That’s when Natasha grabbed my dress. How dare you make my mother upset? She shrieked and she yanked hard on the shoulder strap of my dress.
The fabric ripped. The sound of tearing cloth seemed impossibly loud. My dress, already modest, was now torn badly at the shoulder.
I grabbed at it, trying to hold it together. Humiliation washing over me in waves. The crowd was in a frenzy now. Laughter, gasps, phones recording everything.
The live stream viewer count was in the tens of thousands and climbing. Security, Clarissa shouted. Remove this trash from my party.
Two security guards started toward me.
I looked at Brandon one last time, silently, begging him to say something, anything, to defend me, to stand up for me. He looked away.