Interview with the Bad Boy

by Rylee Swann

  “Just put it behind you, Bec,” he says and grabs his jacket from a chair. “You did the right thing. You can’t get messed up with a guy like Cole James. I’ve heard the rumors. A different girl every night. Violent fights. Arrests for said fights. You deserve a better guy than that. He’s just some go nowhere loser.”

  I don’t like his tone. He sounds so condescending, but I nod. I just want him to leave now.

  He pats me on the shoulder, making me bristle. “That’s a good girl, Bec. It’ll be all right. You’ll find another guy, and I’ll email you when I have a new story for you to work on.” Rob’s tone is a weird combination of cheerful and stiff. It all seems so fake to me. I remember hearing that tone when we were together and hating it then too.

  It occurs to me that the reason I broke up with Rob is because of how fake he can be. No one is completely put together. Everyone has problems. He just goes around pretending he’s above it all, handing out platitudes and advice like candy at Halloween. I’ve had enough.

  “Okay. Thanks, Rob,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. For now, I just want him to get the hell out of my apartment.

  I walk him to the door and give him a smile as fake as the tone he used on me earlier.

  “Hey. Don’t worry about that loser, okay? You’re better than that.”

  I shut the door on him, afraid of what I might say if I open my mouth. He’s still my boss, even though I’m seriously re-thinking my job at the school paper.

  Cole isn’t a loser. Cole is a person with troubles. That’s all. He needs to know that. And I need to be the one who tells him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cole

  I’m fucking everything up, I know that. I should have gone to class today, should have paid more attention in practice, but all I could think about was slamming down enough alcohol that I’d forget all about Becca.

  So here I am. I’m at a new bar this time, one that won’t remind me of a fuzzy sweater. One where hopefully no one knows me. I don’t want to drink at my apartment. It still smells like her. Besides, I don’t know if I’ll have enough willpower not to shoot up.

  I order another drink, and the bartender gives me a look but pours it anyway. I slam it back and order another. I have to numb the rage building inside me. I feel like a bottle of soda that someone has shaken up but then refused to open. It’s like I’m going to explode.

  Even feeling that way, I have no idea where to direct this anger. I’m not really pissed at Becca. I mean, I am, but it isn’t the same kind of anger I have towards myself. Towards life in general. I get why she cut out. I’m a mess. She’s going places. I get the message.

  But fuck her anyway, the angry part of me says. Fuck her and her holier than thou attitude. I don’t need her. I don’t need any woman coming in, opening me up and then leaving me bleeding. I have to focus and get my shit together.

  “Want to slow down, son?” the old bartender says. “Maybe switch to beer for a bit?”

  It’s sound advice, but it still pisses me off. I’m not causing any trouble. He should mind his own business. I need to calm down, numb the anger, and make some plans.

  I have to get my house in order. I tore the shit out of it before I left. After practice, I went home to shower and change, but ended up breaking every damn thing I touched. I don’t know why violence makes me feel better. It just does. Maybe I should have been an MMA fighter instead of a quarterback. Maybe when I fail college, that will be my back up plan.

  Silently, the bartender puts a beer in front of me, and I accept it without a word. My mind turns to Becca. Her fuzzy sweater. Her beautiful face. The way she looks at me when she comes.

  She’s so beautiful. All the worst ones are. My ex wasn’t half as beautiful as Becca, though. I gulp half of the beer, hoping it will take away the rest of those feelings. I don’t want to feel soft towards her at all.

  I’m reeling out of control. I want to find a girl, some cute blonde, and have my way with her. I want to get into a fight. Something visceral and real. Opening up and talking about my past and my feelings never does anything except lead to this shit. Fucking and fighting are real, true. They don’t lie. There is something to be said for giving in to animal instincts.

  And that’s just what I want to do.

  The bartender is out of the question, of course. I like to fight, but I’m not about to hit an old man. I won’t hit the waitress either. I don’t hit women. I never have, no matter what they do to me. My ex liked to slap me. Push me. Scratch me. I never fought back. The worst I ever did was pick her up and set her outside my house when she got violent. I can’t stand men who beat up on women. I’m low, but not that low.

  Down the bar, sitting in a pool of cigarette smoke, looking rough and road weary, is a truck driver. I know he’s a trucker because I saw his rig outside, engine still running. What an asshole, I think. Drinking in here, knowing he’s going to get behind the wheel of a forty-ton missile. Is that what he’s going to do? He’s nursing a beer and eating some peanuts, watching sports on the small tube TV over the bar.

  “That your rig out there?” I ask, probably too loud.

  The trucker turns his head toward me. He’s about fifty or so. Has graying hair that is long and tied back in a greasy ponytail. He’s a big guy, but not as big as me and has more fat than muscle. It wouldn’t be a fair fight, but then again, drinking and driving isn’t fucking fair either. I took a damn taxi here so I wouldn’t be tempted to drink and drive. Even I’m not that stupid.

  “Yeah,” he grits back, spitting a peanut shell on the floor.

  “You gonna drive after having that beer?” I can feel the muscles in my arms twitch, the electric tingle at my fingertips. I want this. I want to smash his fucking face in.

  For a minute, the older guy looks confused and then shakes his head. “Nah. Gonna have a nap and head out later.” He shrugs.

  Nothing about the guy is aggressive. He actually seems good natured. Shit. As ready to go as I am, I can’t jump on the guy and mess him up for no reason. I may have been itching for a fight, but I’m not about to go after someone who doesn’t deserve it.

  “Cool. Just can’t stand that shit,” I say, giving him a nod.

  “Right on,” he says, nodding back.

  The day feels like it’s designed to frustrate me. The rage isn’t leaving me, it’s only building. Maybe I should just hit the gym, punch my frustration out on a bag.

  When I pay my bill and leave, the bartender seems relieved. Instead of calling for another taxi, I begin to run back toward campus. Maybe if I run fast enough, I’ll leave my demons in my dust.

  Becca

  After Rob leaves, I try to call Cole twice more then pull on some jeans and a soft sweater to go find him.

  His car is at his house, but all the lights are off. I knock for two solid minutes, but he doesn’t answer. I sit in my car for an hour, then try knocking again. Nothing.

  Prepared to wait all night long if necessary, I pull out my phone to distract me. Checking my email, I’m surprised to see a notification from the college newspaper I work for. A new “special edition” of the school paper is out.

  I frown, wondering what this is all about. Rob promised to give me a fluff piece, something to keep my byline in the next edition. I huff. I should have known that all his gentle talking was fake. This proves it. I toss my phone in the passenger seat. I don’t even want to look at the paper, not right now. It makes me think of everything I’ve done wrong with Cole and myself.

  It’s nearly ten o’clock by the time I give up waiting for Cole. I’m nearly out of gas but it’s too cold to sit without the engine running. It’s colder than usual at this time of year, but even so, I don’t want to go back to my lonely apartment. Maybe I’ll go see Mia and ask for some advice. She’ll be out of her night class by now, and it’s still too early for her to go to bed.

  She answers my knock right away, her eyes wide when she sees me. “I was just going to call you,” she says as she lets me in.
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br />   “Great minds and all that,” I say with a laugh that holds no humor.

  She goes straight for a bottle of wine, pouring two tall glasses. “You okay?”

  “Been better. You?”

  She frowns as she hands me the wine. “Let’s focus on you, okay?”

  It’s my turn to frown. “Why?”

  She blows out a breath so hard it makes her lips flutter. “Becca, I read the article. Are you seriously going to act like nothing’s happened?”

  Article? What article?

  “What do you mean?”

  She taps her iPad, clearly annoyed with me. “Cole James. I read the story. I can’t believe it! I mean, I’ve heard rumors, but...” Mia trails off, eyes glittering, clearly in gossip mode.

  I hold up my hands, dread fluttering in my stomach. “Wait a second. I don’t know what you’re talking about. What about Cole?”

  Mia gives a long, exaggerated sigh. “You didn’t write the story?”

  “What story?”

  She powers on her iPad and pulls up the college’s website. The dread becomes a monster, trying to claw its way up my throat.

  “The special edition of the school paper. You don’t know anything about it?”

  I shake my head. “No. I got a notification, but I haven’t read anything.”

  “Becca…” Mia’s voice is more serious now. “This is an article about Cole. You didn’t write it?”

  “No. I told Rob a few hours ago that I wanted out. I want to write something different. I...” I pause, letting the shame stab into me. It takes me a few moments to continue. “Cole and I are sleeping together, and it just doesn’t feel right doing a story on him.” It’s truncated, and there is more to it, but I’m not sure I have the heart to explain it right now.

  “Oh shit,” Mia says slowly.

  A single tear falls as I look down at the screen. And there’s the headline. “Quarterback Caught Doping.”

  I think about how I’d fallen asleep so suddenly, of Rob being in my apartment when I woke. He’d been on my computer. Seen my journal. Seen the picture. My research.

  Oh god. Please… no.

  It’s a scathing article on Cole and the NCAA in general. It ends with the question of how many other players are doping illegally and questions if the team’s winning streak is real or “artifically gained.” Rob hasn’t just brought Cole’s integrity into question, but the entire team’s.

  I close my eyes, feeling sick and dizzy. “Fucking Rob,” I say, my eyes filling with burning tears again.

  “Rob wrote the article?” Mia asks. “There isn’t a byline, so it doesn’t say who wrote it.”

  I can’t even bear to look at her. This is all my fault.

  I nod. “Oh, I’m sure it’s him.” Taking a deep breath, I tell her everything.

  Her hand is on her mouth by the time I’m finished. “Do you think he drugged you?”

  I just stare at her. She’s talking about one of the date rape drugs. When I woke up, my sweats and tank top was still on, but my sweatshirt was on the floor. I don’t remember taking it off.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, wondering what else Rob might have done while I was asleep. My fingers begin to tremble as I think of how vulnerable I’d been.

  “Oh, no, hon.” Mia scoots closer and puts her arm around me. “Do you think…” She shakes her head. “Do you feel like he touched you, without your consent?”

  I try to remember how I felt when I woke up. Blurry and unsure, but I didn’t remember feeling like I’d just had sex. Then again… why had my sweatshirt been off?

  “I don’t know,” I say, my throat constricting. “Rob confessed to having used my computer. He said he was just watching out for me. I…”

  Why can’t I remember?

  “So Rob was on your computer when you woke up, what, four hours later?”

  I nod. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “And you had journaled about your feelings for Cole, about finding the steroids. Your research on them?”

  I nod.

  “That filthy asshole,” Mia breathes, holding me tighter against her. She kisses my cheek. “Oh, Becca. I’m so sorry.”

  With numb fingers, I pull her iPad closer to me and read the article again. “This is really bad, Mia. They’ll kick Cole off the team. Can he be arrested?”

  Mia shakes her head. She doesn’t know either. “We need to get you to the hospital, Becca. You need to have your blood tested. You need a rape kit done. You need to know, get it on record.”

  I hadn’t even thought about that. She’s right. “I need to see Cole,” I say in a small, strangled voice.

  She stands and gives me a serious look. “Later. You don’t know how long those drugs stay in your system. If Rob did… hurt you, you need the evidence. Becca, you need to know.”

  She’s right of course, but I hesitate anyway.

  I remember an article I did on date rape on campuses across the country. I remember how furious I’d been when I learned how few women reported a rape or sought out help. I remember thinking how stupid they were not to go after their rapist to the fullest extent of the law.

  Now I get it.

  I understand why so few women go to the police. They must have felt the way I feel right now. Will the police blame me? After all, I let him into my apartment. Will they not even consider it a violation considering I’d had sex with him many times while we were dating?

  I just don’t know, and I’m frozen in indecision. I honestly don’t know what to do.

  Mia takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get it over with.”

  I go with her and listen to her tell the nurse that I might have been raped. I obediently pee in a cup and roll my sleeve up so they can draw blood. I lay on the table while a rape kit is administered and listen to the doctor tell a policeman that there are no signs of sperm or even any skin under my fingernails. In a nutshell, there’s no sign of assault.

  It will take twenty-four to forty-eight hours for the blood test results to come back in. The policeman tells me that if it comes back positive for a date rape drug to let him know, but otherwise, he has no case against Rob.

  Yes… this is why rape is so underreported. If it was a rape. I’m still not sure.

  And somehow, that makes it even worse. I don’t know anything for certain except that Rob accessed my private thoughts on my computer and turned it into an article that will damage Cole James terribly.

  Can I even prove that?

  Hours later, Mia takes me back to my car and presses a kiss to my cheek. “You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” she promises.

  But I know it won’t.

  I drive back to my apartment and shower, scrubbing my skin until it’s raw. It’s well after midnight when I’m done, but I know I won’t be able to sleep. I pull on a pair of yoga pants and a long sweater, then grab my keys. I want to drive by Cole’s house again. I need to. But when I get there, I don’t just drive by, I stop and turn into his driveway. The lights are still out. His car is still there. I knock anyway. Knock until my knuckles nearly bleed.

  Snow has started to fall and the temperature has plummeted. I knock one more time before turning, shivering from the cold, to leave.

  And there he is, a shadow moving through the darkness. When he reaches his porch, he scowls at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cole

  I didn’t expect to see her again but here she is and looking upset. For a fleeting moment, I’m glad. Then I’m ashamed. She looks so scared, and I’m not exactly sure why. Her beautiful eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open, her skin so pale it’s nearly translucent in the dim lights from the street. I want to pull her to me and kiss her. I want to cover her mouth with mine and tell her that she never has to be afraid again. I’ll protect her. Except I can’t promise her that. I’m her worst threat.

  Despite the cold, I’m sweating, rivers of it running down my face. After leaving the bar, I ran to the gym a
nd worked out for several hours, pumping iron until my muscles screamed. When that hadn’t been enough, I began running again. I don’t know how many miles I logged just running through the dark, snowy campus streets. But I ran in the attempt to free myself from the baggage that’s been strapped to my back, the ghosts on my heels.

  It didn’t work. All of that is still here.

  And now she’s here and none of it matters.

  My heart starts pounding for a different reason as anger and desire hits me all at once. For a moment, I almost keep running. Earlier, I thought I’d made some decisions. I’d decided to focus on getting my life together. Forget women, forget drugs, forget booze, and just focus. Yeah, I knew it would be hard, but it was time I did something right for myself for once.

  And now she’s here, and I’m ready to throw all that away so I can just see her, even if it means she’s just here to tell me what an asshole loser I am.

  She seems both startled and relieved as I step onto the porch. I can even see it in her eyes, the way they light up, the way she looks at me, at my body, my face. For the briefest moment, she smiles, but that vanishes, and she lowers her gaze.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Her head jerks up. “Cole,” she says, sounding a little breathless. “I’m sorry… I just… I…” She clears her throat. “I came here to talk. I need to…” Tears fill her gorgeous eyes.

  Before I’m even aware of what I’m doing, I cross the porch and pull her to me. “Shhh… don’t cry, Becca. Please don’t cry.”

  She does the exact opposite and bursts into full blown tears. Still holding her close, I unlock the door before lifting her in my arms and carrying her inside. I smooth my hand through her silky hair and breathe her in. I love the way she feels in my arms, the way her body melts into mine.

  Her tears bleed through my hoodie, all the way to my skin. “I’m sorry, Cole,” she cries her body shaking from her emotion and the cold. “I’m so very sorry.”

  I forgive her.

  It’s that easy. Before the words are even out of her mouth or even before I know what’s she’s sorry for, all is forgiven. “It’s okay,” I tell her and mean it. It feels so fucking good to forgive her. Nothing, no drug, no booze, no random girl has ever felt that good. That right.