Kicking Reality

by Kat T. Masen

Logan.

  “Love is just one pile of bullshit.

  And I’m the one who stepped in it.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  “What the hell happened back there?”

  Wriggling my body out of his grip, Logan drops me to the ground as I tumble and manage to not fall over onto the dirt. The foliage beneath my feet crunches, echoing in the silence that surrounds us.

  My chest is heaving, with noisy breaths that exhale while the thumping inside—from a broken heart—fuels the adrenalin. Why the fuck did Logan have to follow me? I wanted nothing more than to be alone and sob like a fool.

  Refusing to answer him, I continue to storm off, the dirt seeping into my brand-new wedges as my steps quicken hoping to escape him. There’s a narrow pathway where town folk often walked their dogs, and with the pale moon the only light guiding me, I follow my instincts until I reach the end of the trees with the lake in full view.

  In the distance, there are speckles of lights from the few houses that surround it. It is such a beautiful place, and one that holds memories of my childhood. The three of us would ride our bikes into the same bush, causing mischief like the rascals we were.

  Dad would also take the boat out, teaching me and Ash a thing or two about fishing. We enjoyed it until Dad showed us how to gut a fish which had me vomiting overboard—a very unpleasant memory.

  Beside the rundown jetty that had many planks missing and shook when you walked across, sat the giant rock that we used to fight over. I don’t know why I gravitate towards it, and find myself staring at it blankly then out of the blue, I raise my foot and kick it hard with the tip of my shoe.

  Ouch.

  “He’s an asshole!” I yell, hopping back trying to control the pain.

  Logan is standing on the edge of the water, arms folded with his eyes wandering the shoreline. His steady, muscular back is facing me and probably the best thing right now because I don’t want to look at him. He was just as annoying as the rest of the men in my life.

  “Yeah, sure I’ll admit he can be an asshole but don’t you think you took it too far?” he responds in an arctic voice, keeping his expression hidden. “He hurt me too. This whole marriage thing may fuck up our game. You’re not the only one dealing with the ramifications.”

  “You honestly believe all that rubbish? Falling in love? They knew from the start? C’mon. It’s impossible,” I ramble to myself as Logan quietly stands at the edge. “You can spend a whole lifetime knowing someone and still feel unsure if the love is there. Two minutes in a bar and that person is your soulmate? Ludicrous.”

  Logan turns his neck, body following until we’re facing each other. His presence radiates with superiority, just like when we were kids. I wasn’t afraid back then and I am not afraid now. His tough-guy persona doesn’t frighten me one bit.

  “Hypocritical coming from someone engaged to a man that swore he fell in love with you the moment he saw you?” he questions, sarcasm lacing every word that left his mouth.

  The shock of his words cripples my ability to respond with a witty comeback. We weren’t having a good ol’ laugh throwing worms in the bottom of Ash’s school bag anymore. And my initial reaction to his cruel words does nothing to calm the sea of emotions ravaging inside me. Logan Carrington was one of them. They all came from the same seed. The seed of men that felt entitled. Screw women, move on, fuck feelings and repeat.

  “Knock, knock . . . anyone home?”

  “You’re a jerk,” I mutter.

  I walk past him and towards the unsteady old jetty that sways along with the tide. Standing at the beginning of the broken plank, I watch the dark, murky water as the weight of Wes’s actions begins to sink in. My shoulders fall, drooping and dragging the rest of my body down. My shaking hands move to the necklace sitting on my chest—a small heart that Wes gave me on our first anniversary. Pulling the chain left and right, my anger that had crept back in and overshadowed the hurt, makes me remove the chain and with one mighty throw, it flies in the air and hits the water.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Taking steps towards me, Logan shouts through the quiet night. “You were fine until you checked your phone. Then you switched to queen bitch.”

  My voice remains silenced, ignoring his use of derogatory names.

  “So what? You’re too good for us now?”

  I spin around, matching his stance and moving closer to intimidate him.

  “I’m too good for you? How about the fact you guys think you’re too good for me? After all . . . you left me behind.” Sucking my stomach in, I take a deep breath and let it all go. “That call was my publicist. Wesley was caught fucking some hooker.”

  His fiery, persistent stare turns into pity. I didn’t need Logan’s pity.

  “A hooker?”

  “Hookers.” I laugh deliriously. “And sniffing coke off their asses. Because God forbid you’ve got nowhere else to sniff that shit.”

  My lips quiver, tears threatening to fall. I didn’t want to give Wes the satisfaction, but emotions are a powerful thing. When you think you’re strong and made out of steel, they’ll make you crumble and fall harder than you could possibly imagine.

  I stare down at my hands, watching them shake as that trapped tear falls down my cheek, followed by a whole stream.

  “I hate him!” I cry desperately and unable to speak coherently. “The whole world will know what he did to me. I’m stupid. So fucking stupid for ignoring every sign that stared me right in the fucking face.”

  I fall to my knees; the cold dirt hitting them instantly. “Everyone told me to marry him. He wanted to get married and have kids. We argued about it all the time. I didn’t want kids yet. It’s why we got George.”

  I gulp for air, my sobs uncontrollable. “He just kept pushing me and telling me our brand was everything. I just had no one to confide in. No one to tell me I was a fucking idiot for believing his lies.”

  “Jesus, Emmy. Where’s your fucking backbone? Since when did you listen to a guy?” Logan criticizes me.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Mom knew most of it but I filtered out the really bad stuff. Like when he tried to switch my birth control pills to get me to fall pregnant.”

  Logan gazes at me with a pained expression, lips taut without saying a word.

  “It was never about me. It was about the network. They needed a story line. When the ratings dipped slightly, they wanted a scandal. What better scandal than two co-stars getting knocked up after only one season of filming?”

  “So why the fuck did you stay with him? Do you know how stupid it makes you look?”

  Logan’s bluntness was exactly what I needed—two years ago. Right now, his words hurt and my already-bruised ego couldn’t take any more. I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and forget the world existed. Pretend I had no life waiting or millions of fans watching my every move.

  “You know what? You don’t care at all. You and Ash call yourself family yet of the few times I reached out to you, you guys didn’t give a goddamn shit.”

  “I could say the same thing,” he argues back.

  “When? When did you reach out to me?”

  He keeps quiet, rubbing his neck with the palm of his hand while staring into the ground.

  “Exactly. So don’t tell me how stupid I am. It’s bad enough I now have this on my shoulders. You putting me down doesn’t empower me when I need all the strength I can get right now. I’ve fucked up. I trusted him and look where it got me.”

  “I’m sorry. What a fucking asshole!” he yells much to my surprise. “Do you want me to call my people?”

  “Your people?” I question, confused. “To do what?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Cut his dick off and do a Lorena Bobbitt?”

  He cringes, his posture falling over as if he knew what that felt like. “If that’s your wish.”

  “Your people can really do that? Who are these people?”

  “People.”

  I sigh, t
hen let out an unexpected cry. I hated him. I wanted bad things to happen to him. I wanted lots of people to make his life hell. He hurt me more than I thought imaginable. I’m embarrassed that the whole world watched me fall in love with an asshole. And now the whole world will watch as my life falls apart. What about George? Would he live with me? Is there such thing as a custody battle for dogs? Would he stay with Wes every other weekend? Poor George! He doesn’t deserve to be raised in this type of environment. I wonder if there is a support group for gay pugs being raised in a broken home.

  In the heat of the moment, I grab my cell out of my purse and throw it into the lake. It clicks seconds later as the splash disappears. What have I done?! I run without thinking, and dive straight into the water, unaware the lake is filled with many creepy creatures. It’s not too deep where I dive in, and in the distance, I hear Logan’s voice—angry and annoyed followed by the splash beside me.

  I bob down again, searching for my cell with tears battling against the water and my sobs muffled. I scream, I yell, I curse at Wesley Rich for breaking my trust. For tearing my heart into a million pieces and for making me believe that what we had was love. And when I pull myself up for air, Logan is standing in front of me, breathing heavily with my cell in his hand.

  “Are you psycho? Seriously Emmy!”

  “Don’t call me that!” I shout back into his face.

  “Well you are. So the dickhead cheated? Move on. He didn’t deserve you to begin with. Marriage is for the weak. Don’t fall into that whole love bullshit. You can have a good life without it.”

  “What would you know?” I argue, ungrateful that he had found my cell. “You’ve never been in love. At least I took a chance.”

  “Geez woman, would you listen to yourself? Here’s your damn cell. Don’t throw an expensive phone in the lake.” He pushes it towards my chest, eyes wide and fueled with anger.

  “You’re all the same, that’s the problem,” I mouth off, not sure where I’m going with this because anger only sees one path—destruction.

  “You need to cool off. I’m surprised this cold water ain’t doing that. And for the record, Emmy, we’re not all the same.”

  “Yes you are. It’s all about pussy. The more you get the bigger you feel. There’s no good men out there that actually believe in love and being faithful. Ash will fuck up. He’s just like you, can’t keep his dick in his fucking pants.”

  “Emerson,” he grits, holding onto my wrist and watching me carefully. “You’re angry. You have every right to be angry. Just don’t destroy the people who love you because of how he treated you. He’s the dick. He doesn’t deserve you. End of story.”

  “Doesn’t deserve me?” I laugh again. “Who am I? I don’t even know who I am. Everything I do in life is for everyone else. Make everyone else happy. Entertain the world. My whole life is in the tabloids. Nothing I do is private. I’m sick of it, sick of it all! And it’s my fault, Dad warned me and I didn’t listen. I was so pissed off that you and Ash left me to be big stars that I wanted to rival you.”

  “And you did,” he admits with a smirk. “You’re the most wanted TV star. I know men that jerk off just talking about you.”

  I cringe, aware that something foreign brushed against my leg.

  “That’s gross,” I say flatly, calming down. “Well, it depends who but still. You really like to paint that picture and distract one’s thoughts.”

  “I’m just saying you’re gorgeous.”

  I keep my breathing still, until the slimy furry thing brushes against my leg and I scream, jumping into Logan’s body and wrapping my arms around his neck. Without even thinking, I also wrap my legs around his waist scared out of my mind.

  “Oh. My. God! What the hell is that? Anaconda?”

  His arms lace around my entire body, protecting me from the beast.

  “Emmy,” he whispers, the sound of his smooth voice calming my racing heart. “Stop living the lie. Do something for you. You owe it to yourself.”

  This is the most serious conversation we had ever had. I’m waiting for him to laugh, give me a wet willy and drop me into the beast’s mouth.

  But it doesn’t happen.

  “I’m scared,” I admit in the softest voice.

  “Of what?”

  “That you’ll give me a wedgie.”

  The stupidity of the situation has slapped me in the face. First, I throw my cell like a tantrum-acting toddler. Then, I find myself in the arms of Logan Carrington who no doubt, is plotting something wicked in his sadistic mind.

  Between the moon that reflects off the water and the darkness that surrounds us, the sounds of his hitched breathing echo enough for me to remain still. In some crazy way, my heart begins to beat wildly, mirroring his breathing.

  “Will you just shut up for once?” he grunts, annoyed with a sullen glare. The complete opposite to his calm demeanor he showed only moments ago.

  I exhale as if his threats didn’t affect me, challenging him because he hadn’t changed one bit. Still a stubborn know-it-all that thought he was king. Rule the world and everyone around him had to bow down.

  “Yeah? Well, make me,” I say in defiance, holding my arms out so we stood face-to-face.

  Something in the way his eyes bore into me, viciously watching with malice, warns me again that Logan never played fair. He always took things to the next level.

  His hand slides down my back and over my ass. My dress is floating, and with just one move, his palm is against my bare cheek cupping my panties in his hand. It didn’t help that my reflexes were slow. With my hands ready to push him away, the jolt of my body from his fingers brushing against the entrance of my pussy startles me—the moan barely at bay as he repeats it again.

  Is this happening? You’re dreaming . . .

  This is some sort of nightmare that you’ll wake up from soon . . . like now . . . or now . . .

  WAKE UP!

  My mouth falls open, pressed against his ear from the pressure of him drawing our bodies close together. And just when I think my imagination played wild and crazy tricks on me, his lips move towards my collarbone, biting down on my skin.

  “Logan,” I whisper, strained and holding back the pain from his bite. “What are you doing?”

  Not answering my question, he buries his head into my neck and grips harder. I have no idea what is going on and feel helpless—unable to stop it. This is wrong . . . this is weird . . . why am I not fighting back?

  His fingers dance around the entrance, and in one quick move, they glide effortlessly inside, causing me to suck my breath in and arch back as my body melts over him. His pace quickens, and my blood begins to rise; my skin steaming in the cold water.

  My body begins to act on instinct, succumbing to the fire in my belly that’s rising slowly and clouding any rational thoughts. With small but quick moans, my arms wrap around his back tighter, desperate to avoid eye contact while he continues to slide in and out.

  The waves of the water allow my hips to sway freely, in sync with every thrust.

  My stomach begins to flutter; the fire beyond control followed by a swirl that builds up and makes my whole body react, sensitive to every touch and movement. Biting down on the tip of his shoulder, I lose control, my teeth digging into his skin as the ache mixed with fire ignites every surface of my skin and barrels through me in one explosive orgasm.

  With my eyes closed, I ride the contractions that wrap around his finger and immerse myself in the pleasurable sensation that has overcome me. The rise and fall of my chest evens out, reality setting in as to what I had done. What we had done.

  I don’t have any words.

  Speechless.

  Incoherent.

  Basking in an intense orgasm from just one finger.

  The finger that belongs to the one person you vowed never to touch.

  And he vowed never to touch you.

  So now what?

  “I need to go,” I stutter nervously, embarrassed and looking for an escap
e.

  “Emmy,” he calls softly, gripping onto me tight.

  Squirming my way out of his grip, I muster every ounce of strength in my body and swim away as fast as I can, desperate to escape what just happened.

  The water becomes shallow, until my entire body is out and I run away, completely soaked with water and one other thing.

  Guilt.

  “Reality is a cold hard bitch.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  Bang bang.

  Thump thump.

  The vocals are loud; piercing my ear drums while my eyes stare directly at the ceiling. The sun is peeking through the blinds, reminding me of another beautiful spring day. With summer just around the corner, the air had become warmer removing that morning chill.

  It is particularly warm this morning, my large bed socks becoming overbearingly hot. That, coupled with the constant pain in my head, leaves me frustrated and increasingly hostile.

  After all these years, Dad hadn’t changed one bit. He prided himself on being an early bird—the kinda person that woke up at five AM and had done more in the first two hours than I could achieve in one whole day. When we were kids, he would blast the music through the house at six AM forcing all of us up.

  Today is no different.

  Mom used to complain, being a night owl like me. Yet years of being married—to the most stubborn man ever—had her changing her ways. She hated to admit it, but only told me that she got more writing done first thing in the morning than she did at night.

  I had to admit that I did change over the years, finding myself waking up early to get a run in or hang out at the local coffee shop before the swarms of paparazzi found me. Great when you’re on the West Coast. The East Coast time difference totally kicked my butt.

  I loved Bon Jovi. I aced Livin’ On A Prayer at pub crawls back in the college years. I just didn’t enjoy it when I was nursing the biggest hangover ever.

  Turning my body sideways, I snuggle into my side glancing at the pile of clothes I left on my bathroom floor. Wet clothes. From the lake. The lake where Logan . . .