Kicking Reality

by Kat T. Masen

  That year was defining for me. It was always the three of us, whatever we did or wherever we went. I tried to play with them but didn’t have their passion or drive. I found myself pulling away and hanging out more with the girls at school.

  Funnily enough, you stop hanging out with boys and all the girls wanted to do was talk about boys. Boys, boys, boys. The world just couldn’t exist without them.

  Life changed after that. With Logan’s dad being a deadbeat and never showing up to games, Dad took it upon himself to quit his job and travel with the boys to various soccer camps. Logan’s mom, Aunty Reese, was Mom’s best friend. She was having a hard time with the divorce and worried that Logan would rebel.

  There would be no time for rebelling. They proved they had the skills even at a young age. Dad, Mom, and Aunty Reese agreed that home schooling would work best given their hectic schedule leaving me alone to fend for myself in high school.

  I shouldn’t complain; I had fun. I dated boys, did the whole cheerleader squad thing, and lost my virginity in senior high to a guy named Dick. Such false advertising. His ‘dick’ was all talk. One of those jocks that talked the talk but definitely did not walk the walk.

  Everyone was so proud of Ash and Logan. They had a bright future ahead and I just sat back and watched, until my life did a complete one-eighty. I guess as kids, none of us expected to be here. Our lives were constantly under scrutiny and in front of the cameras being judged by the whole world.

  Alessandra sat on the stool beside me, drinking water and keeping quiet. Ash continued to act like a dick and went back to ignoring her. This wasn’t her fault. She fell in love with a loser. Should I even be using the word love? How do you fall in love with someone after knowing them for five minutes? Impossible.

  “I’m sorry about my brother.” I lean in towards her trying to make my voice heard over the music.

  “Your brother is . . . passionate,” she responds with a gentle smile.

  “Interesting choice of word. You can call him an asshole, it’s okay.”

  She shrugs half-heartedly. “He’s my husband. In my family, we don’t call our husbands that.”

  Averting my eyes and lowering my gaze, I try not to let my feelings show. Was I that much of a bitch towards Wes? Here is a woman that committed to a man she met and married him the same night. And here she was telling me in a way that she would stick by his side no matter what. Wes and I had been together for three years and the engagement has me questioning everything. The doubt was driving me insane.

  His lack of responding to me was driving me insane.

  I pull out my cell again and tap on the message I sent him. It showed me it was read but still no response. Fucking asshole!

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask, controlling my voice and pushing aside my irritation. “Since you’re my sister-in-law and all.”

  The endearment keeps her smile around. “Sure.”

  “How did you know you wanted to marry him? What pushed you past your doubts? I mean, surely, you would have had doubts?”

  “No doubts,” she answers confidently. “He made me smile, laugh, and feel alive. I had never felt all those three things in one moment. When he asked me to marry him, I agreed because if he could make me feel that way for the rest of my life, then what a life to live.”

  My gaze shifts towards my brother, angrily slamming the ball and cussing at his poor shot. Logan stood behind him, heckling and calling him soft. I wondered if Alessandra felt that way now, witnessing the darker side to my brother. I just couldn’t see it. Someone that made you smile, laugh, and feel alive.

  I wanted to ask her specifically what makes her feel alive. It could be interpreted in so many ways. Had I felt alive? Surely, I must have. Yet as I tried to think of moments when I felt alive, I could only think of when Wes proposed. Our relationship had been so calculated from the moment we met and maybe that’s what allowed the doubt to creep in. We were both programmed to feel or act a certain way. By now, it’s become second nature.

  “Are we going to kick his ass or are you going to stand there acting all girly?” Logan hisses from across the table, watching me intensely with his eyes fixed on mine.

  “Who you calling a girl?” I slam my palm onto the table on purpose, holding back the pain that ricochets up my arm.

  “The person standing across the table wearing a dress with pussies all over it.”

  Lowering my head, I look down at the pattern of my dress. It’s navy with scattered kitten faces. The halter neck combined with flared skirt make it very vintage. The designer was known for thinking outside the box—something I admired about her.

  “Kittens. And I’ll have you know that an upcoming designer gave me this dress as a present. I happen to love it,” I answer defensively.

  “Shit, Emmy.” Ash laughs. “Maybe you need to switch teams. Team pussy.”

  Logan raises his hand to his mouth, trapping his laughter. “If you can’t beat ’em, eat ’em.”

  Ash erupts into laughter, smacking his hand against the table. Logan is no better; his snide remark and arrogant laugh only irritate me more. Just like always, they would gang up on me, teasing me relentlessly about anything and everything. Some things never change and for once in my life, I kinda missed this. Letting the hair down and just being me—pussy dress and all.

  I brush it off like it didn’t bother me, walking across to the other side of the pool table. Grabbing the spare cue, my eyes dart back and forth analyzing the game. I had zero chance. The orange ball was too far left and I wasn’t that good of a player to rebound off the side and into the pocket. The blue one is an inch away from the black which was positioned so close to the pocket that I would end the game for the both of us.

  Fuck. I didn’t like to lose either, especially to my brother.

  Leaning down, my body angles along with the cue, my eyes focused on the orange ball. I have a small chance of making it and just when I am about to push forward, I feel Logan’s body lean on the back of mine. Resting his hand on top of my own, the warmth engulfs my skin as he applies pressure and directs my aim to the blue ball.

  “Aim for the blue ball,” he whispers in my ear. “Towards the left, nice and slow.”

  The muscles in my stomach move up and down, barrelling through me into fits of laughter. I accidently press back into him, connecting with his crotch. My laughs are impossible to contain, my body almost falling limp onto the table.

  “Do you know how funny that sounded?” I let out between breaths. “Aim for the blue balls nice and soft?”

  I slow my breathing, still unable to hide my grin from his lame request. I think I’ve calmed down enough until Logan brings my body back up and against his. His grip is tight and the heat of his skin is wrapped all over mine in this uncomfortable position.

  “I said aim for the blue ball. But hey, nice to know where your mind is at.”

  The smartass applies pressure on my hand, pulling back slightly then forward as we watch the white ball roll slowly towards the blue ball avoiding any movement from the black.

  I want to jump from excitement, but am well aware that his crotch is hard against my ass and he was far from soft. Oh my god . . . what the hell is happening? It’s the beer . . . mixed with the martini. I must be imagining things. Logan is gross. Has been since we were little. He is the same boy that thought dumping slugs in my socks would be fun. He had slugs all over his hands and now you’re letting him touch yours?

  “That’s cheating!” Ash hurls, clutching onto his cue with a tight grip.

  “What does Coach always say? There’s no I in team Ash,” Logan notes in dark amusement.

  “Fuck you. It’s like we’re back in middle school. The two of you ganging up on me when I wanted to dress as a cowboy for Halloween and you guys wanted to be Power Rangers.”

  “Dude, we were ten. Cowboys were for gay folk pretending to act manly. And the last time I checked, your dick wanted pussy only.”

  I shake my head, motionin
g for them to stop. “Please do not talk about Ash’s organs in any sexual way.”

  “Like you’re one to talk, Carrington. How many chicks came back to your hotel at the airport?” Ash asks with a sinister gaze, spilling his dirty little secret.

  Something holds back my laughter, watching Logan pause with a haunted smile. What a sleaze. Perhaps I wasn’t imaging his ass probe just then. I just didn’t expect it from him. He once told me that he wouldn’t make me his girlfriend if I were the last girl on earth covered in bacon and cotton candy—his two favourite things.

  “A gentleman never tells,” he answers in a decidedly odd tone.

  “Bullshit. You’re just saying that in front of the girls. You told me that they both blew you while you poured tequila all over their mouths.”

  His face changes, almost to anger for bringing that up. How our conversations have changed since the days we were little. We could spend hours talking about The X-Files and aliens roaming the earth and now we were talking about Logan being some sex god that got off on demeaning women?

  “Alright, can we move on? You’re both jerks and I need another drink,” I say, yelling out to Harry for another round on me but this time I swapped beers and martinis for shots of tequila.

  “Like you’re one to talk, Emmy. Have you seen the porn out there of you?” Logan snickers, continuing on. “Didn’t realize you were that kinky.”

  In between my shocked expression, Ash looks equally as shocked although his face quickly tightens with his eyes wide full of rage.

  “Firstly, Photoshop is a magical thing if you know how to use it. Secondly, I’m not stupid. I would never pose nude. I learned my lesson the time I sunbathed in Greece and had an accidental nip slip. But hey, I didn’t know you like to Google naked images of me?” I reverse my shock and stare at Logan, battling with his gaze as neither one of us back down.

  “Harry!” Ash shouts, breaking the awkward stand-off between me and Logan.

  Harry slides the tray of shots over the countertop; Alessandra quick to bring them over to us.

  Ash pulls a glass to his mouth, allowing it to linger while eyeing Logan. “Don’t ever talk about my sister that way. You got it?”

  Logan grabs a shot, tilting his head to the side with a smirk. “Emmy is a reality star. The whole world knows her business. Right Emmy?”

  “Fuck you,” I fume, downing a shot until the burning sensation halts my breathing for a second. My chest begins to hurt, but slowly disappears as the tequila warms my entire body. “You see what the producers want you to see. I’m not the same girl you once knew and watching me on TV doesn’t make you know me.”

  Ash raises his glass in the air. “Okay, fuck. Can we seriously just toast to something? I’m sick of this bullshit. Let’s just be us for the night.”

  I nod in agreeance, lifting another glass and raising it in the air. “To us . . . back together again. Except no more pranks.”

  “No more wet willies,” Logan adds, with a disgusted look directed at Ash.

  “No more swapping your chocolate for laxatives,” Ash says plainly.

  “That was you?” I turn to face him in shock. “I was blaming Logan this entire time!”

  “Who else knew that you snuck chocolate into your room and ate it before bed?” “Oh my god ASH! Why couldn’t you be a normal brother and like read my diary or something?”

  He places his hand on Logan’s shoulder, still holding the shot in hand. “I did read your diary . . . Dear Diary, Today I saw Logan take his shirt off at the pool. He had such big muscles and looked soooo hot. . . .”

  My face begins to heat up, remembering the one time I wrote about Logan. One fucking time! I was fifteen and hormonal. Yes, my hormones were cuckoo and smokin’ crack or something that day . . . month . . . year . . . whatever.

  “I never said that.” I try to brush it off, keeping my cool.

  “Aww Emmy, did you have a crush on me?” Logan teases, placing his arm around me and kissing my cheek.

  “No you douche, I was merely pointing out your transition from puberty. Now let’s drink.” I pull away, avoiding this embarrassing conversation and downing the shot in one go.

  My throat is immune to the burn now, allowing it to slide smoothly.

  The boys are loud and making a scene. Reminiscing about the first major soccer game they had when Ash pissed his pants on the field. Alessandra seems to enjoy the conversation, laughing along with us.

  In the corner of my eye, the light of my cell illuminates my purse. It’s sitting just at the top within arm’s reach. Thinking it is Wes, I enter my passcode and see Nina’s name appear with a text:

  Call me NOW.

  With my cell in hand, I tell them I need to make a call, moving my way through the deserted bar and outside where the noise has diminished. The air outside is much cooler, the darkness illuminated by the sign on Harry’s bar with one bulb flashing bright.

  I dial her number quickly, waiting as the cell continues to ring.

  “Emerson, we need to talk.”

  “Okay,” I say. “We’re talking.”

  “Something has happened. And before I tell you what it is, I just want to say I’m sorry and you deserve better.” Her voice softens, almost into pity.

  I laugh nervously through the receiver. “Let me guess, they canceled the show?”

  “No. I just received a call and email from this guy that claims he is part of that paparazzi mob in Europe that follows the Royal Family. It’s about Wesley.”

  “What about him?” I ask, moving farther away from the bar.

  “He’s been photographed at Rogues. And the photos were not good.”

  “Rogues? Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” I raise my voice, frustrated and panicky. The alcohol isn’t helping me, amplifying my emotions and creating a monster ready to unleash.

  “A brothel.”

  “A brothel?” I repeat coldly. “So what exactly was he doing?”

  “Emerson, I’m sorry.”

  “Nina! What the fuck was he doing?!”

  She pauses, and in the background I hear my phone ding. Moving the phone away from my ear, I open the text message and see the photo she sent to me. I almost drop the phone, hands shaking and heart pumping so loud I think it’s going to explode all over the dirty pavement.

  His body is positioned behind some woman, cock sticking inside her with some white substance laced all over her ass. There’s another woman in the photo, running her tongue along the other woman’s ass with a sensual gaze lingering.

  My posture stiffens; arms rigid and shoulders squared as I stare into the darkness. How dare he do this to me! I scream internally. My voices are silenced by my clenched teeth, forcing me to remain quiet while processing my goddamn fucking life and how everything will change.

  “Em! Emerson!” Nina yells through the speaker.

  “I’m here,” I say above a whisper, choking back the tears that are threatening to escape and streamlining the anger that makes me want to rip his fucking soul out and feed it to coyotes.

  “This is bad. I just want you to know that I’m in negotiation to keep this under wraps. It’s going to cost us.”

  “Whatever. I’ll talk to you later Nina. I need to go.” I have no energy or fight left within me, quick to terminate the call.

  I click the end button and lean against the brick wall. I should have seen this coming. All signs pointed to this. I trusted him when my gut knew something was wrong. It never bothered me that women threw themselves at him online and when he was out in public, what bothered me was the way he would somehow be drawn to women at social functions in which we both attended. I could count the number of times I would catch him talking one-on-one with some woman that he claimed was nothing more than a friendly chat.

  He was always on his phone and became snappy on occasions when I asked him what he was doing. The signs all pointed to him being an ass and I didn’t even know what hurt me more: his infidelity or the humiliation of the
world finding out.

  And they would find out.

  Page six news: Wesley Rich caught in a hooker drug scandal.

  Poor Emerson. She deserves better.

  Serves her right for trying to change him.

  She got what was coming to her.

  I stay outside for a good fifteen minutes, staring blankly at the ground. Dragging my feet along, I walk back into the bar and plaster a fake smile calling Harry for another round. I know it’s not the best idea but the boys wouldn’t know any different.

  “Another round? Fuck. We haven’t drank this hard since the night I got hitched,” Ash says with a burp in tow.

  “The night that you fucked up your life?” I say with a straight face staring my brother down.

  “The night I fucked up my life? Wow, thanks for the support, sis. Nice to know you have my back.”

  “I don’t have your back. And even if you told me, I still wouldn’t have your back!” I raise my voice. “Marriage is for fools. Love is overrated and you’ll probably get screwed over then come running back to me and Logan to fix all your fucking problems.”

  Ash’s face falls, switching to anger as I don’t back off, reflecting my own troubles back onto him. I needed a punching bag and my brother had the target smack bam in the middle of his face

  “Are you done now?” he grits, standing beside Alessandra who looks disappointed by my outburst.

  “Yeah, I’m done, Ash. Have a nice fucking marriage.”

  I grab my purse and storm out, searching around for something or someone to take me anywhere but here. There’s nothing in sight but a dark road and trees swaying in the shadows.

  I should be scared, but what’s out there lurking behind the shadows should be scared of me.

  The sticks and stones beneath my feet sound with every footstep and just when I think I’m alone, I’m startled by the force of hands lifting me up and throwing me over a shoulder.