Pretty Hate (New Adult Novel)

by Ayers, Ava

  “Tell me why they do it!”

  “Lower your voice, Beth, I’m working on a migraine. Do what?”

  “Why do guys tell all sorts of lies?”

  “Usually to bang a chick,” he said and rubbed his chin. “Sometimes because we need to feel good about ourselves and we know if we make big-time promises, even if we have no intention of keeping them, the chick will be big-time grateful and adoring. And sometimes we are just scum bags. But chicks do it too, Beth. Not just guys.”

  “But that’s the thing, why do people have to play games? I know Declan had a feeling I was pretty much a sure bet. I mean, I did fly to Chicago to see him. I wasn’t going to turn into a prude all of a sudden and not have sex with him. So why tell me all that shit about calling and Spain and how he’s lonely?”

  “I don’t know him, Beth. I can’t say.”

  “It’s not fair. They have all the power, Ivory-Lou. He gets to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He’s got girls falling all over themselves to get to him and I’m stuck in this room, by myself, staring at all his pictures and wondering where the fuck he is!”

  “Shit, that’s not on him, that’s all on you. He’s not making you sit in your room with your face glued to this goddamn thing. You’re doing it.”

  “Whatever. And the thing that gets me is the speculation. Let’s face it, we did not have the most optimistic person raising us. So, when I don’t hear from him, I negatively speculate on everything. I see things in color, Ivory-Lou. I see backdoor emails and girls catching feelings that turn into secret rendezvous and words that are actually code for sex. I can turn a good morning into a let’s fuck in three seconds flat.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Look,” I said and showed him Declan’s Facebook page. “What does that post say from Barbie Batchagalupe?”

  “This chick? Um, Thanks for the shirts for the autism fundraiser. And thanks for your comments on my pic, your, spelled wrong, sweet!”

  “See what I mean?” I said and wiped my eyes on my sleeve.

  “What the hell you talking about? He sent some shirts to Barbie’s charity thing. Big deal.”

  “No, the second sentence!” I said.

  “She thanked him for making a comment on a picture and then told the world he was sweet and she does not know how to spell. Again, big deal.”

  “I cannot believe you are so obtuse,” I said and shook my head.

  “What the fuck you just call me?”

  “What does Barbie look like?” I said.

  Ivory-Lou moved his face closer to the screen and stared at Barbie Batchagalupe’s profile picture.

  “What is that...a frog?” he said.

  “Yes, it’s a frog and it’s a stock photo because I TinEye-ed it.

  “You what?”

  “Never mind. And you can’t follow her link because her page is locked down. You can’t see any other pictures of her,” I said.

  Ivory-Lou put my computer on my bed and took a deep breath.

  “What is the point? Get to it, now, because I’m starting to look forward to Love Actually.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t see it! You can’t see what she looks like, but she’s obviously hot because he would not be friends with her otherwise and you know she wants him because, well, he’s him, right? Further, you know he made a really sexy comment about her picture which leads them to chatting back and forth, which leads to texts and then late-night phone calls and then, before we know it, Barbie Batchagalupe is the one flying to Spain and going on the European tour and I’m stuck in this shithole alone with a passport I’m never going to use!”

  Ivory-Lou looked at Barbie’s post and then at me and then the post again.

  “How in the fuck did you get all that from that?” he said and tapped on my laptop screen.

  “Are you fucking with me? Because I cannot take it, I swear, I cannot,” I said and closed my eyes.

  “I am not fucking with you, Beth. I want to know how you came up with this whole sexy texting, Spain, tour bullshit.”

  “Because of the goddamn wink!” I said and pointed to the wink emoticon next to Barbie’s post.

  Ivory-Lou stared at me and shook his head.

  “Stand up from this bed right now and get your lunatic ass in the living room. We are watching a goddamn movie!”

  Ten minutes later, me, Ivory-Lou and Rebel Love sat in a row on the couch watching Love Actually.

  “I can’t believe you are making me watch this,” I said.

  “It’s inspiring,” Rebel Love said. “You need to look beyond the obvious and find the greater meaning here, Beth.”

  “Baby,” Ivory-Lou said and stared at me, “you surely don’t have to worry about Crackpot Magoo over here missing the greater meaning in anything. She’ll pull meaning out of an ant’s ass if she has to. Ain’t that right, Crackpot?”

  “You know, I am in--” I said and my text notification went off.

  I looked down at my phone and it was a text from Declan.

  “It’s him! Pause!” I said.

  “Who?” Rebel Love said and grabbed the remote out of Ivory-Lou’s lap.

  “Declan! Pause!” I said.

  “Do not fucking pause this bullshit!” Ivory-Lou said.

  “Baby, she has to concentrate,” Rebel Love said.

  I read the text and shook my head and stared at Rebel Love.

  “Beth, what does it say?” Rebel Love said as she stared at me.

  I grabbed Ivory-Lou’s arm and shook it.

  “Y-You-You-”

  “What the fuck are you stuttering about now? Lord, Rebel Love, we still sending the girls to that shrink downtown?”

  “The foot fetish guy? Yes.”

  “Well, make an appointment for nutso tomorrow.”

  “YouTube! YouTube! Put on YouTube now!” I said.

  Rebel Love pulled up YouTube on the television as I read Declan’s text three more times.

  “What now, Inspector Gadget?” Ivory-Lou said.

  I looked at Rebel Love with tears streaming down my face.

  “Beth! What did he say? What do I do?” Rebel Love said.

  “Jesus, did he break up with her on a video?” Ivory-Lou said to her.

  “T-Type Luckless into the search box, Rebel. Just the band name,” I said and cried.

  “Beth,” Ivory-Lou said and grabbed my wrist as he stared into my eyes, “is it that kind of a video? You know the one I’m talking about, right?”

  “No! Just type in the band name, Rebel!”

  Rebel Love typed Luckless into the search box and I grabbed Ivory-Lou’s arm and we waited.

  “Holy shit!” I said and screamed. “First video! One day old!”

  Rebel Love gasped and squealed as she pressed the link.

  “I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at here,” Ivory-Lou said as we waited for the video to come up.

  “Shhh,” Rebel Love said, “you’ll see.”

  The video started with an aerial shot of a packed auditorium in England. The crowd screamed the band’s name and they ran back out on stage for the encore. Declan walked to the mic and the camera zoomed in on him.

  “Wow, he’s hot,” Rebel Love said.

  “Yeah...” I said as I watched the video.

  “Thank you!” Declan said as he smiled. “This next song was a hit many years ago and was brought to my attention by a lovely friend. And since she’s a hit with me and this song is more about her than the girl it was originally written about, I’d like to sing it for her. This is for you, Beth.”

  The intro to the song began and Declan looked into the camera, opened his beautiful mouth and sang Beth in his raspy, sexy voice. For me.

  I looked at Rebel Love and she was staring at me with tears in her eyes. The three of us sat in silence and stared at the television screen.

  “Don’t nobody scream,” Ivory-Lou said when the video was over.

  Rebel Love and I looked at each other, open
ed our mouths wide and screamed as loud and as long as we could with Ivory-Lou stuck in the middle.

  We did a conference call with Mazie Goodnight and we all watched the video together. And screamed. I called India and we all watched the video together. And screamed. I called Stephanie and we all watched the video together. And screamed. By the time I was done making phone calls, watching the video and screaming, Ivory-Lou was on his fourth gin and tonic with his head down on the granite counter in the kitchen. I called Declan and left a long sappy message on his voicemail.

  It was the nicest, most thoughtful thing anyone ever did for me. And the fact he did it in front of the whole world and it was immortalized on YouTube certainly took the sting away from my ill-fated debut in porn.

  “We should call Mama and show her,” Rebel Love said as we watched the video for the tenth time.

  “She won’t care,” I said. “She’ll end up saying that he doesn’t sing it as good as Peter Criss did or that he’s only doing it for his own benefit. Something positive like that,” I said as I stared at him on the television screen. “I wish I knew why she hates me so.”

  “She doesn’t hate you, Beth.”

  “Yes she does. You don’t see it, but I do. I see it in her eyes. She’s never had any use for me and she never will.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A week later, after receiving hundreds of well-wishes from my friends after they saw Declan’s video and speaking to Declan a few more times and feeling better about life in general, India called me crying.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “Devon! He fucking broke up with me again! Jesus, Beth, I’m such an idiot. I took him back after he broke up with me with the Bitstrip! He said he missed me, he said he changed. He told me he loved me, Beth! Loved!”

  “He’s such an asshole. Listen to the song. I’ll listen to it with you,” I said and grabbed my iPod

  “No! Fuck that! I’m done with the song. The song doesn’t work, Beth! Sorry to disappoint you, but it doesn’t. At least not for me! I’m done with all of it,” she said and sobbed. “I don’t want to be here anymore, Beth! I just can’t take this life anymore!”

  As India wailed into the phone, I thought of the scene in New York when I was more sure than I cared to admit that she would have jumped out of her bedroom window if I hadn’t been there and panicked.

  “India, you don’t mean that. I need you. We’re here for each other, remember?”

  “I’m sorry, Beth! I can’t do it. I’m so tired of getting my hopes up and then having them torn down. I can’t do the seesaw anymore, Beth!”

  India screamed and wretched into the phone and I grabbed my iPod and flew out of my bedroom and into the living room.

  “iPod!” I said as I ran into the living room.

  Ivory-Lou was having a meeting with six of his girls to go over their goals in the dining room and I slid past the table on my socks.

  “Jesus! What now?” he said.

  “India, are you there?” I said. “Hold on.”

  Rebel Love stood from the table and walked toward me.

  “What?” she said.

  I pushed the mute button on the phone and tried to catch my breath.

  “I really think she’s gonna kill herself,” I said. “We have to do the song.”

  “What’s her address? We’ll call the police,” Rebel Love said.

  “No, the song will work. Where’s the docking station?”

  Ivory-Lou took my iPod and attached it to the docking station in the living room and turned on the receiver.

  “What song?” he said.

  “Second one,” I said and took my phone off mute. “India? I’m going to put you on speaker phone for a second, okay?”

  I put the phone on the dining room table and India’s sobbing filled the house. Ivory-Lou stood at the stereo and stared at the phone and shook his head.

  “India,” I said, “can you hear me?”

  “Y-Yes,” India said.

  “Good. Now, I want you to listen to something.”

  “I told you!” India said and sobbed. “The song doesn’t work! Nothing fucking works!”

  “Hold on, India!” Rebel Love said. “It’s Rebel Love. Just talk for a minute. My sister is...I don’t know.”

  “Sadie,” I said, “get a Google page on the television!”

  Sadie looked at Ivory-Lou and he nodded.

  “Take the remote and press the Google button. It’s right there,” he said and pointed at the couch.

  Sadie ran to the couch and brought up Google.

  “What now?”

  “Type in the words cut dead lyrics. Type it into the search box and press enter. Whatever the first link is, press it and wait. Ladies,” I said and turned to the girls at the table, “you’ve got to help me out. Go sit on the couch with Sadie.”

  “India, are you there?” Rebel Love said.

  “Yes!” she said and cried.

  “Got it,” Sadie said. “Is this a gospel song? Jesus and Mary Chain?”

  “No,” I said, “it’s blasphemous. No one’s religious here, anyway. Rebel, grab the video camera. It’s in the kitchen. We’re gonna make our own video.”

  Ivory-Lou looked at me and smiled.

  “You’re a good friend, Beth,” he said.

  “I’m trying,” I said and shook my head. “India, it’s me.”

  “Beth! I’m telling you I don’t want to hear the fucking song. It doesn’t work for me!”

  I took the video camera out of Rebel Love’s hands, pressed record, placed it on top of a shelf on the entertainment center and angled it so it captured all of us.

  “Yes, I know, India,” I said. “But that’s the old Cut Dead. This is the new one. The new Cut Dead will definitely work.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said. “There’s no new Cut Dead.”

  “Well,” I said and cleared my throat, “there is now. India, you think your family is weird, well, let me tell you, they walk the clean side of normal compared to mine. I’m making you a video that I’ll show you when we see each other again, but I want you to just listen to me, okay? India, will you listen to me?”

  “Yes,” she said and sniffled.

  “Now, take for instance, my sister’s boyfriend. His name is Ivory-Lou Franklin, India...Ivory-Lou! And he’s black. And if that’s not bad enough--”

  “Wait a minute!” Ivory-Lou said.

  “Baby, hush, this is life and death!” Rebel Love said

  “Anyway, if that’s not bad enough, he’s a pimp!” I said and gave Ivory-Lou a dirty look. “That’s right, India, a real pimp, like on Shaft. He even has a tacky pimp cup that he drinks his coffee out of. Sure he tells everyone he’s a matchmaker, but that’s bullshit. He’s a pimp. He also owns a strip club called Knockers. And it’s not classy burlesque, if you know what I mean. Christ, you’d pick up a nice dose of chlamydia just sitting in some of those chairs.”

  “You made your point,” Ivory-Lou said as he narrowed his eyes at me.

  “You only ever called him your sister’s boyfriend,” India said.

  “I didn’t tell you because I thought you would think that I was trash. I didn’t want you to think that.”

  “Beth, I’d never think you’re trash. I’m trash!” she said and sobbed.

  “Well, it gets better. My sister, Rebel Love, she used to work for Ivory-Lou! And India, Rebel Love is the kindest, sweetest, most beautiful, nonjudgmental person, ever. But if you knew the truth, maybe you would think badly of me, or worse, of Rebel Love. Rebel Love doesn’t deserve anyone to have bad feelings about her.”

  “I like your sister,” India said. “What right do I have to judge anyone? I did a gangbang in the eighth grade!”

  “Oh, there’s some residual effects,” Ivory-Lou said under his breath.

  “Well, speaking of gangbangs, India, right now on my couch there are six hookers all wearing hooker clothes! On my eyes, India, there is a six-pack of Ivory-Lou’s girls getting
ready to go out and troll the streets of Charleston for penis.”

  Sadie and Gemini giggled and Yolanda shot me a bird.

  “Hookers?” India said.

  “Yep, hookers. Say hello to India, hookers.”

  All the girls said hello to India and India said hello back.

  “What about you, Beth?” Ivory-Lou said.

  “I’m glad you asked, Ivory-Lou, um, well, India you know about me and my stalking. Well, I kept a log and over the past three weeks, I’ve spent, uh, 168 hours stalking. That’s a full week! For what? And, I paid sixty dollars for the premium membership to the I-Spy Network.”

  “What’s the I-Spy Network?” India said.

  “It’s a website. You put someone’s name in and it gives you all their personal info: date of birth, social, address, etcetera. India, I should have at least twenty-three restraining orders sworn out against me. Honest to Jesus I should,” I said.

  “Well, if guys told the truth you wouldn’t have to, Beth!”

  “It’s not just because of that, India. It’s because I’m too afraid to ask them any questions. I’m terrified of the answers, India. I’m a fucking coward. And there’s more, oh, I’m having sex with your stepfather! How is that not weird? And I’m broke as a joke. I have like thirteen dollars in my bank account, India. I returned a bra that I wore in Chicago to the store. I actually snatched that tag machine off the counter in Victoria’s Secret, took it into the dressing room and reattached the tag and returned the bra. There’s a good chance it had semen on it too.”

  “That’s fucking nasty!” Yolanda said.

  “It sure is!” I said. “And I loved that bra, India. It was like the best bra I ever owned.”

  “I’m sorry, Beth,” India said.

  “No, that’s who I am, India. I am a semen-stained bra returner.”

  Rebel Love walked up to me and smiled.

  “I will never love another human being as much as I love you, Bethy,” Rebel Love said.

  “Thanks, sis. So, anyway, I promised you the new Cut Dead, right?”

  “You did,” India said.

  “Okay, um, you’re not on the window sill are you?”

  “No, I’m in bed.”

  “Okay, I want you to listen, okay? Just listen to the misfit choir here because I tell you what, you have never seen a motlier crew.”