Game of lies

Samantha My phone rings a few feet away, on my bed, and I freeze. There's only one contact I've assigned the creepy ringtone to, and it immediately gives me the appropriate reaction the person behind the number deserves: a pounding heart, shortness of breath, and a lot of gut-wrenching nausea. The phone is buried under several financial management textbooks, and I reach for it with a shaky hand. But before I can read the message, there's a knock at the door. "Ready or not, here I come." I grab the phone and stuff it into the side pocket of my leggings just as the door bursts open, and my best friend, Selena, saunters in, her fluffy pink robe flowing behind her, her hair pulled back in a towel. Even in that outfit, she's stunning. She stops in her tracks when her gaze lands on me, wide-eyed. "Samantha Osborn, what the hell do you think you're doing?" I take a deep breath to steady myself and shrug, not trusting my voice. Selena leans her head toward the open door and calls out, "Jake." Great, now I really need to make sure my poker face is on point. It's hard to fool just one best friend, but both of them together? It'll take a minor miracle. Jake, our third roommate, joins us. He looks at me sideways and raises his eyebrows. "Did anyone die?" As soon as I turned eighteen, I bought a house and asked my two best friends if they wanted to move in with me for college. It's nothing like the million-dollar mansions we grew up in, but it's big enough to accommodate a large family. Thankfully, my parents have given me a sizable allowance since I was a teenager, and I actually listened to my sister and saved as much as I could so I could buy a house when I was old enough and escape my parents' oppression. Selena punches him in the arm. "No one died, bitter boy." She leans toward me and whispers, "Right?" I shake my head. "No one died, no." At least, I hope not. Jake points to the bed and then back at me. "Why the hell are you sitting here looking like that, doing this?" I guess that's why he means I look a little disheveled, or at least I'm sure I don't look my best. I haven't even showered or brushed my hair to make myself look more human. And these are the schoolwork scattered around me, on my wrinkled comforter. I glance at the clock on my bookshelf. "I still have time. We don't have to leave for another two and a half hours." Selena sighs as if I just confessed that I'd rather hang the toilet paper roll underneath. "The makeup artists and hairstylists will be here in half an hour." I frown. "Huh?" "Didn't your mom tell you she'd hired a crew for us? There'll be photographers at the party." I shake my head to indicate I had no idea and because I can't, and don't want to, deal with this right now. None of that. I'm not a masochist, so being locked in a room with a group of people I generally don't care about feels like torture. It's almost impossible to feel anything but fear, especially after receiving a text from Freddy. He's sure to try to ruin my life even more than he already has. "You're almost there, Samantha. Next year you'll finish school and you'll finally be able to leave here to work abroad." Jake's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I catch the end of whatever he's saying. "Well, you only turn twenty-one once, and we all know that public image is one of our parents' priorities." "Besides making more money than we'll ever know what to do with," Selena adds. He raises his eyebrows. "That goes without saying." I'm only half-listening to their conversation because my brain is still stuck on something Jake said. "You only turn twenty-one once." "If you get to that point." I'm officially older than my sister. She was only a few days shy of turning twenty-one. My gaze automatically goes to my bookshelf and the picture of my sister and me. They always thought we were twins, even though she was three years older. I never saw it. Her hair was golden brown, while mine is almost black, and she had our father's dark blue eyes, while I inherited my mother's brown. Our smiles were similar, and we looked so happy in the picture. It was taken months before everything went to hell. We had our differences, especially at the end, but she was my sister, and I still miss her terribly. You can't change what happened. "Samantha." I start and look at Jake, my eyes wide. "Are you okay?" His voice is soft and gentle. The lump in my throat is almost impossible to swallow, but I manage after several attempts. "Yeah, sorry. Long day of studying." Since we've been best friends for ten years, I don't need to look at them to know they don't believe a word I say, just as they know I won't tell them anything if I'm not ready. It's become an unspoken rule between us over the past few years. Even though I wanted to tell them what's going on, I couldn't. Not without someone paying the consequences. Oblivious to my confusion, Selena grabs my hand and pulls me out of bed while Jake deals with the mess on my comforter, gathering all my work and putting it in a neat pile on my desk. Then he disappears into my closet for a moment and returns with my sparkly designer dress in one hand and matching shoes in the other. He smiles at me. "You'll look amazing in this." Somehow, I manage to smile back. "Thank you." Like me, Jake is the victim of wealthy parents who don't have time for him, but they do have high expectations. Sometimes, this makes him a spoiled brat, but with a heart of gold. Selena taps her wrist. "You have twenty minutes to shower, birthday girl. Hurry up." They escort me to my private bathroom like I'm a kindergartener. My phone plays the horrible unread message notification chime in my pocket as Selena closes the door. But not fast enough. I still see the worried look they exchange. As always, I'm alone with my thoughts and a feeling of dread that always accompanies me whenever I receive messages from him. My stalker, my tormentor, the man who, single-handedly, has brought so much destruction to my life and the lives of others that sometimes I can barely stand. When he first started texting me, he told me to call him Diablo, but I saved his number as Freddy. Like Freddy Krueger, my personal nightmare come true. Freddy Happy birthday, pet. Enjoy your party tonight. You're in for a surprise. The message disappears shortly after, as always, and the phone falls to the floor with a metallic clang. I didn't even know disappearing messages existed until I received the first one from Freddy, and it disappeared within minutes. My stomach churns at the memory, and I barely make it to the bathroom in time to empty it. I allow myself two minutes to despair on the bathroom floor. Then I get up and shower. I'll get through this day like any other.