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I’m on the bus. So horny for you. I can smell you on me. I feel like a slut! Kxx
Sent from my iPhone _______________________________________
Subject: Re: re: re: little miss fuck From: BADBOY22
To: Katerama_1
U r a slut! Lol. C u later? After rehearsal? _______________________________________
Subject: Re: re: re: re: re: little miss fuck From: BADBOY22
To: Katerama_1
Ok. Will see what time I can get away. I’ll text u. _______________________________________
Subject: Re: re: re: re: little miss fuck From: Katerama_1
To: BADBOY22
Ok. 830? 9? xx
Sent from my iPhone _______________________________________
I pulled the laptop from the table. I sat with it on my lap, staring at it. I don’t know how long I sat like that. Ten minutes? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? Maybe longer. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
I tried to process what I had just seen, but I was still so stoned, I wasn’t sure what I had seen. Was it real? Or some kind of misunderstanding—some joke I wasn’t getting because I was so high?
I forced myself to read another email.
And another.
I ended up going through all of Kathy’s emails to BADBOY22. Some were sexual, obscene even.
Others were longer, more confessional, emotional, and she sounded drunk—perhaps they were written late at night, after I had gone to bed. I pictured myself in the bedroom, asleep, while Kathy was out here, writing intimate messages to this stranger. This stranger she was fucking.
Time caught up with itself with a jolt. Suddenly I was no longer stoned. I was horribly, painfully sober.
There was a wrenching pain in my stomach. I threw aside the laptop. I ran into the bathroom. I fell to my knees in front of the toilet and threw up.