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17. Megan

It had officially been the worst 24 hours of my life. I had managed to piss off almost every person in my life, and it still eluded me what exactly I had done wrong.

I started with Angie. I had watched Joe being dragged away by the police, still shouting abuse at a now unconscious Brett. I dashed back into the club, pushing through the concerned groups of customers and colleagues, shouting after me.

"Megan, what the hell happened?" Angie hurried after me, grabbing at my arm, stopping me in my tracks and spinning me to face her.

"Not now, Angie. I have to go to the police station," I angrily pulled my arm away from her, hurrying towards my dressing room.

She was hot on my heels. She stood in the door way, watching me throwing clothes and shoes around the room in a desperate hunt for my purse and my car keys.

"Are you going after him?" she asked me incredulously.

"Of course I am. He's my boyfriend. I have to get him out of there," I snapped back at her, continuing my hunt.

"After what he just did? Megan, he was out of control. He coulda killed that guy," she crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.

I sighed heavily. "Don't be stupid, Angie. You don't know what happened," I shrugged off her concerns.

"Well, uh, it looks pretty clear to me," she stated "jealousy in a man is never a good thing. And beating the shit out of some guy for no apparent reason doesn't exactly scream ideal boyfriend."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," I rounded on her, angry that she could suggest Joe was the guilty party in all this.

"Megan," she raised her hands in a defensive gesture "don't go schizo on me just because you decided to do some extras and Joe caught you out."

She stood there, looking at me with a smug look on her face.

"Extras? I wasn't doing extras. I'm not a fucking hooker, Angie," I shouted back at her, furious that she would think that of me.

"Meaning what?" she replied quietly, her face darkening with anger. "Meaning I am?"

"Well, if the cap fits..." I regretted the words almost as soon as they left my mouth. But I couldn't take them back.

I saw her clench her fists at her sides, struggling to keep her emotions in check.

"You fucking bitch," she hissed at me "what the hell would you know about problems. You little fucking rich girls are all the same. Daddy will always be there to bail you out. You know nothing about real life."

That really hit a nerve. "No, Angie, fuck you. You have no idea what happened in here tonight. Don't judge me by your own standards," I pointed a finger in her face, as she squared up to me.

"Oh, boo fucking hoo. Why do you have to turn everything into a drama. So some guy tried it on with you. Big fucking deal, Megan. Grow up," she threw me a scathing look and turned to walk away from me.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't pissed Frank off so much, I wouldn't have ended up being almost raped and my boyfriend wouldn't be in jail," I screamed after her.

She whipped around to face me again. She smirked at me.

"That's right, Megan. Blame everyone but yourself. What's new?"

And she turned and walked away, leaving me silently seething.

When I arrived at the police station, second on my pissed list was some guy I'd never even met.

I went tearing into the station, all guns blazing, demanding to be allowed to see Joe.

I was met with a cynical sigh and a bored look from the desk sergeant. "That's not going to happen," he replied, barely even glancing up from the newspaper he was reading.

"And what if I told you I was his lawyer?" I flipped his newspaper shut, making him bristle with annoyance.

He looked up sharply, taking in my appearance. His face set into a frown.

"I would say you were lying," he looked me up and down , taking in my appearance. He met my eyes, his piercing gaze daring me to push him further.

I pulled the coat I had acquired from god-knew-where closed around the stage outfit I had forgotten to change and at least had the decency to flush with embarrassment at my obvious lie.

"So because of my attire, I couldn't possibly be a lawyer?" God, I needed to learn when to shut my damn mouth. He answered me with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Male chauvinist pig," I spat back at him. "I want to see Joe Trohman."

He shook his head at me, clearly annoyed now.

"And I told you that's not going to happen," he replied evenly. "Now, I suggest you leave before I think up a reason to throw you in the cell next to Mr Trohman to cool off."

The look on his face told me he wasn't joking.

"He's entitled to a lawyer, you know," I snapped back.

"He already has one. Now go," he pointed to the door.

That shut me up. I was left with no option but to leave.

I sat in my car, trying to figure out what to do next, when I realised running around Chicago at 1am in a bikini and a coat wasn't the greatest idea I had ever had. I decided I would go back to the club, change my clothes and go home to wait for Joe to call.

When I arrived back at the club I was met with candidate number 3. Mr Super-pissed.

"I can't believe you're showing your face in here after the stunt you pulled tonight. You and your maniac boyfriend," Frank virtually screeched as he saw me. "I've got the police swarming everywhere, I could get shut down," his tirade continued as he approached me.

"What the hell, Frank?" I backed up in surprise. I was expecting apologies and grovelling promises of cash to sweeten me up. Not this.

"I've told you before, no boyfriends in the club. This is the shit that happens when jealous boyfriends show up," his face was contorted in anger.

"Hey, you put me in there with that guy. This was NOT my fault. Joe stopped him from raping me," I yelled back at him, my anger matching his.

"Extras, Megan. He paid for extras. What did you expect?" he looked at me with distaste.

"I didn't agree to that," I started to protest. He held his hand up, stopping me.

"Not this butter wouldn't melt routine again, please. I don't even want to talk about it. Get you're crap outta here. You're finished." He didn't even give me a chance to protest. He just walked away from me as my mouth hung open in astonishment.

By the time I got home to my apartment, I was exhausted. I checked my cell phone again. Still no news from Joe. I intended just to sit down and rest my eyes for a moment, then go back to the police station to try and see Joe again. But the tiredness overwhelmed me and I fell into a fitful sleep.

It was light outside when an insistent banging at my front door awoke me. I jumped up groggily and hurried to answer it. I found a dishevelled and tired Joe standing on my doorstep.

"Baby, thank God..." I threw myself at him, flinging arms around his neck in relief. He didn't return my hug.

I pulled away, puzzled. He pushed past me, into the apartment, leaving me to trail behind him.

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the hallway, glaring at me.

"So..." he began, challenging me.

"What?" I asked, annoyance already sparking in my tone.

"You going to explain what the hell you were doing last night?" he clenched his jaw, clearly fighting to keep his cool.

"I don't know what exactly you mean," I proceeded cautiously.

"Cut the crap. What the hell were you doing in a room with Brett Taylor and no security?" he narrowed his eyes as he waited for a response.

"I, uh, I..." I felt myself stuck for words. I couldn't believe this was happening. I thought, of all people, Joe wouldn't think this. Wouldn't think that I would do that.

"That stuck for money? That stuck that you would think about doing that?" There was genuine pain in his tone.

"I didn't, Joe. I didn't. It was Frank..." I hurriedly started to explain, but he cut me off.

"So it's ok because Frank was doing the dirty work. What is he, Megan? Your pimp?" His temper finally cracked and he let loose in a volley of hateful words.

I reeled in shock.

"How dare you," I whispered back at him, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "Get out."

I pointed at the door, unable to make eye contact with him.

"Tell me what the fuck happened," he yelled again, stepping closer to me, grabbing my chin and forcing it up until I would look at him.

I squirmed out from his grasp, reeling with hurt and frustation. I lashed out at his chest, hitting him with all my might.

"Get out," I screeched, my hands hitting his chest again and again as the threatening tears spilled over onto my cheeks. "Get out," I continued yelling as he backed hurriedly towards the door.

I gave one final shove, pushing him out the door and slammed it closed on him, sinking to the floor and sobbing as he directed an angry kick at the door.

"Fuck you," he yelled.

I heard his heavy footsteps retreating down the stairs.

I don't know how long I sat there, crying into my hands. When another thumping knock sounded at my door, I felt my rage return. If Joe thought he could come back here and start on me again, he was wrong.

I jumped up, wrenching the door open, ready for it this time.

"I told you to go..." I began.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I realised who was standing at my door.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady," a harsh voice warned me.

In capital letters at the bottom of my pissed list was one word.

DADDY.