Page 113 of True Abandon

“True.” He turns at the sound of someone calling him over.

He turns back to me, but I push him away. “Go. Mingle. Do your thing Mr. Duvane.”

Jax should be here soon so I take another lap around the party. And stop next to a cocktail table, watching the sun set. The rays are hitting the clouds to create hints of fuscia. The sun itself a brilliant orange basking in the pink.

“When will people learn what you put out there, never leaves?” I over hear a man say from the table beside me.

“It’s like they think no one is going to screen shot it and send it around the word.” The other person at the table says.

The orange of the sun is fading. As it’s the glorious rays, now turning a dark purple.

“I don’t understand these musicians. They think they can send a cock shot to any fan and they’re gonna bend over for them.” The man says.

The woman agrees. “Especially a minor. What was Senator Davis’ son thinking?”

I spin my head in their direction so fast I fear I may have whiplash. “What did you say?”

The man and woman turn to me. Their bodies lean away as their eyes wide n in confusion at this random girl who now has her hands on their table and is now waiting, feverishly, to see if she head them properly.

Their cell phones are in their hands as if they’re scrolling through some sort of new article.

The man answers first. “This musician sent a dick pic to a fourteen-year-old fan.”

I stomach drops. The taste of bile rises. Sending a photo of your privates to someone, unsolicited, is disgusting – much less to a fourteen-year-old girl. The feeling turns to dread as a morbid feeling cascades over me.

“You said Senator Davis?” the words come out in a confused stutter.

Another guy comes up behind me and motions his phone out to the man and woman. There’s an eagerness in this guy’s voice. “Another fan just came forward. She got the same photo. Said it came as a response to her fan mail.”

My hand rises to my head. I’m feeling clammy. I clench my stomach and try to calm the bubbling brewing beneath.

I look around at the faces of strangers. My hearts races. Sweat pours down my face. I’m having an odd sense of deja vu.

The man who I asked the question to finally answers. “Davis is a Senator from . . . Joe, where is he from?”

“Virginia,” I answer for him.

The guy seems satisfied with my answer. “His son is a musician. He had a hit song this year. That Die A Happy Man song. This moron sends a dick pic of himself to two fans and one is a minor. He just threw away his entire future.”

“Let me see it?” Someone else approaches the table. A woman. She looks over her friend’s shoulder at the photo on the screen. Her eyes and mouth widen. “Boy is packin’.”

She gives a high-five to another woman. Someone else adds, “I totally get why he’s sending pics of that thing around.”

“Anaconda,” a voice says.

“Dude, he fucking waxes,” another voice laughs.

“Is that a thing now?” A third chimes in.

A girl throws her hand up in the air. “Jax Davis. That’s his name. My blog has the story up and running. Apparently this guy’s a train wreck.”

They’re pointing, laughing ,staring at his body. My hearts races. Sweat pours down my face. I want to run, but my feet are numb. I’m tied to the table, yet there are no ropes. Invisible chains bind me. I try to move, but my body is paralyzed.

Jax is sending naked photos of himself to other women? There has to be some odd coincidence. There must be another Senator Davis. There has to be another song on the radio of the same title. There has to be a reason why I feel like I’m back in my dreams, stuck in my nightmares.

This time, I’m not the victim.

“There’s a third girl who says she got the photo!”