scars, and I sure as shit ain't afraid to call that girl out when she's being a bitch-ass coward."