Bad Boy Rich

by Kat T. Masen

  “I love fucking Wesley’s little sluts…you think you’re the first? No, sweetheart, but definitely the most innocent.”

  My screams are trapped, my tears falling as I begin the same disillusioned blackout as the plane. But something, unknown, kicks in and when I pretend to grab his crotch for pleasure, I squeeze it tight and punch it, causing him to wince in pain.

  When he topples over cursing at me, I run, out of the room and panicked. There’s several doors but I find my way outside the front, out of breath, face drenched in tears.

  There is no Wesley, just the driver. I want to find him, tell him to save me but I feared Carson. Terrified that my panic would cripple me and he would have his way with me.

  Wesley appears out of nowhere, frantically looking for me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want to go, now.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you crying?”

  “Take me home,” I cry, shaking.

  I run to the car, ignoring the house and the monsters inside. Wesley hovers by the door, leaving it open which only fuels my anxiety.

  “I’ll tell them we’re leaving.”

  My neck twists; chin trembling, distressed. “Do it, and I’m gone.”

  “You’re gone? Would you just make fucking sense?”

  “Take me home,” I beg.

  “We’re going, okay?” he utters, rolling his eyes with annoyance.

  We sat in the car in silence; Wesley staring out the window in a distant gaze. I held back the rest of my tears, reliving what happened with Carson.

  Every woman feared being raped, but when the reality was so close, perspective changes. Where was Wesley to protect me? This was his family—I would forever be bound to them if our relationship progressed. I didn’t think I could do this. All the pain, the hardship—love wasn’t getting me through it. It was only making it harder to climb out.

  And Wesley—he hadn’t said one word to me in the car.

  He didn’t care that he found me upset, or that I wanted to so desperately get away.

  My phone buzzes in my purse, momentarily distracting me. I pull it out, and see that Mom has responded to my text.

  It’ll be nice to have you home. Liam misses you xx

  I shake my head in confusion at the mention of his name. Liam seemed like a lifetime ago yet safe, comforting—all the things that Wesley wasn’t giving me. He continued to sit across the other side, this gap between us seeming impossible to bridge.

  Knocking on the glass window, it slides down and the driver leans his ear to listen. “Sir, can you please take me home?”

  The driver looks at Wesley through the rear-view mirror, awaiting a response. Wesley continues his code of silence, and thankfully—the driver follows my instructions.

  We drive down my street, it’s relatively early and the neighbors are out doing their usual Saturday night bickering on the sidewalk. When the driver parks the car, many turn to watch, and more notably—one has a long-lensed camera. Paparazzi at my home. This is all Wesley’s fault.

  I half expected him to demand I stay in the car, but he doesn’t. When it’s clear that he has no interest in me and what happened tonight, I exit and slam the door in his face. Ignoring the flash that almost blinds me, my feet move quickly as I enter our building, not looking back at him, not even once.

  Inside my apartment, I welcome the silence with Flynn gone to a gig. I sit on the couch, staring at the wall dressed in this ridiculous dress. I’m desperate to rip it off; a constant reminder of Carson’s wandering eyes.

  Holding back the deep cries that linger on the surface, I dial Mom’s number praying she’ll pick up this time.

  “Milana, is that you?”

  “It’s me, Mom. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, no. Mom, can we talk about something?”

  “Of course, honey, hold on for a minute. I’ll come home.”

  “What home, Mom? I’m here…in California.”

  “California? Why or earth would you be there?”

  Stunned by what she tells me, my lips tremble, the bile in my throat rising. “Mom, I moved to California, remember, with Flynn?”

  The tears fall down my face, unwillingly—I have no control. I’ve lost her. The pain, a tidal wave of emotions. My sobbing is broken apart by the short pauses; my head falling between my legs to shield my hollowness.

  “I know that, silly. How is Flynn?”

  “Good,” I choke, breathing in and out to disguise my grief. “Mom, is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry sweetie, it’s late. How about we speak tomorrow?”

  “But Mom…” I wail, softly with desperation, “I need to talk to you.”

  “I know, honey, but I’m so tired. I promise, first thing when I wake up—we’ll talk, okay?”

  She says goodbye so quickly, not giving me a chance to get in another word. I don’t allow another minute to pass, calling the manager at the facility. After getting the run-around, and raising my voice at Deidre—I’m finally put through to the head manager, Mrs. Scullino.

  “Miss Milenov, I understand your concern but it’s quite late and I have some last-minute patients I have to attend to. I think it’s best we schedule a phone meeting.”

  “This is a phone meeting. I want to know what’s happening with my mom,” I sputter, momentarily beyond words. “She’s not the same. Some of the things she says…I don’t understand why this is happening so quick.”

  I could hear the sigh on the other end. “Miss Milenov, you sound tired. I really think it’s best we discuss your mother’s condition when you’re in a more rational state.”

  “Don’t…” I cry into the receiver. “Don’t tell me I’m not rational! My mom is sick. I need her…do you understand that?”

  “Miss Milenov, if you must know, I’m recommending we do some further testing. Her dementia may be an onset of something else. Given her age, and her regular health has been good, I do have some concerns.”

  I can barely breathe; my body like jelly yet shaking from the cold that sweeps into the room. As I begin to hyperventilate, unable to form my words to make any sense, Mrs. Scullino attempts to calm me down.

  “I come from a big family, being Italian of course. I understand how much it hurts to find out a loved one is not well,” she says, sedately. “If you can come up and see her in the next few days, we can talk about our next steps.”

  Through the pain and heartache, I agree to fly up and spend some much-needed time with Mom. I had to invest all my energy into making her better before she got worse.

  We hang up the phone yet I continue to sit here numb. I had never felt so alone. This life I had created was nothing like I expected. I may have been surrounded by people though the loneliness is palpable. Here I was, drowning, barely able to stay afloat, lost in the dark seas and moving further, and further—away from the light.

  Desperate to find Flynn and beg him to fly home with me, I grab the note on the fridge with the address he posted. I decide against changing outfits, running out the door in a mad rush and driving in a manic state towards the venue.

  Although the club is a few miles away, the traffic didn’t let up at this hour. Red lights, rows, and rows of vehicles, desperate to get somewhere and all just as impatient as I was. The grueling pace gave me too much time to think. I didn’t want to think.

  My fingers fumble with the radio, twisting the volume to maximum and allowing the song to blast through the speakers. It’s some love song that irks me. I press another button, welcoming a rap song about fucking someone’s wife…or bitch. I couldn’t quite figure it out.

  The club is busy; a line outside of girls dressed in short skirts and hooker heels, waiting while trying to flirt with the security guard.

  I don’t hold back, demanding to get in because my brother is part of the band. After an hour of cross-checking, I may have just as well waited in the line.

  I mov
e quickly past security, cramming like a sardine amongst the crowd. I search the stage, seeing only the equipment and no Flynn. Bumping my way through the crowds, I finally see Flynn at the back. He’s talking to someone and I yell, though pointless, through the loud noise. He hasn’t noticed me yet and as I walk towards him, my frustration mounts with the tight crowds and hot air inside.

  Moving in closer, Wesley appears beside him. Still dressed in his suit from tonight, he leans into Flynn, whispering something into his ear. He extends his hand, Flynn shaking it until he pulls back. Flynn clutches his fist, dropping his gaze with a satisfied smile. My blood begins to spike, and with a brutal push against the people blocking my way, the adrenalin kickstarts—my heart hammering erratically.

  “What did you give him?”

  Wesley appears surprised to see me; mouth falling open and more notably—his eyes are that familiar bloodshot red.

  “Nothing, it’s none of your business anyway.”

  “Tell…me… what the fuck you gave him!” I’m reeling with anger, unable to disguise my raging tone.

  My head darts back and forth between the two of them—demanding an answer. When neither of them cooperates, my frustration drives me, yanking his hand towards me, opening it up to find a white pill inside his hand.

  “What is this?”

  “Just leave him alone,” Flynn shrugs off. “It’s nothing bad.”

  I seethe, gritting my teeth. “Then tell me what it is?”

  “Just takes the edge off.”

  “Takes the edge off…You gave my brother drugs? I can’t believe you would do this!” I yell through the noise, pointing my finger directly into Wesley’s face.

  “I give you everything of me…everything and this is what you do?” I question, ignoring the people that have stopped around us, watching with annoying curiosity.

  “YOU GAVE ME NOTHING!” he shouts back. “I begged you to fix me. Begged for you to make it all go away. Everything I fucking did or do is for you. And all I asked in return was for you to fucking fix me.”

  “How can I fix you when I had my own issues? You think I like seeing you hurt, do you think I like living in pain? The world doesn’t revolve around Wesley Rich.”

  His wicked laugh escapes his sardonic grin. Behind this beautiful man lay a corrupted soul. He wanted me to fix him, yet he continued to play these heinous games and drag me along like I was a pawn.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, baby, the world does revolve around me. And the second you realize that, the happier our lives will be.”

  I look at him with disgust, ignoring the hurt that stems from his selfish words.

  “Of course it does. You don’t care that I’m hurting every day being away from my mother. You don’t care that I’ve been suffering panic attacks that almost cost me my life. And for the record, tonight, Carson tried to rape me. So excuse me, while I forget the world revolves around you.”

  I could see the anger morphing, his teeth gritting and thirst to punch the hell out of something. “You said what?”

  “Apparently, I’m another one of your little sluts that he likes to fuck. This is not who I am. I will not be called a slut. I can’t do this anymore. And this time—I mean it.”

  “So what are you going to do?” he shouts, with vengeance. “You fucking tell me you love me and what, walk?”

  “Yes,” I say out loud, with my posture straight, clarity in my expression. “I walk. Back to my family, back to the people who love me for me. Back to a world that brought happiness, not fear.”

  “You mean back to him.”

  I lower my head, ignoring his insecure remarks. “Goodbye Wesley. I do love you, but I guess it’s true, sometimes love is not enough.”

  “You can’t just fucking leave me,” he pleads, pulling on my arm with desperation.

  I allow it to linger; his touch—just for a moment.

  “I can. I will. I need to move on.” Releasing my arm from his grip, I gaze into his eyes one more time, as if the door to this life is just about to close. “The worst thing I could have ever done would be to commit myself to you for life. Liam was right all along, maybe it was him I was destined to be with. At least—I would be safe.”

  Staring back, is a man hurt. His complexion completely ashen; the ache inside crippling his movement while he continues to stare vacantly into my eyes. I had never seen him so vulnerable; completely silent with a pained poise.

  And though my words were intended to push him away, the remorse began to seep its way in. I never wanted to end it this way.

  I never wanted it to end.

  But I knew where my heart belonged. It wasn’t here, in Los Angeles, a place that became my living nightmare.

  It was my hometown in Alaska; a place that held my best memories.

  And my heart spoke the words, guided me in the right direction.

  I needed to go back home.

  To Mom.

  To Phoebe.

  And maybe…back to Liam.

  Bad Boy Rich

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  My eyelids, drooping and leaden with sleep, snap open, violently—the loud banging against the front door waking me up.

  Several door chimes sound throughout the house; each pitch equally as annoying as the one that proceeds. Who the fuck would be here in the middle of the night? It better not be Troy—the fucker got his payment last month.

  My head—spinning and out of control—looks over to my phone. The light is harsh, and I can barely make out the numbers. Five a.m.

  There’s an irritating snore beside me. I turn over; the mattress sinking yet the movement doesn’t wake her. Felicity—Farrah’s younger sister—is sprawled out across my bed, her naked torso laying on top of the white sheets.

  She still had traces of coke on her chest, and the more I looked at Felicity, the greater she disgusted me.

  Don’t remember her face. Don’t remember the way she felt beneath you.

  Remember that she left you…for him.

  And that wound is fucking closed. I made sure of it.

  I grab my pistol from my nightstand, throwing on my navy robe as I make my way to the door. The banging doesn’t stop, my name being called by someone familiar. The voice resonates, but I can’t seem to connect it to a face.

  Turning the lights on, the glass doors leave nothing for anonymity. It’s Flynn, standing with a large duffel bag beside him.

  “What the fuck are you doing here at this hour?”

  He’s out of breath, panicked and his hair wildly messy. I hadn’t seen him for months, and the last time we spoke—he told me not to ask about her. He was pissed at me, and the small piece of information he did tell me was that she was doing really well.

  I knew he had hit it big, signed up by Platinum Records and currently world-touring. Hollywood agents were desperate to sign him up. Flynn Beats—known by his new stage name—was killing it in his career.

  “You need to clean your shit up,” he barks.

  I’m stunned at his forwardness yet confused by ‘my shit’ needing to be cleaned up.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He bends down, reaching behind the duffel bag, and lifts a dark carrier by the handle. I stare, close my eyes, then open them again to finally figure out it’s a baby carrier.

  “She’s yours.”

  There’s a baby inside. Small, wrinkly and wrapped in a white blanket. The baby looked like some alien from outer space.

  What the hell did he just say to me?

  “She’s yours.”

  “She’s yours.”

  “She’s yours.”

  “Dude, are you fucking listening to me?!”

  Inside, my brain is a mess and refusing to compute the information. Closing my eyes, momentarily, I try to slowly process this information and ignore the heat trapped underneath my robe causing me to hyperventilate.

  There’s a baby, yes. And Flynn is telling me it’s mine—not possible.

  “I said, are you lis
tening to me?” Flynn repeats, harshly.

  “I’m listening!” I yell back. “But what the hell do you mean she’s mine?”

  “Yours.” Flynn lowers his gaze towards the baby, quiet and non-responsive. Moments later, through a thickening voice, he explains, “Milly gave birth three weeks ago. The baby came early or something. I thought she was doing okay but she just ran off. Came to visit me yesterday. It’s because Mom’s not doing the best, it’s all fucked up.”

  He begins to sob, panicked and gasping for air. Watching a grown man brought to tears was enough to hold my attention but I didn’t know how to comfort him.

  “If I don’t show up for Coachella today I am fucked. I can’t take care of this baby.”

  It’s like someone switched on the information overload. My mind cannot keep up, spitting out random questions in order to piece together this fucked-up puzzle.

  “What…what do you mean Milana is gone?”

  “Gone. Exactly that. She wrote me a letter…” He grabs a scrunched-up paper from his pocket but doesn’t read it out. “Take care of her please. I can’t cope…my sister…my mom…I don’t know how to take care of a baby.”

  He pushes the carrier into my chest, and with quick thinking—I grab onto the handle before he lets go. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just take her, I need to go. I’ll be back tonight and we can talk more.”

  I stare down at the baby again; my stomach churning from the sheer panic of taking care of this baby that is supposedly mine.

  As he begins to walk away, towards his car, I shout anxiously, “You can’t leave her with me!”

  Flynn stops in his tracks, turning around to face me. “She’s your daughter, Wesley, not mine. There’s no greater love than that from your own father, trust me—I know. So, if you want to do something right for once, take her, now, when she needs you the most.”

  He turns back, only for me to yell at him one more time.

  “Wait, what’s her name?”

  Without turning around, he stops, posture slumped and his head falling forward. “Katerina. She’s named after our mom.”