While waiting for Blake to order, I scrolled through a post. The poster asked: “My boyfriend loves me in stockings, but his girlfriend isn’t a fan. How can I subtly get my stockings into his place?” She also posted a picture of her long, slender, pale legs, which had netizens drooling. I secretly scoffed, *Poor girl, what a scumbag she’s dealing with.* But then I saw the tattoo on the poster’s right leg, and I froze. It was identical to my boyfriend’s. And I, well, I definitely don’t like wearing stockings. I zoomed in on the picture, and my breath hitched. That tattoo… how could I not recognize it? Blake has an identical one on his right ankle. He told me it was his lucky charm, with the letter ‘B’ for ‘Blake’. I was with him last year on his birthday when he got it. He was grimacing in pain, squeezing my hand tight. *How could it be… such a coincidence?* I abruptly looked up at Blake, who was sitting across from me. He had just finished ordering and flashed me a tender smile: “Babe, I ordered your favorite cod. Make sure you eat up later.” His smile was as warm and gentle as ever. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady, and turned my phone screen towards him: “Blake, check out this post. Pretty funny, right? This person’s tattoo looks just like yours.” His smile instantly froze. It was only for a split second, but I clearly caught the flicker of panic in his eyes. He quickly averted his gaze, barely even looking at the screen, his voice stiff: “Huh? What tattoo? There are tons of similar ones online. Must be a coincidence.” He reached out to push my phone away, his movement carrying a hint of barely perceptible urgency. My heart sank. Normally, if he saw a similar tattoo, he’d be excited to discuss it, maybe even brag about the special meaning his tattoo held. Not avoid it like the plague. “Really?” I pulled my phone back. “But it really looks so similar, even the little ‘B’ is in almost the same spot. Do you think it’s from the same parlor? Or… maybe it’s the exact same person?” I added, half-joking, half-testing him. “Chloe…” Blake’s voice suddenly rose, making a nearby table of customers glance over. He seemed to realize his outburst, lowering his voice, his brows furrowed, “What are you implying? You’re accusing me? A random post, some random picture from the internet, and you’re suddenly so suspicious?” His tone was full of accusation: “I knew something was off with you today. So this is what you’ve been obsessing over? Can’t you stop being so sensitive? Just trust me for once, okay?” Sensitive? Suspicious? If it weren’t for that tattoo, I might actually have doubted myself, wondered if I was overthinking things. But now, his reaction, his gaslighting, only solidified my suspicions. I didn’t say anything, just quietly watched him. My silence seemed to provoke him, or rather, made him even guiltier. “Forget it. Looks like dinner’s ruined. You can just sit here and stew in your suspicions.” His face was flushed with anger and embarrassment, his eyes darting, unwilling to meet my gaze. “I can’t stand you like this. Every single day, I have no idea what goes on in that head of yours.” With that, he turned and walked out. Blake, what are you so guilty about?
I tried to go to the poster’s profile, but the post had vanished. My heart sank. Undeterred, I exited and re-entered the app, even trying the search function. I found the username, but clicking it led to that suffocating blankness. Not only was the profile inaccessible, but the scandalous post itself now showed “[This post has been deleted]”. That was fast. Only a mere ten minutes or so had passed since Blake left. Did he contact her immediately after walking out? Or was “she,” the one who posted, keeping an eye on the comments, saw my questioning, and, knowing she was guilty, quickly hid everything? Either way, it pointed to the same undeniable fact. Blake is hiding something. I dialed my best friend, Skylar. “Skylar, I need a favor. Urgent.” Skylar heard the urgency in my voice and immediately dropped her usual banter: “Tell me, what’s wrong, Chloe? Your voice sounds off. Did you argue with Blake?” That’s my best friend. We grew up together. Her intuition is spot on. I briefly told her what happened. I heard Skylar’s furious gasp from the other end of the line: “Blake, that bastard, how dare he?” “Don’t curse yet, I need your help.” I quickly cut her off. “Skylar, you have connections. Help me find all the reputable tattoo parlors in the city that can do complex designs like this. The key is to check if, in the last year, there’s been a female client with a sun totem tattoo on her ankle, with the letter ‘B’ in the center. Anonymous forum info is too vague; we need solid leads.” “Got it.” Skylar immediately agreed. “Leave it to me. I’ll dig through hell and high water to get you those clues. That scumbag, he’s got a death wish.” Just as I hung up, my screen lit up again. I frowned and answered. “Hello? Is that Chloe? It’s Dustin.” Loud music blared from the other end. It was Dustin, Blake’s so-called ‘best friend’ who was really just a party buddy, his voice urgent: “Oh, Chloe, you gotta come quickly. Blake’s totally drunk. He’s really upset because of you and he’s making a scene here. None of us can stop him.” Because of me? Making a scene? I scoffed inwardly. How long had it been since he left the restaurant? And he’s already drowning his sorrows? He’s really putting on a show. “Address.” My voice was cold. Dustin rattled off the name of a KTV and a room number – one of the most expensive places in the city. Before hanging up, he ‘kindly’ added: “Chloe, when you get here, maybe say a few soft words to Blake? He’s really upset today, keeps talking about you, saying you don’t trust him enough. We can’t talk any sense into him.” Every word was a veiled accusation that I was being unreasonable, forcing my boyfriend to drink himself senseless. I said nothing, just hung up. My rational side told me not to go, but a gut feeling drove me to see it for myself. I wanted to see how they planned to play out this drama.
I pushed the door open to find about seven or eight people, a mix of men and women, lounging on the sofas. Blake was sprawled in the middle, mumbling incoherently, definitely playing the part of a drunk. Empty liquor bottles were scattered everywhere, on the table and on the floor – a complete mess. Dustin saw me and immediately came over, his eyes darting: “Chloe, you finally made it! Come see Blake.” I ignored him and walked straight to Blake. He seemed to sense someone, struggled to open his eyes, and seeing it was me, instantly put on a pained, wronged expression, reaching out to pull me: “Chloe… you came… you don’t know how upset I am… why don’t you trust me…” Over-the-top acting, reeking of alcohol. I avoided his hand and asked coldly, “How much did you drink?” A girl nearby cut in, her tone flirtatious: “Oh, come on, Blake’s heartbroken today, he’s in a bad mood, so he drank a bit more. Don’t be mad, Chloe. It’s normal for guys to let loose once in a while.” Dustin quickly chimed in, rubbing his hands together, looking awkward: “Yeah, Chloe, Blake was hosting today, he ordered all the good stuff, and everyone was having such a great time that… well, we drank a bit much. See here…” He gestured to the table full of empty bottles, his intention crystal clear. Sure enough, another guy piped up: “Chloe’s here, perfect! Blake just said he’d cover the whole bill today. Why don’t you settle up, Chloe? So Blake can rest easy?” “Yeah, yeah, pay the bill!” A few others chimed in, their eyes glinting with calculation and eager anticipation for the show. My gaze swept over the empty red wine bottles on the table. I noticed fake empty bottles mixed with real ones. Probably scrounged from some recycling bin to make it look like a bigger party, right? Did they really think I’d never been to a place like this? My eyes finally landed on the bill, which had a shocking total. *Huh.* I let out a mirthless laugh. So, this is what they were waiting for. They wanted to treat me like a sucker, call me here to pay this exorbitant bill? Using my money to boost his ego, soothe his ‘wounded’ heart, and let his ‘friends’ enjoy a free night out? What a clever scheme. I looked at Dustin, who was eagerly waiting for me to pull out my card, and then at Blake, who was seemingly passed out but whose eyelids subtly twitched as he peeked at me. I scoffed: “Whoever ordered the drinks, whoever promised to pay, should be the one to settle the bill.” “Do I look like a sucker to you?” The words had barely left my mouth when Blake, who was supposedly ‘dead drunk’ on the sofa, suddenly sat bolt upright. 3 Blake sat bolt upright, with no trace of drunkenness on his face. “Chloe!” He roared, his face mottled red and white, whether from holding his breath or genuine anger, I couldn’t tell. “What are you doing? My friends are here! You’re going to embarrass me like this?”
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