by Cassia Leo
I sit up straighter and narrow my eyes at him. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Oh, you heard me just fine. I have the video and I will not hesitate to use it.”
“What fucking video? What the fuck are you talking about?”
He taps his phone screen a few times, then slides his phone across the table toward me. I don’t even have to play the video to know what I’m looking at. From the blurry image preview, I know I’m looking at a video of the first time Charley and I had sex in my bedroom when she was seventeen. Jordan must have planted a camera in there so he could get off on the footage.
“You fucking sicko,” I snarl as I shoot up from my chair, ready to lunge at Jordan.
He quickly snatches the phone off the table and tucks it back inside his pocket. “Ah-ah. One button is all I have to press to send a text message to someone who will publish this on your official YouTube channel. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
I stand there for a moment, my blood on fire, hardly able to breathe from the shock and raw adrenaline flooding my veins. I glance across the restaurant at the frightened look on our server’s face and wave at him to let him know everything’s okay. But that could not be further from the truth.
It was one thing for Jordan and Wes to violate me. And if Katie had allowed me to come forward when they debased her, I would have fought for her. But for these sick bastards to go after Charley, to threaten to violate her in front of the entire world, and in a way that makes it look as if I did it…
“You’re gonna go back to your hotel and you’re gonna think long and hard about what you want to do,” Jordan begins. “I know you’re probably very upset right now, but think of how upset Charley will be when she thinks you did this. She was seventeen. You were nineteen. The age of consent in California is eighteen. If she hates you as much as I suspect she will, she’ll probably bring charges against you. You’ll be worse than blacklisted. You’ll be a registered sex offender.”
I shake my head. “This is low, even for a bottom-feeding creep like you.”
He shrugs. “You need to go back to your room and think long and hard about this. And when you’re done thinking, you’re going to break up with Charley in public.”
“Fuck you.”
He smirks as he taps the phone in his pocket. “I don’t care where you do it, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, a fucking concert. I don’t give a shit, but it has to be in public, so it gives your delusional fans something to fantasize about when they’re fucking their dildos, and the press will be talking about the demise of hashtag-Benley for months.”
April 4, 2015 - 10:28 p.m.
I left the restaurant right after Jordan suggested I break up with Charley as a sick publicity stunt, afraid if I stayed a second longer I would take out my murderous rage on him. I’ve been sitting here with a six-pack of beer and a bag of pills for the last few hours, wondering how much more of this twisted relationship with Jordan I can stomach.
Will I even be able to keep this kind of secret from Charley? She knows me better than anyone. As soon as this thought crosses my mind, I realize I’ve been keeping the secret of what happened at the WMA mansion from Charley for years. If I break up with her to keep Jordan from posting that video, she’ll be devastated. But she’ll be even more devastated if the video is published.
I’d rather she thinks I’m a jerk than let Jordan violate her. I grab a pillow off the bed and press it against my face as I let out a soul-shaking scream. Tossing the pillow aside, I kick the room service cart, and it topples over, one of the beer bottles breaking as it’s flung into the wooden dresser. I pick up the lamp on the bedside table and yank it out of the wall, then toss it at the window overlooking the lights of Manhattan. Grabbing the arms of the wooden desk chair, I also hurl it at the window.
When I’m done trashing the room, I don’t feel better. The hotel manager agrees to not press charges when I offer to pay double the cost of the damages. I spend the rest of the night, wandering the streets of Manhattan, wondering what it will take to get out of this mess. Maybe I can disappear. Or maybe I can get someone else to come forward and say what happened all those years ago at the WMA mansion. In the end, I know there’s only one way out that doesn’t involve suicide.
For now, I’ll spend as much time with Charley as possible. I’ll make sure our last moments together become some of our best memories. I’ll make sure she knows how much I love her. How much I love us. And when I break up with her, that will be it. I can’t look at any of her pictures. I can’t ever go back home. That will be it. The less I see her and think about her, the easier it will be for me to toe the line, to keep that video from surfacing.
Maybe one of these days I’ll convince someone to come forward. Maybe someone will finally acquire the right evidence or leverage to make that possible. Maybe someone will finally refuse to stop perpetuating the cycle.
I get a new hotel room in Soho and the first thing I do is call Charley. Even though it’s 1:32 a.m. in California, she answers on the second ring.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she asks groggily.
“Just thinking about you and missing the fuck out of you.”
She chuckles. “I missed you today, too,” she replies, perking up a bit. “Liv went to her parents’ house for Easter. I have the dorm all to myself. I’m lonely.”
“If you’re feeling lonely, you should turn off all the lights and put on a scary movie. After a while, you won’t feel so alone anymore.”
She laughs harder this time. “You’re evil. What are you doing? Are you at the hotel?”
“Yeah, I’m all alone here, too. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
We talk for no more than twenty minutes before I let her off the phone so she can go back to sleep. I flush the Fentanyl pills down the toilet before I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling until six a.m., when I start getting ready for my flight back to California.
When I call my bodyguard Quentin, he’s surprised to find out I’m not in the same hotel we checked into yesterday. He doesn’t ask too many questions, though. He just picks me up and we grab some breakfast before the flight.
On the five-hour flight back, I write down all the places I haven’t been to and the things I haven’t done with Charley. When I get there, I’ll ask her to add more stuff to the list, and she can rearrange it according to which ones she wants to do first. I’ll frame it as a sort of bucket list of things to do before she graduates from Sonoma State in a couple months. I’ll definitely have to put a dive off Goat Rock on the list. Only I will know it’s a bucket list of things to do before I kill our relationship.
At the bottom of the list, I type: Get married?
I quickly delete the words. I have to give up on the possibility of a happily-ever-after with Charley. And without her, I have to give up on the possibility of a happily-ever-after for me.
16
Beautiful
Now
The bride is a mess.
Lauria Gentry, my bride-to-be client, found out she was pregnant three weeks ago. This morning, she found out she’s gained six pounds since the dress fitting. I need to take poignant pictures of the most perfect day of her life. Instead, Lauria’s standing in front of a full-length mirror, mascara running down her face, as her mother and I attempt to cinch her into a corset that will allow her to fit into the wedding dress she paid $16,000 for without constricting her tiny pregnancy pooch.
Ben shakes his head as he watches us attempting to tuck and shift the bride’s soft flesh into the right position to make the corset fit. “On one hand, I don’t think you should have to do that to feel beautiful,” he remarks. “On the other hand, that’s metal as fuck.”
Lauria finally laughs for the first time today and I lose my grip on the laces. “I’m sorry,” she says, sucking in her belly again.
We finally manage to get her curves in the right place so she can squeeze into her dress, and I’m able to get at least ten emotional shots of Laur
ia’s mom helping her clean her face before the stylist redoes her makeup.
By the time the ceremony is over and I’ve gotten enough pictures of the bride and groom’s first dance, I’ve cemented my role as the coolest wedding photographer ever. I secured two clients right outside the church after the ceremony. I snag another two when Ben agrees to perform acapella, a never-before-heard song he claims he wrote the night before. And when I hear the lyrics, I believe him.
Wicked winds, stormy seas
Changing tides, killin’ me
Rise and fall, up and down
Twist my heart to make your crown
Remember what you said
You said you wouldn’t doubt
But your mind is like the tides
Rollin’ in, you’re rollin’ out
Take your silly fears
And your wicked summer games
This season is ours, girl
You’re my reason to change
Rise and fall, up and down
Tender heart, you hide your frown
Passing time, you toy with truth
I’m the bullseye, your lies are proof
Remember what you said
You said you wouldn’t doubt
But your mind is like the tides
Rollin’ in, you’re rollin’ out
Take your silly fears
And your wicked summer games
This season is ours, girl
You’re my reason to…
Just take my hand and make it stop
The waves are rough, I’ll pull you up
When they pull you under again
Like our last days,
But that’s over now,
I’ve been all around, the world and back again
The tides are strong, but I’m stronger
This ride is rough, but we’ll hold on
Longer
I manage to get a few good shots of Ben singing on the stage, though my vision is blurred by tears. When he finishes, he signs a few autographs then heads over to join me near a table piled high with wedding gifts.
He places a kiss on my cheek and stands behind me as he leans in and whispers in my ear, “Dance with me.”
“I’m working,” I reply, my eyelids fluttering as he nuzzles his nose against my earlobe.
“Just one dance, then I’ll leave you alone,” he says, his lips brushing lightly over my neck. “I promise.”
I shake my head, but the words that come out of my mouth are, “Just one.”
He grasps my arms to spin me around so I’m facing him, smiling as he carefully removes the camera from my hand. Lifting the strap from around my neck, he moves a couple of wedding presents so he can set the camera on the table. The joy in his eyes at getting his way is so pure and absolute it hurts. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning.
As the band plays “Harvest Moon,” he grabs my waist and pulls my hips flush against his. I focus on my breathing as I reach up to coil my arms around his sturdy neck. His smile never fades as he leans down to rest his forehead on mine. As he sings softly to me about dancing under a harvest moon that shines in my eyes, goose bumps spread over my skin as my body floods with dopamine. I close my eyes and think, I could die right now.
“I need to ask you something,” he says halfway through the song.
I want to tell him to keep singing, to never stop singing. Instead, I open my eyes and respond, “Ask away.”
He pulls his head back a bit so he can look me in the eye. “What was the worst part about…the breakup? I need to know exactly how much I hurt you. You deserve for me to hear that.”
I can’t think of a worse topic to discuss at this moment. It’s the ultimate buzz-kill. But Ben did help me get some clients today, and he’s turned Lauria’s perfect day into a fairy tale. And he’s right, I do deserve to tell him exactly how much he hurt me. If this is what he wants to hear, I’ll give it to him.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The worst part?” I reply. “The worst part was that I didn’t see it coming.” I look into his eyes as I try not to get emotional while I allow my mind to wander back to those dark days. “First, I wondered if maybe I’d hit some sort of peak, and you didn’t want to be around for the downward slide. Then, I just started to question my sanity. I kept thinking: If I was so wrong about something so important, what else am I wrong about?” I swallow the lump in my throat as his right hand reaches up to clasp my face. “Did all the people who claimed to love me secretly hate me? If you never loved me, was our whole relationship an act? Why didn’t I see it? Am I that clueless? Or... or am I... Am I just unlovable?”
He shakes his head as he brushes away a tear from my cheek. “I hate myself for making you feel that way,” he murmurs. “You’re the most lovable person I’ve ever known. You’re the only person who keeps me lying awake at night questioning every decision I’ve ever made.” He lays a soft kiss on my forehead. “You drive me insane.”
I smile as I stare at his chest. “I can’t believe you got dressed up for the wedding. I love when you wear a suit.”
“Why do you think I wore this?” he says, smiling when I look up at him again. “Everything I do, I do for you. All damn day, you’re on my mind,” he says, laughing when I roll my eyes. He lands a soft tap on my ass. “And on my nerves. You’re under my skin and in my fucking marrow, Char. But I’m sure you already know that.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I feel like maybe you’re just acting like the old Ben I fell in love with. Maybe when I give in, you’ll turn back into Evil Ben, the one who broke my heart.”
He draws in a sharp breath through his nostrils. “Evil Ben was the one who was acting. This is the real me, and I’m telling you that I love you. I love you so much, I can’t fucking breathe when I think of how I hurt you. It kills me to know I made you feel unworthy of love. I’d rather die than ever make you feel that way again.”
I sniff loudly and shake my head. “I have to get back to work.”
“No,” he says, grabbing my face in both hands now. “Listen to me, Char. You. Are. Loved. You always have been and you always will be. And someone is going to get to love you. I hope to fucking God that someone is me. If it’s not, then I’ll accept that. But I won’t let you go on believing that you’re not loved. Do you understand me?”
I chuckle through my tears. “God, you’re annoyingly persistent.”
He bites his lip as he smiles. “And you’re aggressively resistant to my charms,” he says, grabbing an unused cloth napkin off a nearby table and using it to dab my face.
I shake my head as I set the napkin on top of a wedding gift. “Not resistant,” I say, grabbing his hand and laying it over my chest. “Beating a million miles a minute right now.”
His smile widens. “That’s like music to my ears.”
Before I can reply, he leans in and places a tender kiss on the corner of my mouth. He doesn’t pull away, though. He remains frozen in place, the two of us suspended in this moment of uncertainty: Should we or shouldn’t we?
My stomach tightens into a ball as I await his next move. Just when I think he’s going to pull away, his mouth falls gently over mine, stealing my breath like a wave crashing over me. His lips are soft and tender as his hands come up to cup my face. His tongue slides into my mouth, tasting like the champagne we drank earlier as it brushes over mine. A quiet moan issues from deep inside me and he responds with a low growl, like an answer to a question.
But the only question in my mind is: How long can we make out before I have to get back to work? I hope that growl is Ben’s way of saying forever. God, please let it be forever this time.
17
Good As Hell
Now
I spend all day Sunday and Monday working on my computer, editing Lauria’s wedding photos while exchanging texts with Ben. He tries relentlessly to convince me he should come over to give me some inspiration while I work, but I hold my ground. I can’t dive into us the way we dove of
f Goat Rock three years ago. This is my heart and sanity I’m protecting here.
On Tuesday, Mason walks into my office — my mom’s old office — to ask if I want to go with him, Dad, and Frank to The Dunk for lunch. I already have plans to go to The Dunk with Allie later tonight, but I can’t resist the opportunity to spend some time with Frank. I want to ask why Ben isn’t coming, but I don’t want to seem overly concerned with Ben’s whereabouts. He has a career and friends that need him. I’m no longer the center of his world.
Oof. Just thinking those words feels like a punch in the gut.
“Sure,” I say to Mason. “Just give me about ten minutes to finish saving my changes to this pic and change into something presentable.”
Mason glances over my outfit: gray running shorts and the Pride Month T-shirt with the rainbow that’s so faded the purple looks brown now. “Yeah, Pride Month’s been over for more than a week. Get with the times.”
I spin around in my desk chair to finish working on the photo in Adobe Lightroom, but I don’t hear any movement and I can feel Mason staring at me. “What?” I ask, slightly annoyed.
“Are you and Ben back together?” he asks without delay.