A Night To Forget

A young woman's chance encounter with a pop star shatters her perception of consent in a culture that worships celebrities

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When Rose opens her eyes, he has gone. The window is cracked open enough to invite a breeze, sunlight dancing in and out with the moving curtain. Her outfit is spread across the floor in all its parts: velvet flares folded into themselves in one corner, denim jacket crumpled in the other. The boots are neatly placed side by side underneath her desk as if by someone who didn't want to make a mess. She is naked.

Picking her laptop off the floor, she decides to google him. In the last twenty-four hours, six new articles have been published. One is a round-up of his greatest 'fashion hits' that must have been recently updated because the first photo is from 2012. Another claims that he is considering adopting a cocker spaniel; sources say he will name it 'Bobby'. And then there is one she has seen several versions of before that lists all the people he has dated since he was eighteen. She is familiar with most of the names on it because they're either models or daughters of Hollywood actors.

Some of the articles have comments underneath them. 'MARRY ME' reads one. 'Why has he cut his hair like that?' adds another. 'Sit on my face please, kind sir' says a third Rose reports this comment. She goes to Twitter next and opens the first account that comes up when she clicks on the search bar. It has 850,000 followers and there are two new tweets since Rose last checked.