In the Bad Boy's Bed

by Sophia Ryan

  A couple of hours later, soft knocking at me door woke me, but I didn't respond.

  My room was dark. A look out the window confirmed that night had fallen around us.

  I wondered whether Nick was still at work or had made it home already. Was he eating a silent dinner with his small family, his food tasting like mush in his mouth because of the anger and hurt feelings seasoning it? Or had they talked it out, resolved some issues, adjusted the rules to fit in his new role as a man who had taken a lover? Or, like me, had the world he known been so irrevocably changed after the big explosion that it would be years before he found his place in it again?

  What was it about Nick that my parents hated so much? He was a great person.

  "They just don't know him," I said, the sound of my voice strange and loud in the quiet room.

  "You don't know him," I heard my mother's voice crawl through my brain.

  My gaze flew across the room to the floor where I'd thrown the report. I got up from bed, picked up the papers, and settled back in bed. I turned on my lamp and began to read. The picture it painted of my lover was heartbreaking.

  * * * * *

  Good student, athlete, good attitude, never a problem until age thirteen when Father announced he was leaving his family—wife and two sons—for his younger lover.

  Police were summoned to the family home on a domestic violence call. He was arrested for stabbing his father, Collin, so severely he had to be hospitalized. Father later died of heart attack. His stabbing was initially called a possible contributing factor to his death, but medical evidence proved the two incidences were unrelated. A weak/

  malfunctioning heart was the official cause.

  Father's girlfriend, Ella Thomas, attacked Nick's mother at the funeral and pulled a gun on her. Nick stepped in to protect his mother; he and the woman struggled. She fell backward, gun in her hand. The gun went off, killing the woman. Investigation and witnesses confirmed Nick was not at fault.

  After the two deaths, Nick had increasing trouble at school. He skipped classes, got into fights over the smallest offenses, was caught engaging in sexual activities with female classmates at school, attended class under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol. Accused of breaking out a car window but as a minor received probation. Suspended numerous times; expulsion followed when violent and inappropriate behaviors continued.

  He attended three different schools over a span of two years. Family moved twice.

  He and his mother and brother moved to this community a year ago. At the request of his aunt, Carla Stone, who works at Academy Prep, he was admitted to the private school on the condition he would cause no trouble. The school agreed to give him a chance to start over academically so that he could graduate, get into a college, and get his life back on track. One infraction and he would be out of school, and probably on a fast track to prison.

  * * * * *

  The report went on, listing the various infractions that led to Nick's trouble in school and with the law and wrapping up with copies of Nick's most recent grades. All A's. Glowing comments from his teachers about his academic performance; concern about his lack of friends. The last page included a long narrative from headmaster Wilson commenting on Nick's numerous absences in the past month and on how close he was to breaking his conditions for staying on at the school.

  If I still wrote in my diary, the entry for today would have gone something like this: What a couple of months! I've alienated and worried my parents. Insulted family friends who are like second parents to me. Broken it off with my long-time boyfriend. Bitched out and lied to my best friends. Ditched more class in one month than I'd done all four years of high school combined. Risked my academic future. Sassed and disrespected my head master. Made my mother angry enough to slap me for the first time in my life. I slept with someone who has a long, dark, troubled past that was foreign and scary to me.

  I risked everything I am, everything I've ever wanted in my future, all for a chance to experience the joys of sleeping with the mythical bad boy who got the name honestly, to infuse my white-bread life with excitement, to taste the thrill of living fully, to be with someone who made me feel my heart beating in my chest and made me happier and more satisfied than I'd ever felt. And now I had to pay the consequences. I had to give up Nick Donnelly, the man I loved. For both our futures.

  Chapter Seven

  During lunch the next day, I tracked Nick down in the cafeteria. I stood just inside the open double doors, hoping to catch his attention without anyone noticing that was what I was doing. Any sane person would have just walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder, and said "let's talk." But not me. Despite a few desire-induced moments of bravery when I'd have done anything to have sex with him again, the truth was, I was a chicken shit.

  He must have sensed my presence because he turned his head in my direction. I signaled to him to meet me, and I waited for him in our spot. When he got there, he immediately pulled me into his arms and kissed me, and I folded, taking him in greedily.

  Not a good start.

  "I've wanted to do that all day," he said, then picked me up and kissed me and spun me around.

  "Nick, put me down," I squealed, giddy and excited at the nearness of him.

  "What's the matter? Still afraid somebody will see us? Huh? Huh?" He was in a playful mood, tickling me, teasing me, making me laugh, that I could barely talk. He knew all my most ticklish spots and was being merciless.

  "Stop . . . stop . . . Nick . . . ." I laughed so hard I was afraid I was going to pee my pants.

  To get him to stop, I tackled him, pushing him up against a tree. He grabbed me to him as he stumbled back so that I fell flush against him. He laughed and hugged me close.

  The pure joy of the moment released my stiffness, and I laughed with him.

  We were eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, and body-to-body. My gaze roamed over his handsome, vibrant face. His eyes sparkled with the light of a thousand stars. I knew I shouldn't look, but I did, and they pulled me in for a closer view. His full lips beckoned me to taste their sweetness. Speaking the telepathic language of lovers, his eyes held mine and recounted to me the intimate acts we had shared together. I couldn't resist him or his pull on my emotions or my body.

  I kissed him on the mouth. He cradled my head and back while my fingers clung to his chest. My leg slid between his legs, and my body rocked slowly against him in an erotic rhythm we had perfected over the past few months.

  "You've lowered your standards since we split up, Angela."

  The hateful, smirking voice a few feet from us pierced my ears like an ice pick, bursting the bubble of pleasure that had surrounded me. I backed out of Nick's embrace.

  He moved away from the tree and stood like a bodyguard between me and Sean and his friend Max Dawkins.

  "When Dawkins, here, told me he'd seen you slutting around with this prick, I wanted to beat the shit out of him for lying. But I see he was right." The ugly smirk on his face told me how he felt about it. "But in honor of what we once meant to each other," he continued, "I'll defend what's left of your reputation."

  "Fuck off, Sean. I don't need defending," I said.

  "Fuck off? Is that how you talk now? Is this what he's done to you? I won't let you ruin yourself any more over this piece of trash."

  "He's not trash. You don't know anything about him, so just leave us alone."

  "Looks like you do though. Looks like you two know each other real well. God, Angie, you can't seriously be interested in this ghetto boy."

  "Get it through your head, Sean—you're the one I'm not interested in."

  Sean's face turned cherry red, except for a spot on each cheek that was white. He had a short fuse and I recognized the signs that he was almost at the end of it.

  "Fine, Angela. You're right. It's none of my business if you want to be his fucking slut." He snickered.

  So did Max.

  Nick struck like a cobra. He slammed his fist into Sean's face, grabbed him b
y the neck, and shoved him hard up against a tree. I couldn't hear what Nick was saying, but I saw fear in Sean's eyes. And I thought I saw a glint of steel.

  Max rushed in, ready to double-team him, but Nick kicked back, striking Max in the cajones.

  Max crumpled to the ground, moaning and clutching himself. With a few final words said between gritted teeth, Nick released Sean and backed away a few steps. Only after Sean helped Max to his feet and helped him hobble away did he return to me.

  The look on his face shocked me. His usually warm, soft green eyes flashed like splinters of hardened steel. His tender mouth, always so ready to smile or kiss, was set in a grim line that could cut iron. I swear I could almost see flames puffing from his flared nostrils. The overall look was hard and brutal and violent. This was a side of him I had glimpsed only in the report I'd read.

  I could now add one more piece to the puzzle that was Nick Donnelly. The rumors that he was a tough guy were true; it wasn't just an act. He was a raging protector, willing to do whatever was necessary to protect what he considered HIS. And obviously he considered me to be his.

  "I don't suppose you're in the mood to pick up where we left off." His dry humor and half-smile had returned, despite slight flush remaining on his face.

  But I couldn't return his smile. Fear nagged at me like a splinter under the skin.

  "What did you say to make him back off?"

  "I just reminded him that he needs to watch his mouth when he's around you."

  The worried look on my face said all I couldn't say. Nick smiled and pulled me into his embrace.

  "Admit it, Angel . . . you love me."

  My heart lurched, but from which emotion I wasn't sure.

  "Why would you think that?" I let him hold me, but I didn't reciprocate.

  "You stood up for me just now, and in Wilson's office. Every time I hold you in my arms, I can feel it."

  I had to tell him before he was hurt any more. "Nick, I . . . I have to be honest with you. I asked you to meet me here today to break up with you. To tell you to forget about everything that has happened between us, to forget us." I stumbled over the words and kept my eyes glued to the pomegranate red polish on my toenails. I couldn't face him and stab him at the same time.

  "But you didn't break up with me, Angel. You kissed me. What does that tell you?"

  Ignoring his question and the tears burning my eyes, I went into my rehearsed speech. "You're tearing me apart, Nick. All I think about is you and the next time we can be together. I don't like the person I've become: lying, sneaking around, missing school, all the friction with my parents . . . so I can have sex with you. I'm constantly afraid we're going to get caught, or get pregnant. I don't like living this way, and I won't do it anymore."

  "It's only hard because you're not being honest about your feelings. Give into them and you won't have all that torment inside. Dammit, Angel! You want to be with me. I know it and you know it. But you're afraid of your friends and your family."

  "That's ridiculous. I'm not afraid of them."

  "Yes, you are. They've got you wrapped up in a nice, neat little package. You're so damn terrified they won't like you if show them the real you—the real you who loves me."

  "Look, Nick, what we had was fun and exciting, but it's not what I want." I almost choked on my next words, but I swallowed and got them out. "You're not who I want."

  "Bullshit. If you keep backing away from what you really want because of what someone else might think, you're going to be afraid all your life and never get what you really need to make you happy. And that's not living."

  "Oh, suddenly you're an expert on happiness? You? Ha! You have no friends, no life, just an old bike that—that stinks and rumbles—and a house that's in sore need of a face lift. You have a dark past you'll never outrun. I, on the other hand, have everything that makes life worth living. I'm very happy."

  "Liar."

  He spoke coldly, as if my hurtful words had simply bounced off his thick skin and not plunged into him. But I saw the small twitch at his eyes and knew the lies had gone deep. Into both of us.

  "OK, you're right. I WAS happy until you came along and flipped my world on its side, constantly making me feel like I'm hanging on the edge of a cliff."

  "Before I came along, what had you ever done that made your heart race a million miles a minute? Something that made every part of you feel alive? Getting a good deal on a pair of True Religion jeans doesn't count," he added.

  "I don't have to answer . . . ."

  "You don't need to, 'cause I already know the answer. Nothing. Until you met me, that is."

  "What an ego! What makes you think you know everything, or anything, about me?"

  "If you want to lie to me and to your friends and to everybody else, fine, but at least be honest with yourself. Lying about your true feelings for me is what's causing your pain and confusion, not the desire burning inside you when you think about me. You know how free you are when we're together. You don't hold back, you tell me exactly what you want, do exactly what you need to be happy."

  "Having sex is setting myself free? That's a typical male solution if I've ever heard one." I turned away from him, but he grabbed my arm, pulled me back to face him.

  "It's not sex, Angel. It's making love—with me. We bring out the best in each other.

  Even though we don't know everything there is to know about each other, we're one person when we're together, whether we're making love, or talking, or hell, even arguing.

  It's like we've been together forever. You know what I need and how to satisfy it and I know what you need and how to satisfy it. Apart, we're just two flawed people searching for something we'll never find. Together we're . . . together we're fucking perfect." At my silence, he added, "Tell me I'm wrong."

  Because it would be futile for me to deny it, I didn't. "Yes, I like the way I feel when we're together, but it's only physical desire, and that isn't enough to base a relationship on.

  I want it all, Nick—a relationship that's going somewhere, the commitment, the trust, the love, and the sex. And the future. You're only offering me sex."

  He looked at me, chewing my words, digesting them. When he spoke, his voice carried a hard tone of disappointment. "I am offering you all those things, Angel, but let's be honest…those things wouldn't be enough for you, because they would be coming from me. I'm not what mommy and daddy had in mind for their princess. I won't be able to keep you in furs and diamonds or fly you to Paris on a whim. And if that's what you really want, then you're right--you'll be better off with someone else. All I can do is love you, cherish you, please you. Never leave you."

  "Dammit, I was happy before you came into my world and . . . ."

  ". . . brought it to life?"

  ". . . disrupted it!"

  He threw up his hands and turned his back to me. He stuck his hands in his hair and growled. When he turned back to me, his eyes were calm and sad.

  "OK. Have it your way. Keep to your safe, little world. I guess if you don't expect much from life, you won't be disappointed in what little you get." He shook his head then pointed his finger at me. "The woman I'm in love with is bold, exciting, and fearless. She knows exactly what she wants and how to make it happen. You're right: I don't know who the hell you are . . . Angela . . . and neither do you."

  He turned and raced across the field. Out of my dead, pitiful, sterile, so-called life.

  It was then that his words hit me fully…the woman he's in love with. He loved me.

  No. He loved Angel. I was Angela, the one who had just ripped out both our hearts and trampled them into pieces on the dying autumn grass. I had a deep sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

  It's said that the sweetest sound to a human is his or her own name. He had called me Angela. It was the saddest thing I had ever heard.

  * * * * *

  I stayed home from school for the next two days, sick to my soul from t
he way I'd discarded the guy I loved, the guy who loved me.

  The day I went back, he and I arrived at our lockers at the same time. He glanced up, met my eyes. I held my breath. He immediately looked away, shut his locker, and headed my way. My heart soared like a kite on an up-drift, but he sailed past without saying a word, not even a nod hello. My heart swooped hard and dropped into a long nose dive.

  I exhaled. I should have been relieved. He was honoring my request, my decision to stay away from him.

  I knew we couldn't work. We ran in entirely different circles. My friends were from well-to-do families and were more into shopping, parties, and preparing to get into the best colleges, marriages, and organizations. I didn't even know whether he had any friends. My friends and family wouldn't understand my attraction for him anymore than his would accept his feelings for what they would call a preppy bitch.

  But that reality didn't keep me from holding on to fantasies of our being together, having the courage to show the world our love, or keep my heart from breaking in two when he walked past me as if I were nothing to him.

  Yeah, I should have been relieved, but what I was feeling was a cold, jagged pain that ran so deep inside me I could spit ice cubes.

  I didn't have the luxury of wallowing for very long. Gena came up behind me and tossed her books into our shared locker.

  "Hustle your buns, girlfriend. You can't be late for Spanish again."

  "Yeah, I'm coming." I tossed my books on top of hers, slammed the metal door, and hurried off down the hall.

  The days blurred after that. I'd see glimpses of Nick here and there, but for the most part, he faded into the sea of faces and buildings at school. The pain hadn't lessened but I no longer though I would die from being without him. Then I saw him with someone else.

  I had a half a credit of PE to satisfy, so in the winter, that meant some kind of class.