by Kat T. Masen
My laughter escapes. How does this man evoke so many emotions from me that no one else could ever do. He is crazy. Plain and simple.
“Wow, you must really love me if you’re willing to move next door to Phoebe.”
And just like that, his expression relaxes and the beautiful man that I had unravelled beneath all the masks, is standing before me and offering me a life that I had never imagined.
I didn’t care what people thought about Wesley, or us for that matter. All that mattered is what we thought. I love him; every inch of his screwed up soul. And just maybe—he had finally met his match.
I am every bit as screwed up as he is.
And that, oddly—made me content.
“Seeing you happy, makes me happy. Jesus, Milana. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you. I knew it, that day in the café. Something about you, I just couldn’t forget. But everything I do from this moment will ride on one important thing, one important condition.”
Taking a step back, my breathing becomes rapid and shallow. My pulse is pounding in my temples, I have no idea what condition he will demand or if I’m even willing to sacrifice whatever it is to make him happy. I gaze into his eyes, willingly drawing myself in and experiencing the magic which arose everytime he looked back at me this way. Mischievious with a deadly grin. A man with an ulterior motive. In ways, this look—so deep and transcending—scared me and excited me at the same time.
Its’s Wesley Rich.
Mr. Bad Boy.
What could he possibly want from me that I hadn’t already given him?
And then, in the middle of these rusty woods, Wesley Rich gets down on one knee.
“Marry me.”
There’s a hum of excitement in the room; nerves amplified as the anticipation builds and the long-awaited video is played in the background.
My hand is drenched in sweat, gripping Milana’s while tapping against my knee beneath the table. The collar on my shirt is irritating me. I hadn’t worn a tuxedo in quite some time and only just realized how restricted this ridiculous getup made me feel. God, I even had to shave my beard to look semi-human.
But it wasn’t just this moment, it was everything around me.
Hollywood.
The place that created Bad Boy Rich.
Actor, husband, father—former drug addict.
The people surrounding me seemed so foreign. A lifetime of memories ago, and ones that I hated to relive. You could smell the ego-maniacs in the air. Each one willing to draw each other’s blood for a place at the top.
I could do a fucking line, and I hated admitting that, especially since I had been clean for almost eight months.
“Baby, just breathe. You’ve got this.”
Simple enough to say but what if I didn’t want this? I had everything I wanted. A beautiful wife who married me on the beach in The Maldives while Katya, Flynn, and Katerina stood beside us and witnessed our moment. Hell, even Barry Manilow was there. Sung his little heart out and made it all the more special.
We have a home that sits on the side of a lake, private and serene with a big open yard for Katerina to run around in. I just wanted to go fishing. Who would have thought, Wesley Rich, fisherman. Fuck, not me. But I fucking loved it, even considered buying one of the local bait shops.
Finally—I had a home and people inside it who loved me. I left this rat race behind and never regretted it. And here, in this moment, I so desperately wanted to escape and go back to the comfort of the life that Milana and I created for each other.
“And our nominees for best actor in a motion picture…”
The names are called out, and then—my name sounds on the loudspeaker.
“Wesley Rich—Riding the High.”
They play my scene; the part of the movie where I scream at the nurse in the mental asylum to let me go. The crowd claps right after, nothing loud, nothing more than the other actors nominated.
“And the Academy Award for best actor goes to…”
I felt all eyes on me, and the fucking cameras on my face. There were five of us nominated, and the reality—I had no chance against these big A-listers. I had removed myself from this industry, escaped to a better life in Alaska. The media had a frenzy with discovering that I became a dad, this time, for real. Not Farrah’s bullshit lies she often fed them. And it didn’t dwindle down, at least, not immediately. They followed us around the world, each time we traveled with Katya and Flynn to somewhere new. It made headlines, but much like anything, people got bored. Or I assumed they got bored. Milana never said a thing, ignoring the stories they conjured up. Phoebe was the annoying one, and pointed out that people were fascinated with Bad Boy Rich settling down with a small-town gal.
I didn’t care.
It boiled down to this moment.
“And the winner is…Wesley Rich—Riding the High.”
The crowd applauds loudly; many standing up and shouting my name with pride. My nerves are in shock, and in that moment, I glance towards the hand nestled in mine and see the emerald gold ring staring back at me.
My wife.
My savior.
My fucking life.
“You did it,” she squeals, as I turn to kiss her, openly in front of the cameras.
She’s fucking beautiful, and each time I look into her eyes, I wonder what I did to deserve her. She’s mine, she’s the mother of my child, and I wanted to spend every day making her happy.
Taking a deep breath, I let go, just for this final moment, and slowly make my way to the stage. Every step I take becomes more and more surreal. Was this happening? I am being rewarded in the greatest of ways for my ability to portray a character. I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve this.
And I needed to shut my fucking demon up.
Maybe, for once in my life, I DO deserve something good.
The gold statue is handed to me. It’s heavy, more so than I imagined, and its weight carries enormous significance.
This is it. My moment.
I may never get a moment like this again, and so—I would do it justice.
“A long time ago, someone told me I wasn’t good enough for anything. And I held onto that, for years. You saw that play out whether you watched my life on reality TV or followed the headlines.
“And despite all that, people still chose to believe in me. Jerry, our director, Nigel, our producer, and all the cast on set. You put up with me at a time when I was at my lowest, and here we are. This award is a testament to our hard work, not only mine.”
Jerry and Nigel stand, an ovation that follows with loud applause and whistles.
“It was at my weakest time that someone told me to fight for my dream. Dreams? I remember looking at her oddly, I didn’t have dreams. I had nightmares. But she pushed me to search inside myself and fight for what I wanted.”
I don’t need to search the crowd; my eyes gravitate towards her standing at our table, wearing a beautiful red dress that crowns her queen of the night.
“I married my beautiful wife, Milana Richland, and she gave me the greatest dream possible—our daughter. This award is the icing on my already-perfect cake.”
Milana is beaming with pride, and I smile back at her, desperate to take her home and celebrate with her privately.
“And so, I thank the lord for blessing me. For bringing her into my life, for teaching me how to love myself.
“But lastly, I dedicate this award to Katya Milenov. A woman who so bravely brought two children into this world. Accepted me as a son, with all my flaws, and till the very end, taught me how to love unconditionally. Somewhere, up above, you’re watching over us. We promise to honor you, make you proud, and dedicate our life to make sure your legacy lives on.”
It was a privledge to spend her last moments with her. And watching her, take that last breath—was the moment it all changed for me. Life is short, and what makes you happy is worth fighting for.
I knew she was smiling down and protecting us—always.
I hold the award into the air, staring above, basking in her presence.
“Thank you, Mom.”
Born and bred in Sydney, Australia, Kat T. Masen is a mother to four crazy boys and wife to one sane husband. Growing up in a generation where social media and fancy gadgets didn’t exist, she enjoyed reading from an early age and found herself immersed in these stories. After meeting friends on Twitter who loved to read as much as she did, her passion to write began and the friendships continued on despite the distance.
“I’m known to be crazy and humorous. Show me the most random picture of a dog in a wig and I’ll be laughing for days.”
Where to find me:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorkattmasen
Twitter: @authorkattmasen
Instagram: @authorkattmasen
Website: www.kattmasen.com
I wrapped my arms around myself to shelter my body from the sea breeze. The night air was cool yet humid, the lingering smell of rain mixed with salt. A sudden flash of lightning brightened the dark sky, a beautiful sight followed by the inevitable. I placed my hands over my ears, burying my head between my legs. The crash of thunder startled me. Slowly, I raised my head and uncovered my ears, then listened to the low rumble disappear into the night. I hated storms, they terrified me, but here I sat, waiting patiently as I always did.
This was our special place, but tonight—with the moon obscured behind the dark thick clouds—this no longer felt like our safe haven. Anxiously, I pulled out a weed that stood between the rocks and tore it apart until there was nothing left. The lightning struck once again and the threat of thunder forced me to bury my head. I rocked back and forth as I hugged my knees. Unwillingly, my mind returned to the night my fear of storms began…
“He is the most beautiful man you will ever see. His soul will capture you, but don’t be fooled, Mi Corazon. He will use all his powers to draw you in when there is nothing left to do but take the one thing you’ve been holding on to.”
It was past my bedtime but I couldn’t sleep. A storm was rolling in and the thunder was getting louder. I pulled the covers over me, frightened by this creature Momma spoke about. With my heart racing and my voice shaking, I dared ask the question that haunted me.
“Who is he, Momma?”
Placing the book down, she paused, staring out of the large window. Fear passed over her classically beautiful face as she continued. I wasn’t sure why. Daddy would protect her. Daddy had a gun and said if anyone would ever hurt us, he would hunt them down like hungry wolves.
“The Dark Angel. He brings dark love with him,” she whispered.
The name alone frightened me. Was he like the big bad wolf? I didn’t understand what I would be holding on to. I was only eight. This fairytale was nothing like the others. Where was the happy ending? Did the Dark Angel turn into a prince like in Snow White or Cinderella?
“Will he come for me, Momma?”
The thunder shook the house and I clutched her arm as tight as I could. I was scared, the thunder was so loud and I didn’t want the Dark Angel to come for me. He scared me. I wanted to stay with Daddy and Momma. As the noise became louder, I buried my head under Momma’s arm, trying to shut out the horrible sound.
“Momma, I’m scared.”
“Sleep, Mi Corazon.”
Humming my favorite lullaby, she stroked my hair to calm me down until I fell asleep in her arms.
I never believed it but for some reason it stuck with me and unfortunately so did my fear of storms. Just poor timing, I kept telling myself. Frustrated, I looked down at my watch.
You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. He’s an hour late.
Just as I was about to get up and leave, I felt his masculine arms wrap around me, warming my body. Placing soft kisses along my neckline, the stale smell of tequila lingered on his breath. My heart sunk; I knew something was wrong but I wasn’t in the mood to be sympathetic. I was sick and tired of all this sneaking around.
“Rough night? Haven’t you heard of a cell?”
“Rough doesn’t even cut it. I’m sorry, my cell was acting up.”
Distracted, he moved his hands underneath my jacket and ran them along my stomach.
“You smell like you’ve been to a frat party,” I said.
Unable to hide my annoyance any longer, I moved his hands away but he stopped me immediately. He tightened his grip around me and buried his head in my hair.
“Your hair… It’s so… I miss you…” He mumbled words that made no sense and I grew even more irritated. I pulled away and stood up.
“What is this? I know you—better than you know yourself. You’re drunk for a reason.” Without hesitation I blurted out the words that plagued my mind. “You’re going to tell me it’s over? The signs are here, you’ve been acting weird all week.”
He stood up fast, unsteady on his feet. I half expected him to laugh it off but even in his intoxicated state he seemed to understand what I meant. The hesitation alone was enough for me to think the worst but I stood and waited without taking a breath. His eyes fixated on me, a trance I tried not to get pulled into, but slowly I felt myself drawn in, cast under his spell without any hope of climbing out.
“Over? I can’t breathe without you, Charlotte. How do you expect me to live without you?”
He ran his finger down my cheekbone just as he had always done, then slowly and reassuringly he placed his lips on mine.
“Look at me, Charlotte,” he begged.
My eyes found their way back to his, and just like they had done a million times before, the emerald green shone back at me. In their reflection I saw only us.
He placed my hand over his heart. “As long as this beats, it’s for you. I’ll find a way for us to be together. Don’t give up on us; we happened for a reason. The rest are obstacles we can overcome. As long as you place your trust in me, I promise to never break you. I love you… only you.”
I gave into him that night because I loved him more than life itself, but it was soon afterwards I realized what Momma tried to tell me all along. That he would come for me, take all that was mine, then leave me alone in the dark. He would empty me of everything good and pure, leaving me hollow and unable to love, wandering alone in the darkness like a tortured soul. I prayed that he wouldn’t come for me, but he did. His name was Alexander Edwards, and that night he filled me with promises, made me believe it was only us in this world, that we only needed each other.
And that… was the last time I saw him.