Bridget covers her eyes as the glistening dancer removes his pants and gyrates for her maid of honor. Never being interested in parties, she knew her bachelorette party would reach a level of discomfort. The only thing keeping her calm is the nearly constant refilling of her champagne glass and a bowl of cherries. Her toilet paper veil has been discarded with a few pieces stuck in her long, curly hair. Jackets, shoes, empty bottles, and phallic-shaped favors are scattered about the suite, which she worries will need to be repaired after they are done. With her friends focused on the predictable entertainment, Bridget slips out of her chair and tries to sneak into the nearby bathroom. She has her hand on the doorknob when she is pounced on from behind, the clumsy hands squeezing her chest to get an angry squeak.
“I hate it when you’re plastered, Rhonda,” the bride-to-be complains while freeing herself from the other woman. Turning around, she can see a wicked grin on her childhood friend’s face and fears the antics have only begun. “Don’t do stuff like that. We aren’t goofy teenagers anymore and I’m getting married tomorrow. I agreed to this party, but don’t make me do stuff that I don’t want to.”
“But that’s the point of these things,” the raven-haired bridesmaid declares, cornering her friend against the wall. She plants a little kiss on the sweaty woman’s neck before finishing the tequila shot in her hand. “You were a lot more fun before you got engaged. A grope like that wouldn’t have phased you back in high school. I told you that stuffy college would kill the party girl. Now you’re marrying some lawyer. Hope he’s good in the sack.”
“Sorry if what I am now angers you, but we all have to grow up at some point,” the bride argues, sliding toward the bathroom. With her hand on the handle, she clicks her tongue and faces Rhonda. “I’ll have you know that my sex life is fine. Better than it’s been in years because we love each other. You’d understand that if you didn’t have more alcohol than blood in your body.”
“Is he better than me?”
“Don’t start that, Ronnie.”
“Keep in mind that I’m the only one here who tied a cherry stem with her tongue.”
“Let’s not do this tonight.”
“But it’s the only one we have left.”
“Start drinking water, Ronnie.”
Bridget ignores the angry scowl while she goes into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub, but quickly slides down to the floor where she stretches out her legs. The tension flows from her body while a pang of guilt stabs at her chest, the feeling causing a few tears. Pulling out her phone, the exhausted bride considers calling her fiancée and asking if it would be wrong to cut Rhonda from the bridal party. Bridget knows he does not like her old friend, but accepted that including her was a promise made long ago when they were closer. She is fairly certain it is because she told him that they were once more than friends, her attempts to ease his suspicions failing due to Rhonda’s love of messing with the easily flustered man. It takes several minutes for her to make a note to talk to her friend when they are sober and turn the phone off.
Getting to her feet, Bridget prepares to return to her party and try to enjoy herself. The festivities are tame compared to a few of the parties she snuck into at seventeen, which makes her feel old and boring. For a brief moment, she wonders if Rhonda is right and she is rushing into adulthood before enjoying her younger days. Spotting her reflection, she can see that her makeup is smeared and picks out the toilet paper from her hair. Cleaning her face, the bride listens to the music change and another chorus of cheers from her friends. As Bridget reaches out to unlock the door, a strangled scream erupts from the party and the other voices become filled with fear.
“You tore it off!”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“Grab something to stop him from bleeding to death.”
“Hey, get off m-”
The last voice is cut off by the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor and a strange crackling noise. There is a high-pitched scream before glass shatters and the woman seems to fade away. Heavy furniture can be heard getting thrown around the room, a blood-covered chair leg piercing the bathroom door. Bridget backs towards the bathtub and fumbles for her phone, which falls into the toilet that she did not know was open. She scrambles to retrieve it, but the device is sucked into the pipes where it remains lodged out of reach. Trapped and confused, she can only listen to the massacre going on outside. Bridget cannot identify most of the noises beyond the smashing of blunt objects. With a gurgling scream that she believes is from the stripper, the carnage ends and an eerie ringing consumes the suite.
The clink of glass on glass tells Bridget that there is still someone outside, so she crawls toward the door. She cups her hands and listens to the survivor take a shot, giggle, and kick an object into the wall. The shattering of a thrown bottle makes the bride squeak in fear, the noise answered by a friendly whistle. A gentle knock makes her back away from the entrance while a slender shadow looms out from under the door. She watches the chair leg wiggle as it is pulled out of the wood and cast aside by someone standing out of sight.
“I didn’t appreciate that getting put in my face,” Rhonda casually states, sticking two of her fingers in the splintery hole. She playfully beckons for her friend to get closer while scratching at the door. “You know, I’ve been patient all night, Bridget. Thought I made my desires very clear and you kept foisting me away. I know you don’t like me because I’m part of your dirty, little past. Wouldn’t be proper for a woman like you to be associated with someone like me. Guess making me a bridesmaid was a way to rub it in my face that you’re going away.”
“I asked you to be one because we’re friends,” Bridget replies, hugging her knees to her chest. She wipes at the tears that stream from her face and looks for anything she can use as a weapon. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. We were still going to be friends whether my husband likes you or not.”
“He doesn’t like me!?” shouts the crazed woman, slamming a fist against the door. She walks away for a moment before coming back to put her eye against the hole. “He’s scared I’ll steal you away. That’s why you don’t want to have a final fling. If he found out then your precious marriage would be over. Then again, maybe you know he’s right and you’d leave him for me in a heartbeat.”
“I love my fiancée!”
“As much as you love me?”
“More so. Leave me alone, Rhonda.”
“What do you want from me?”
Snapping the lock with a twist to the handle, Rhonda pushes her way into the bathroom and licks her lips. “Just like old times, Bri, I want to eat you all up.”