That night, after hours of pacing in her room, after redoing her makeup twice just to feel somewhat put together, Tracy finally grabbed her phone and dialed her closest friends.
She didn't know what she expected.
Maybe sympathy.
Maybe someone to say "It's okay, it wasn't your fault."
Maybe someone to remind her she wasn't useless.
The moment her best friend picked up, Tracy's voice cracked.
"Girls… I—something horrible happened," she whispered, wiping at a tear before it could fall.
The screen lit up with multiple faces joining the group call. Three girls, her usual circle , rich, polished, confident, the type who never let a hair go out of place.
"Babe, what's wrong?" one asked, wide-eyed.
"You sound like shit," another added bluntly but with genuine concern.
Tracy sniffed. "It's… it's about last night."
She told them everything.
Not the humiliating details, not the part with the drug, not Timothy's name , she still didn't want to expose everything but enough.
