Chapter 6 - I Let The Wrong Clip Stay Up
I watched the six seconds seventeen times.
Vanessa gets attacked at birthday picnic.
That was the caption.
Wrong birthday.
Wrong beginning.
Useful clip.
My phone filled with messages.
OMG ARE YOU OKAY?
DID SHE BREAK YOUR FACE?
I KNEW CARTER WAS CRAZY.
PRESS CHARGES.
One student sent:
Finally someone caught her.
Caught what?
Rachel had never been known for fighting.
The sentence didn't need history.
It created history by sounding as if some already existed.
I knew that trick too.
Brooke called.
I answered.
“Take it down.”
“I didn't post it.”
“Post the original.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then:
“Vanessa.”
“What?”
“You have it too.”
I stopped.
Of course.
Brooke had sent me a test clip earlier that afternoon to check framing.
Not the whole stream.
But my own phone had automatically saved the recording she had been sending to our shared cloud folder until she changed the destination.
I opened the folder.
Seven minutes.
Thirty-one seconds.
Everything.
Cake.
Collar.
Slap.
Punch.
“Why do I still have this?”
“Because I wasn't trying to trap you without a copy.”
That sounded almost insulting.
“You livestreamed me.”
“Yes.”
“To people you won't name.”
“Yes.”
“And now you're proud of giving me due process?”
“No.”
Brooke sounded angry.
“I’m telling you the full video is sitting on your phone.”
“So post yours.”
“I sent it to campus security.”
“Not the internet.”
“No.”
“Why?”
She went quiet.
There.
“You don't want it public either.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Rachel didn't consent to becoming everybody's content.”
I almost laughed.
“You filmed her.”
“Yes.”
Brooke's voice tightened.
“I did the same thing again.”
That stopped me.
She knew.
Maybe that was the difference.
I looked at the six-second clip.
Shares climbing.
Rachel’s face.
My fist? No.
My cake? No.
Just her punch.
Perfect.
“Vanessa.”
“What?”
“Post the full clip.”
I stared at the screen.
“If I do, I admit what I did.”
“Yes.”
“And if I wait?”
Brooke's voice went flat.
“You get exactly what you wanted.”
I didn't answer.
She did.
“For a few hours.”
She hung up.
At 8:20, Rachel texted me.
Not angry.
Not pleading.
One screenshot.
A comment under the clip:
University should remove people like this before someone gets seriously hurt.
Then:
You know what’s missing.
I typed:
Brooke has the original.
Deleted.
Typed:
I didn't post this.
Deleted.
Typed:
I’ll handle it.
Deleted.
I sent nothing.
At 9:05, the campus student association temporarily removed Rachel from an event-hosting shift scheduled for the next morning.
Not punishment.
“Until the incident is clarified.”
I knew because one of my friends sent the internal message to me with laughing emojis.
I stared at it.
A small consequence.
Exactly how North Hall had started.
Not expelled.
Not destroyed.
Just one door moved slightly away.
At 9:12 Brooke came to my apartment.
I opened the door.
She looked at my phone.
“Did you post it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I crossed my arms.
“I need time.”
“For what?”
“To think.”
Brooke laughed once.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You need leverage.”
I stared.
She continued:
“You want Rachel to feel what Lena felt for one night.”
That was ugly.
And close enough to true that I became angry.
“You don't get to moralize after editing North Hall.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting clean.”
“I’m not clean.”
She stepped closer.
“That’s why I'm telling you what this is.”
I looked away.
Brooke said:
“If the full video is not public by morning, I’m releasing my copy.”
I turned.
“You said Rachel didn't consent.”
“I'll ask her.”
“And if she says no?”
Brooke's face tightened.
“I don't know.”
Good.
No clean plan.
Then she left.
At 10:43, I opened the full video.
My own voice came through before I entered frame.
If she won't hit me, I'll give her a reason.
I paused.
Replayed it.
For the first time, the sentence didn't sound strategic.
It sounded pathetic.
I still did not post the video.
And at 11:17, someone sent the six-second punch clip to Rachel’s mother.
I knew because Rachel texted me one sentence.
My family saw it.
May you like
No accusation.
Somehow worse.
