Chapter 148: I Freaking Knew It.
"Good afternoon, chief! Is Miss Melissa Young home?"
"And who might you be, sir? Miss Melissa isn’t home at the moment, but I can let her know someone came looking for her."
"Ahh... Sure! Tell her that her friend stopped by to say hello. I just arrived in the country, and she once told me that if I ever visited Novera, she’d show me around."
"I see. I’ll let her know then. May I have your name?"
"Hudson. Just Hudson."
Lola sat frozen in the driver’s seat, listening to the exchange between Hudson and the security guard at the Young residence. After that, Hudson drove off, snickering to himself.
"Let’s see if she still ignores me this time," he muttered, unaware that every word was being relayed into Lola’s ears. "Hahaha!"
Lola lowered her gaze, his laughter still echoing through her earpiece. Her hand brushed against it, pulling it away from her ear.
"Melissa?" she whispered. Her mouth hung open, her ears buzzing, her forehead pulsing as a vein protruded on it. She pinched the bridge of her nose, massaging her temples. "Melissa?" She repeated as a ridiculing laugh broke from her lips.
"I knew it," she hissed under her breath, her laughter growing louder with mockery. "I freaking knew it."
****
[Flashback]
Years ago, after moving out of the Young residence, Lola had been fending for herself without her father’s help. Life was hard, but not unbearable. She had peace. She had herself. She had friends.
Friends she trusted. Friends who defended her against bullies. Because Lola used to be overweight, and in this cruel, judgmental society, that alone was enough to make her a target.
But these friends had seen her beyond her size, beyond her struggles, beyond her lack of money. Or so she thought.
She believed she had finally found people she could call her own. She was wrong. Six years ago, she discovered just how wrong she had been. And it started with a sweet, persuasive phone call:
"Lola, please, come?" A pleading voice begged over the line. "Don’t worry about anything! I just want you at my birthday!"
"Don’t miss it! Everyone’s coming!" Another voice chimed in, revealing there were more girls on the call. "How can our friend not be there too?"
Lola bit her lip, standing in her small, dilapidated apartment. Hesitation clouded her eyes. Unlike them, she lived paycheck to paycheck.
"I have work..." she muttered. "I already asked for a day off at my other two jobs, but the third one... I can’t just leave my co-worker alone."
"Lola, are you worried about paying rent?" one friend sighed. "I’ll cover two months. Bills too! Just come, please??"
"But—"
"It’s going to be fun!" another urged. "Don’t worry about the plane ticket or accommodation—we’ll cover everything."
"That’s right. We just want you there."
It wasn’t only about the money. It was also out of shame. Shame at ditching work just to celebrate a party abroad. But they had begged her for months, and these girls felt like the only real friends she had. Life was hard, but with them, it didn’t feel quite as heavy.
"Fine," Lola finally relented. "Fine, I’ll go."
"Yey~!!" the girls squealed in delight. "It’s going to be fun~!"
"The best birthday ever!"
"I promise it’ll be unforgettable!"
Lola chuckled softly. She had been reluctant, but hearing their excitement made her feel she’d done the right thing. Making her friends happy made her happy, too.
Had she known it would become the worst day of her life, she wouldn’t even have answered that call.
*****
Days later, she packed her bags. A driver came to fetch her for the airport, and her friends greeted her warmly when she landed. They toured like happy tourists, laughing and eating together. For once, Lola thought she was finally enjoying the country she had once called home.
Then came the pre-celebration night.
The theme, she was told, was "vintage." Outfits should match the 70s or earlier. Lola had prepared accordingly, and her friends even approved her outfit. But when she entered the club, everyone else was dressed in chic cocktail and semi-formal attire.
The initial snickers she heard were easily dismissed when the celebrant greeted her with open arms. When she asked about the theme change, the celebrant only brushed it off with a laugh: "Must’ve been a mix-up."
Lola should have noticed the red flag then. But she turned a blind eye, clinging to the idea of friendship. She tried to enjoy the party, even as casual "jokes" about her body and style kept coming.
"These are my friends," she told herself, forcing laughter at every jab at her.
She not only had to laugh at the insults dressed as jokes, but she also drank what they gave her, despite her stomach churning. It was for friendship, they said. It was fun, they said. And before she knew it, she was drunk.
"Yeah! Dance, Lola, dance!"
Cheering voices echoed across the nightclub. The lights flickered, the music boomed, and Lola found herself lost in the haze of alcohol and rhythm.
"This is fun," she giggled.
But then, the music cut.
She kept moving, too drunk to notice at first. When she finally stopped, she blinked.
"Huh?"
The spotlight snapped onto her. She stood alone on the floor while everyone else was standing on the side. Suddenly, the club erupted in laughter.
"Pfft --"
"What...?" she whispered, turning to see her friends smirking at her from their table.
"See? I told you, she’ll do anything we say."
"God, look at her! Isn’t she embarrassed?"
"A freeloader dancing like that? Please. Who does she think she is?"
"The whole club is shaking!" another shouted. "Stop, fatty, before the building collapses!"
Laughter roared, echoing in her ears like a clap of thunder. Lola’s eyes darted around, panic rising in her chest until she caught sight of her friends exchanging money.
"You..." she breathed, turning toward them. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly. "What is... going on?"
Deep down, she already knew the answer. But something in her desperately wanted a different answer.
"Lola, what do you mean?" the celebrant mocked, tilting her head with a smirk. She stood before her and crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed into knives, pushing Lola’s shoulder with her finger.
"I should be the one asking," she sneered. "What do you think you’re doing, thinking that you and I... were ever friends?"