Isabela

**Today**



The outcome of last night was predictable: we got drunk. Nothing like a bender to stitch a broken heart back together. I drank so much beer that I was dancing on the terrace of my apartment, the funk blasting so loudly that they even called the landlord to tell me to turn it down.
Cristina and Ana spent the night hugging, exchanging eternal love and friendship vows. Embarrassing! Now they're both sitting there with puffy faces on the white marble countertop of my kitchen, while Regina, my housekeeper, moves her sturdy body between them, serving breakfast.
I've lived in this bright, light-toned penthouse for four years. I moved in at eighteen. My father was a neurosurgeon, and the biggest irony of life was that he died from a brain clot. He had a famous clinic and a pharmaceutical brand. I inherited both. I hired managers to run the businesses, and I conduct annual audits of the results so I don’t have to worry about anything except the money in my account. I don’t need to work; my life is set. I know a lot of people think they would be happy with my financial reality, but I wouldn’t last a day living under my skin. Money means nothing when your family is a mess, and you’re full of traumas, needing to self-harm to avoid suicide. The only reason I didn’t slice myself up last night was because Ana saved me. She knew I would do it, so she imposed herself and refused to leave me alone. Thank God!
I woke up at noon, my heart heavy, igniting Nate’s cutting words in my mind, stabbing me over and over. Slowly, the feelings were replaced by the flashbacks of last night lighting up like lightning before my eyes. The first thing I did was grab my phone, and I saw thousands of comments on the post I made on my Instagram feed. There’s literally a video of me dancing to Nicki Minaj’s "Anaconda" on top of my piano, wearing only a tank top and panties! What pissed me off the most was the angry emoji that Nate, that bastard, left in the comments. I didn’t even know the jerk followed me. I was super tempted to block him when I saw the messages we exchanged in the direct messages. But the messages made it clear that I probably went after his profile last night. This was basically the exact exchange:
Me: Hey, pile of crap! I already took the pill.
Nate: Hope you get really screwed in life!
Me: Enough.
Nate: How much did you drink?
Me: Enough.
Nate: DELETE THAT F*CKING VIDEO!!!
Me: If you keep bothering me, the next one will be showing YOUR c*nt to the world!
Nate: You don’t know how to live in peace, do you? You’re just dying to annoy me.
Me: What peace, cutie? You ran a tank right over my heart. Go f*ck yourself!
Nate: Drunkard, go to sleep! We need to have a serious talk!
Me: Or with my pusy? I’ll welcome you with pepper spray in your face.
Nate: We’ll talk at college! Go to sleep, now!
Me: Save the orders for your f*cking sister!
That was the last message, and I might have sent twenty middle-finger emojis to him, plus a gif of a man using a horn saying “you’re a cuckold.” To make things worse, I even liked all his photos. All of them! What a disaster! Why couldn’t I have just drunk like a normal person and gone to bed?
I deleted the video because it was really humiliating. It had over fifty thousand views and hundreds of comments ranging from “whore” to “gorgeous.” The peak was my grandma commenting that she wanted to have a little chat with me. I know she’s going to lecture me. She’s very liberal, but she definitely hated seeing me in that state.
“I rescheduled your doctor’s appointment, sleepyhead! You won’t even be able to get your check-up done,” Ana informs me, stuffing a piece of omelet in her mouth. She’s wearing a tight red cotton baby doll, which looks great on her body.
“Gotta be without sex for 48 hours,” Cris confirms, taking a sip of orange juice.
Belladonna is sitting atop the island, looking like the Egyptian goddess Bastet, while my friends have breakfast. Her dark fur contrasts with the wall of white lacquered cabinets in the kitchen. A dandelion-shaped chandelier looms above the countertop, while a few tall stools with light leather tops surround it. I sit on one of them and fill a cup with coffee as Ana looks at me with her lips pressed together, trying to hold back a laugh.
“I know. I already deleted the video,” I say, sipping the liquid that usually kicks my morning into gear. It’s always what I hunt for in the cafeteria at Revolta before classes.
“Dude, Nate cursed me out in the DMs, saying he’d kick me out of college and everything!” Cris tells me, eyes wide. “He said if I didn’t send a photo of you sleeping and safe, he’d send my expulsion notice.”
“And you sent it, didn’t you?” I almost spill my coffee on the black ceramic saucer. “He’s such a jerk...”
“Of course! I’m on a scholarship, dude. The money my dad sends barely covers my monthly bills. I’m trying to find a part-time job, but even then, I couldn’t afford the tuition. I put you to sleep and sent him the photo.”
She’s never told me about this. I’m shocked. I had no idea she was on a scholarship. I swallow hard, imagining the scenario of him expelling Cristina from college because of a video of me drunk but posted on my Instagram. I would definitely pay for her course elsewhere, but still, Revolta is by far the best place to study music in the country.
My thoughts bring me back to the reality that she might have problems in the future if Revolta closes with all this drama surrounding the fragmentation of society. Nate may be a jerk in many ways, but he really does manage the college well, from cleanliness to the excellent teachers. Even the parties are amazing.
I have to admit, in that place, Nate is king. Everyone respects him, and he does whatever he wants there. Still, the place is awesome. If Cristina lost her scholarship because of me, I would never forgive myself.