Part 8.

Kelsey looked engaged and concerned as I spun my tales, which impressed me. Because even though me being a she had to shock her silly, she was still my friend. She's a good girl.

The rape mortified her, as it should, even though I remembered no details. She was less than surprised when I told her about Squee and his stash of GBH. They'd had an incident involving Squee and her Kappa Kappa Delta sister who passed out at an Omega party the year after I'd graduated.

"You remember Sophia, right?"

I squinted, straining my memory, beer washing down my Jack Daniels steak. "Think so. Long black hair, black eyes, Hollywood whites, pre-med? Super sweet Muslim chick from... I dunno, maybe Syria or Lebanon?"

She scoffed, patting my arm. "Yes, that's her, and she's Syrian, but she's some super-strict Christian thingy. That's why her folks moved here."

I bit my lip. "Oops. Sorry. Go on."

"Anyway, like I said, she's a super-strict Christian, so I've neeeeever seen her drink more than a beer, or maybe two at tops in the four years I've known her. So we're at an Omega party. Another sister Emma, who's on the senior floor boffing her boyfriend Carlton takes a wrong turn looking for the bathroom and opens Squee's door on accident. Sophia's passed out on his bed. Emma tries waking her but cannot, Sophia's dead to the world, so Emma hollers for help. Together, we drag her to Starbucks, and it takes, like, two hours to sober her up. And I'd known her since freshman year, and I know that girl never, ever got drunk like that. Now, I'm pretty sure nothing happened, that Emma saved her. But I'm almost positive Squee roofied her."

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Pensive and shocked, I jabbed a bit of steak with my fork before realizing I was full. "Huh... really? I'd never have guessed."

Kelsey sipped her wine, rubbing my arm, her blue eyes sparkling and warm. "Guys never do, the good ones, at least. You don't get it."

I shrugged, leaning back, pushing my plate away. "Maybe it's because we CAN get it... laid, I mean, while jackholes like Squee ain't got game?"

She smiled. "Something like. But the thing is, he's not even that bad looking, just a jerk."

As I pondered this, my iPhone began blowing up, my notification alarm 'dinging' as texts, emails Facebook, and Twitter notifications flooded in. By the time I'd pulled out my phone and entered the passcode, I had more than two hundred new messages.

"The fuck is this?," I asked no one in particular, opening one of my hundreds of texts at random.

God hates tranny fags. So die, tranny! Die, fag!

"Holy crap," I said, scrolling through the messages which continued flooding my accounts. Vile crap, incel assholes calling me a fag, or accusing me of lying to set PJ and Squee up to make some sort of asinine LGBTQ statement. Creepier fucks threatening to rape me with their improbably long penises before killing me. "Christians" condemning me to hell, etc.

As I read, my eyes narrowed, ever tighter, and I ground my teeth. My heart pounding I snarled. "Who the fuck are these assholes... and what the...? I'm the victim. The cops told me my identity would be..."

My phone 'buzzed' away, flooding my inbox with waves of toxic hate from cowards, complete strangers hiding behind emails with fake names and texts from accounts using fake Google Phone numbers.

Kelsey stood, swung around the table, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I handed her my phone, and she scrolled through the messages, her jaw sliding open with shock. "This is... awful."

I nodded. "Some pin-prick doxxed me." Pissed and wanting some heads on a spike, I fished out my wallet and dialed Detective Holzclaw's number.