I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends: Confessions of a Reality Show Villain

by Courtney Robertson

  MY PLAN WAS to hide out at my parents’ house for as long as necessary and do some serious soul-searching. Not only about what went wrong with Ben, but also about the destruction of my career, my reputation, even my personality, since I went on the show. I was at a very low and dark place; thankfully I got a ton of support from several of my old cast mates, deserved or not. Casey, Rachel, and Jaclyn all checked in. Lindzi Cox, who I hadn’t talked to since the end of the show, sent me the sweetest message: “Hey woman, sorry to hear about everything! Sending happy thoughts your way, my dear.” I thanked her and joked, “You didn’t miss out on much.”

  Of course, there were always the haters. Trista Sutter had to butt in her big nose, giving an exclusive reaction to RumorFix: “Why did they go slowly if they knew they were in love? A big reason Ryan and I worked out is because we didn’t take it slowly, we jumped right into starting our future together.” Right, because you’re perfect.

  I had good intentions of having an introspective Zen retreat at my parents’ place, but that all got thrown out the window when I checked social media. Note to self and every woman in the world: turn off all social media after a breakup! It’s so essential to your sanity! I made the mistake of checking Ben’s pages the first weekend after the split. He and his friends kept posting pictures of him partying his face off on rooftops, having a blast. He obviously didn’t care about me. It felt inconsiderate and like he was throwing it in my face.

  Feeling devastated and lonely, I was pretty vulnerable when Arie, a fellow Scottsdalian, reached out to me within those first few days. I had this uncontrollable urge to act out and there he was. First Arie tweeted publicly that he was bummed about the breakup and thought we were going to make it: “I guess it just takes the right couple.” Then he tweeted me privately, “Heard the news. Hope you’re doing ok.” I messaged him my number and told him I was in Arizona hiding out at my parents’ house. He called me and we made plans to meet up.

  When I told my parents about Arie, they were extremely pissed, especially my dad. “Don’t do that, Bug,” he warned. “It’s a really bad idea.” He had gotten a nice text from Ben right after the breakup.

  Ben: Sorry it didn’t work out. Thanks for letting me be a part of your family.

  My dad: I can’t believe you let her get away.

  Ben didn’t respond.

  I ignored my parents’ warning to stay away from Arie. Three nights after I got home, they left for a vacation in Maine and I immediately, and recklessly, invited him over to their house, like a naughty teenager (and a serial rebounder). He brought over takeout from Postino and two bottles of Brassfield’s Eruption wine and we closed the blinds. After we ate, we sat in the backyard talking. I found out that he’d dated someone connected to the show a few years ago and that’s how he ended up auditioning for The Bachelorette. During his casting weekend in North Carolina, my finale had aired. He and a bunch of the guys watched it and he said he knew then that I was his “dream babe.” He said from that moment on he had a crush on me.

  He was rewarded for that touching story with a make out session that lasted for what seemed like an eternity. Though he is an expert at lip locking, known among fans of the show as the Kissing Bandit, I was getting hot and bothered, and needed more. “Arie, I feel like I’m in high school. I can’t just keep making out with you.”

  He was hesitant, for a millisecond, but then we headed into my childhood bedroom, into my canopy bed, for what can only be described as the best sex I’ve ever had. Why was it so good you ask? Arie’s incredibly passionate and utilizes his entire body in his lovemaking. And he knows exactly what positions make a woman comfortable and satisfied.

  * * *

  KEEPING IT REAL

  Arie’s Kissing Tips

  “I have to say as a romantic person, the kiss is only as good as the feeling behind it,” the Kissing Bandit himself says. “That being said, if you’re a terrible kisser we need to work on some things regardless.” Here are his tips to make sure a first kiss isn’t the only kiss.

  1.Fresh breath is a must. Don’t think I need to elaborate on this one.

  2.Timing is everything. Make the most of a romantic moment, like on long walks, candlelit dinners, being wrapped in a blanket by a fire.

  3.Eye contact is key. Tell your partner with just a look you want to be kissed.

  4.Never, absolutely never, ask permission. Take “can I kiss you?” out of your vocabulary.

  5.Go slow and don’t overthink it. Relax your lips.

  6.Kissing is not just done with your lips. Pull her close and be assertive.

  7.Confidence is sexy. Be bold and in control.

  8.Run your hand through her hair; brush her hair from her face.

  9.A first kiss should be short and passionate. Leave her wanting more.

  10.Last but not least, if you love someone, tell them through your lips.

  * * *

  When it was over, I gave him a massage and I could tell he was smitten. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he joked. He told me he was going to cut all ties with the different women he was seeing. “That’s the first lie you’ve ever told me,” I joked back. After he left, he posted to Twitter: “Amazing what can happen if you take a chance.”

  I quickly learned that Arie liked to post every single detail of his life on Instagram and Twitter. Arie’s need for attention was a little off-putting, but I admired his zest for life. Ben was so private, cold, and unemotional.

  I was in Scottsdale for twelve days and I spent most of that time with Arie. I felt safe with him and liked that he understood what it was like to be on the show and a member of Bachelor Nation. One night he told me to wear warm, comfortable clothes because he was taking me somewhere special. I was terrified of being spotted with him in public. “Trust me,” he said.

  He picked me up in his truck and took me to Arizona’s only drive-in movie theater to see The Odd Life of Timothy Green. We lay on an AeroBed in the back, eating popcorn, snuggling under blankets, and kissing. It was the cutest date ever. Spontaneous and romantic.

  In one week, I felt closer to Arie than I had to Ben in a year. Though I knew Arie was another rebound, this was the kind of relationship I’d been craving. He was attentive and kind and complimented me. And he wasn’t bored staying in watching movies. He actually enjoyed my company and didn’t need his friends around him 24/7. When I’d complained about Ben’s entourage, he said to me many times, “This is my lifestyle, Courtney, and it’s not going to change.”

  I got sick of hiding out with Arie and decided to tempt fate. I wanted to take him to my favorite restaurant at the Farm. I called ahead and asked them to reserve the most secluded table and made them promise that my visit would be confidential. But when we got there, they sat two couples right next to us. While we were eating dinner and kissing, one of the couples took our picture. When I went to the bathroom, Arie politely asked them to erase the picture, but they denied they snapped us. We both knew we were screwed.

  The next day I left to drive back to L.A. and all hell broke loose. I got a call from my friend at Wet Paint, who told me the picture of us kissing had been sold to TMZ.com. I panicked.

  I texted Julia, Ben’s sister, to give her a heads-up. “Is he a good kisser?” she asked jokingly. That eased my mind a bit. Until a producer from The Bachelor called me and said “I just talked to Ben and he is totally flipping out.”

  “Should I call him?”

  “No, let him cool off.”

  Ten minutes later I got a text from Ben: “Really? Please don’t ever contact me again. Low blow.”

  I tried to temper the explosive situation by being apologetic.

  “Please understand I have been so brokenhearted. I wanted us to work. I’m so sorry I hurt you. It was never my intention. I would have loved you forever and ps I’m still in love with you. I care for you deeply and only want to see you happy.”

  That just made him spitting mad.

  “You just dug your own grave. Good luck gaini
ng respect from anyone. I’m not here to protect you from negativity anymore. You lost all credibility that you built up after the last media disaster. It’s really disappointing. Don’t expect me to be on your side anymore. Our ‘united front’ is out the fucking window. Have a nice ride on your own. Tata.”

  “That united front has been out the window for quite some time. You’re the one that gave up, not me. Remember that.”

  “You kissed the guy!!! How does that make you still miss me? It’s been a week since we stopped talking and you’re already going on dates in public!? How stupid are you?”

  “I do miss you, badly. I wake up in the middle of the night crying. Not that you care. Looks like you’ve been off living it up. You let me go so easily.”

  “Last weekend was an escape for me. You going on a date with Arie is the prime example why we didn’t work. You never think about your actions.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes and I’ve forgiven you many times.”

  “Whatever. This is your bad not mine. You’re in a pickle. Have fun with that.”

  “It was one date; he called me,” I lied, trying to diffuse the situation. “Again I’m sorry. I will always love you and be there for you, whether you like it or not.”

  “Not so sure anymore. Anyway have fun with this. I do feel bad you put yourself in this situation. Frankly, I’m shocked.”

  Ben called Arie and left him a message. “Hey man, I’m not mad at you. I just have a few questions.” Arie never called him back. I warned Arie that he should be prepared to be blasted in the media but he just said calmly, “Don’t worry.” Unlike Ben, he didn’t let these things bother him or change his opinion of me. He tweeted a picture of himself shouting from a mountaintop with a caption saying he had no problem telling the world what an amazing woman I was. He seemed so much more passionate than Ben.

  The Arie incident started a vicious war between Ben and me. Back and forth insults were flung through the media. He said that he owed an apology to the women on the show for not believing them. That he dodged a bullet. His sister posted nasty messages on Arie’s Instagram pictures, calling him a C-list fame whore. She texted me, too, demanding to know how I could do this to Ben. Before Halloween, ABC ran a video online called “The Hatchelor” and they used film from our season to make a horror movie starring me as the monster.

  I retaliated by setting up a paparazzi photo shoot “catching” me returning the $80,000 engagement ring to Neil Lane.

  I also did a story in Life & Style, in which I ripped on Ben. I did another exclusive in Us Weekly, saying I felt “brainwashed.” Ben unleashed more fury, and questioned publicly if I were only interested in being famous. “Did I ever really know her?” he said about me, saying all the things he knew would cut to the bone. “Maybe she was just that good at fooling people.”

  After a few weeks of this, I couldn’t take anymore. I waved the white flag and gave up, totally bummed out. Ben had pushed all of the right buttons and hit me where it hurt most. Like Ben said, “Things don’t end, unless they end badly.” Boy, did we crash and burn.

  I called a producer friend and told him to tell Ben I would break up with Arie if it would stop our hateful war of words. He never responded to my offer, but I knew that my tryst with Arie was toast. In early November, a bunch of Bachelor Nation alumni came to L.A. to attend Ashley and J. P.’s wedding, which would be televised a month later in December. Arie was also in town, though we were not invited to the wedding. I tagged along with him when he visited his buddy Jef Holm, who was staying at the Ritz-Carlton. It was strange that the two were friends, when both had fought so hard to win Emily’s heart. But such is the nature of the beast. Ben and J. P. were buddies, too.

  Jef and Emily had split up a few weeks ago as well. Emily had not so secretly turned her attention to Arie, bombarding him with jealous texts about his relationship with me. Jef found out about the texts (so did I, there are few secrets in Bachelor Nation). Jef was furious, but he wasn’t so innocent either. He may have adhered to his strict Mormon teachings about alcohol, but he certainly didn’t abstain from womanizing. The guy was a total player. During the wedding weekend, I know from very reliable sources that he hooked up with three women—a one-night backslide with former fiancée Emily, Over-Analyst blogger Jenna Burke from my season, and his new hookup, a twenty-three-year-old named Katianna.

  I knew the guy was shadesville the moment I met him. My intuition was confirmed again when he told me, “You got a bad rap. Come build a well with me.” He said his People Water charity would do wonders for my reputation. He told me that I could shake a baby and everyone would still love me. Ew, what a cocky bastard.

  I couldn’t deal with this love triangle or quadrangle or whatever I was involved in with Arie, Emily, and Jef. I wanted out, no part of this incestuous Bachelor drama. At the end of the weekend I told Arie we were done. He was disappointed and asked me to think about it overnight, and then attend the iHeartRadio concert with him the next day.

  After sleeping on it, I called Arie and told him I’d overreacted and that I’d love to go with him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said. I was surprised and confused, until I checked Instagram later that night. He’d flown in another girl to take to the show and because he just couldn’t help it Arie posted pictures of them together. I clicked on her name and figured out that he was dating this woman, a born-again virgin, the entire time we were together. He’d often seen both of us on the same day. It was all right there on social media, if I’d bothered to check.

  Once word got out that I was single again, all sorts of Bachelorette guys contacted me. I was asked via Twitter and through mutual friends to “hang out” with a long list of alumni, but I decided to try to stay away from Bachelor guys.

  A lot of (random) guys also wanted to be my savior. As soon as the news broke about the breakup, my ex Cavan sent me flowers. The comedian David Spade, who got my number from his friend Mike Fleiss, called me out of the blue and asked me to come see his comedy show. He texted me a lot, and he was so sweet and funny and charming, but I just wasn’t ready. After I blew him off a bunch, he wrote:

  Well, I have to admit you are sort of tough to date. First have to figure out if you’re single, then I have to get you to answer the phone, then you have to say yes. Lining up all three of these things is sort of difficult.

  I declined all invitations and on New Year’s Day, after everything had died down, I reached out to Ben in an e-mail. I wanted to come clean and apologize. But he never responded to me. I reached out to Chris, always my source of comfort in times of trouble, but he was living with someone and disappeared on me. I never felt so alone in my entire life.

  I sank into a serious depression for months and for the first time in my life, I didn’t turn to a man. I turned into a recluse. I was sick of the drama and I was sick of myself. I felt I had lost my voice and sight of who I was. I felt like I had become a bad friend, sister, daughter, and person. I genuinely cared what people thought about me. I was so disappointed in myself for the way I’d handled everything and couldn’t face the world.

  The show, and everything that happened around it, was the experience of a lifetime. But it also changed me forever—and I wasn’t sure I liked the change. Was what I’d gone through worth the pain I felt now? Was it worth destroying my modeling career? Or my reputation? I didn’t think I was ever going to feel unconditional love again and wasn’t sure I deserved it.

  At the end of my rope, my faith in love and in myself completely lost, I decided to see a psychic. I was desperate and I’d had good luck before. In Tempe, Arizona, I’d seen the famous Mrs. Rita, who was immortalized in a Gin Blossoms song, and she told me I would wait until I was older to get married. I’d also seen a guy named Yogi in Miami who handed me a piece of paper and said, “This is who you’re going to be with.” The name on the paper was “Chris.”

  I scrolled through Yelp and found a medium named Shirley Lipner, right down the street from me in Santa Monica. S
he had all five-star reviews and cost $150. When I walked in, she said to me right off the bat, “You’re not depressed. You’re in a fog.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I said. “I was so worried.” I had to pee so I asked to borrow the key to the bathroom. I didn’t know if she knew who I was, but while I was gone I became concerned that I’d picked this woman randomly. What if she sold our conversation to a tabloid?

  As soon as I got back from the bathroom, she put my mind at ease: “I was channeling your energy when you went to pee and don’t you worry, everything is completely private, much like a doctor.”

  I asked her to channel Ben and she did. She said he was standing there with his arms crossed, pouting like a little boy. She said he had a mental block because of his mother and that we were possibly together in a past life. She said he just didn’t know what he wanted, but he really did love me. I would hear from him again when I turned forty.

  I had tears in my eyes.

  “In the past, you’ve always been like, ‘Pick me!’” the psychic said. “But now you’re going to have your pick. Take your time.”

  She was right. I’d jumped right into most of my relationships impulsively, without even taking the time to ask myself the right questions. What was the type of man I wanted? How did I want him to treat me? How should he treat my family? What type of parent would he be? All simple questions, yet all questions I’d avoided most of my life, just to avoid being alone.

  In the months after breaking up with Arie, I was alone for the longest stretch of my life. And you know what? Once the depression started lifting, it was a revelation. I found a new sense of faith and started praying again and giving thanks for my life. Instead of going on dates with guys, I went on dates with myself. I treated myself the way I always wanted a man to treat me. I stopped beating myself up for my past actions and was nice to myself. I realized I wasn’t the character “Courtney Robertson” on The Bachelor. I wasn’t a Man-eater or a cold marble statue or a villain.