Born Wrong

by C. M. Stunich

  “Why?” she whispers, voice breathy. “Why does she need to know about everything? She has the fucking photo.” I sigh again and Hayden turns away, blue eyes watering as she stomps over to the table near the window and parts the white curtains with angry hands. A joint finds its way off the ashtray and into her mouth. I watch as she digs a lighter out of her purse and flicks the wheel. “Why does Naomi get everything?” she cries, leaning forward and clutching the edge of the table with too white fingers. “You, Turner, all the fame, the credit, the fortune.”

  “Naomi doesn't want me, Hayden,” I say and I try not to sound bitter about it. She spins to face me, her brunette hair sticking to her lips and clinging there. The smoke from the joint whirls around her wet eyes, framing them like glasses.

  “But I do, Dax. I do.” She sits back hard on the table and the ashtray clinks against the wood. “Why don't you want me?”

  “We've been over this again and again and again. I can't sit here and have this conversation with you. I came here as a courtesy.” Hayden laughs bitterly, shaking her head and sending a few stray tears twirling through the air like shooting stars.

  “You came here because you had nowhere else to go, Dax. You came here because you were lonely, and that's not fair to me.” She sniffles and leans back a bit, hunching her shoulders forward and emphasizing how thin she's gotten lately. I mean, Hayden's always been skinny, but now she's starting to look gaunt. “But you know, I could live with that. Cassie, though. Why does Naomi have to know about Cassie?”

  “Hayden, come on. They all think you're the fucking devil. Don't you want to clear your name? It doesn't have to be like this. Things don't have to end badly. It's not too late. It's really not. We can fix this.” I consider standing up, but my muscles promise me pain if I do. Instead, I lean back and press my back into the wall. I watch Hayden watching me and try to remember back to the first day I met her. She was already pregnant then, but you couldn't tell, not even a little bit. I was never even supposed to find out. Nobody was. Hayden's one of those skinny chicks who can get away with that.

  “Dax, please. Enough with the inspirational bullshit.” Hayden puffs away on her joint, her body stretched out across the table, toes just barely touching the floor. The position reminds me of that video, that fucking horrible video. If it was possible, I would wipe that shit from my mind forever. I didn't want to see that, didn't want to know about it. That's what I get for digging into other people's secrets, right? I hope nobody decides to delve that deep into mine. “I'm in this too deep to turn back, but that doesn't necessarily mean it has to all be shit, right?” I just keep staring at Hayden. In the back of my mind, I find my thoughts drifting to that girl, Sydney Charell. She's Trey's sister, so I figure she's got to be bad news, but I can't stop myself from fantasizing about her. It can't hurt, right? As long as I keep my thoughts to myself.

  “If you're waiting for me to respond, I have nothing to say. They tortured you, Hayden. They're keeping you away from your daughter. How is any of that good news?” We've been over these points a dozen or more times, but no matter what I say, it doesn't make any difference to her. She's bound and determined to see this through, for one reason or another.

  “You love Naomi?” Hayden asks, tilting her head to the side. She removes the joint from her thin lips and sucks in a deep breath. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and then close them. We've been over that, too, and I'm sick of talking about it. I haven't told Hayden about the rejection I got today. Why should I? I might be an emo bitch, right, but I'm still a guy. I have pride issues just like the rest of 'em. “Look, I'm tired of chasing after you, Dax. I told you how I feel about you. If you don't feel the same way, well, then all I want is to see you happy.”

  “Hayden,” I begin, but she's not done. Instead, she jumps off the table and throws her joint onto the floor, stepping over it like she doesn't have a care in the world. I sit up straight as she comes towards me, wrapping her arms around my neck and touching her cheek to mine.

  “If you could have her, would you?” she whispers, breath hot against my ear. I reach up and put my hands on her shoulders, pushing her back a step.

  “What?”

  “If you could have Naomi, would you?”

  “What kind of a fucking question is that? She's in love with Turner. It's never going to happen, Hayden.” She smiles at me and stands up straight, moving away with a smile and a small laugh that scares the shit out of me. Her gaze pans across the white walls, the windows, and comes to rest on a small painting of a fox that adorns the empty space next to the bathroom door. She stands there for awhile, too long in my opinion, and then turns to face me with a grin.

  “I could make it happen, Dax. We, we could make it happen.” Chills creep down my spine and I have a hard time swallowing. I run some fingers through my hair and try to imagine a way out of this situation. I need to get out of here before Hayden implicates herself. I just can't do this. I can't. I fucking can't. I'm tired of being the nice guy. It hurts. It sucks. It takes way less energy to just be a dick. I should take a page from Turner's book and start flipping the bird at everyone.

  “Don't,” I warn her with a growl. And then I have to fucking wonder why it is that I'm so angry. Am I angry at Hayden for implicating I join her on the frigging dark side? Or am I angry because it's almost tempting? No. No. I'm not like that. I am not fucking like that.

  “I could get her for you, Dax. You could be happy. You could have everything you ever wanted. We need another drummer for Ice and Glass, you know? Lola's so out, she's practically toe tagged.”

  “Hayden, stop!” I shout, and I don't hold back. I stand up and the world spins around me. “This isn't you. It doesn't have to be you!”

  “We could get rid of Turner. We could … we could get Naomi. You could keep her warm and safe and comfortable. Dax, you could fuck her whenever you wanted. You could – ” I move forward and before I know what I'm doing, I'm slapping Hayden hard across the face. I don't mean to do it, not really, but I can't seem to control the rage that's building up inside of me. I want to believe the best about people, but I can't. I can't. Why? Why does the world have to be so fucking cruel.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, Hayden,” I bite out at her, turning away as she scrambles at my arm, digging her nails into my bicep, drawing blood.

  “Dax, no!” Hayden screeches, and her voice echoes around in my head like a curse. She loves me, I think, but I don't love her. I really wish I did. Maybe then I could figure out a way to free her from herself? I wonder if Naomi feels the same way about me? If she wishes she could love me. But love's not an emotion that can be forced. It has to fall from your heart like a skydiver, floating through the air, captive to no one. Eventually though, eventually you have to hit the ground. “Don't leave me, Dax! I love you. I love you. God, I love you.” I jerk my arm from her grip, slamming my hands against the door, palms flat against the wood as I lean forward and suck in a massive breath, gritting my teeth and holding back the tears of frustration that are threatening to tear through my eyes. “Dax, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dax. Just please don't leave. Don't leave. Everybody always leaves me.”

  I stand there for a minute as she wraps her arms around my waist, and I almost give in and stay. Almost, almost, fucking almost.

  “I could give you the world, Dax, if you'd just let me. We could make things happen together.”

  “Like making Naomi my sex slave?” I whisper bitterly, my breath fogging against the glossy paint on the door.

  “Whatever you want, Dax. I would never say no to you; I love you.” I squeeze my hands into fists. I'm so disgusted by Hayden right now, I can barely breathe. My chest feels tight and my heart hurts like crazy. All I want to do right now is lay down and sleep it off. Fuck.

  “Yeah, well, I don't love you.”

  And then I push back, untangle her arms from around me, and storm out the door.

  I wonder if I'll regret that decision later.

  “Is it true that you identi
fy as a woman, Mr. McCann?” the interviewer asks me. She's a pretty chick with long, blonde hair and a movie star smile, but fuck. Really? Really? I turn and glance over my shoulder, catching America's forced smile. She's standing next to a table covered in finger food. When she sees me looking at her, and not at the reporter, she gets this mean look that I'd be hard pressed to describe. Just imagine what a crocodile would look like if you first crossed it with a velociraptor, and then pissed it off.

  I sigh. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. My interview is going nothing like Turner Campbell's. Or Naomi's. Or even Hayden's. Why am I sucking so freaking much? I turn back to the woman, Pearl I think is her name. Nothing hip or cool about that. My grandmother's name, on my dad's side, is fucking Pearl. I keep reminding myself of that as I stare into her white-blue eyes and try to think up an appropriate response. Somewhere nearby, somebody's chuckling. Fucking Turner Campbell, piece of shit eating, self-aggrandizing sack of garbage.

  “If you mean, do I embrace my feminine side, sure.” The laughter intensifies, and I have to fight the urge to get up and pummel the crap out of Turner. Maybe he could kick my ass; maybe not. But he reminds me of all the boys in high school that made fun of me, teased me to within an inch of my life. I won't take that crap anymore. Not from anyone. I've tried to be civil, but I have a breaking point. I probably won't go all bat shit crazy like Ronnie McGuire, beat a guy to a pulp on the street, but you never know.

  The reporter's eyebrows are raised now. I try to cut in before she can comment on that.

  “All I mean is that I'm in touch with my feelings.” Her smile gets a little wider, and I can tell I am fucking this up so bad, it's nobody's business. Okay. Breathe, Dax. Breathe. You can do this. I imagine my dad might read this, too. He's not going to like it, not one bit. “Look lady, I have a dick and I'm quite aware of it, okay? I'm not a woman, and I'm not interested in being a woman. That doesn't mean I have to be a self-serving, penis worshipping sack of shit.” Pearl's mouth twitches, but her smile never changes. She didn't like me from the moment I walked in here. Fine. Whatever. I don't care.

  “I see. So you prefer the company of men?” I raise my hands up and look over my shoulder again. America's still giving me that look, the dinosaur one, so I turn back to the reporter and drop my arms to my lap. My fingers curl so tight against my jeans that they burn.

  “I'm. Not. Gay.” Probably the thousandth time I've fucking said that in my life. Not that I think there's anything wrong with that; I'm just sick of people trying to force some label on me because they don't get me. I play drums, I like to watch horror movies, and I have tattoos on my eyelids. That doesn't mean I want dick in my ass. I'm just this way, and I'm sick of justifying myself to everyone.

  “Bisexual?” Pearl asks me. I purse my lips.

  “I enjoy moving my cock inside of a woman's vagina.” Not really sure how much clearer I can get than that. Pearl enjoys this, her overly made up face twisting into an expression of pure glee. This, this is why I always beg America not to schedule interviews. These people don't give a fuck about any of us. All they want is a story, and fuck, let's be honest. I'm not all that interesting to them. I'm just the drummer of the second rate band that's along for the ride. I'm not Turner Campbell; I don't have four babies from different mothers like Ronnie. I'm not a train wreck like Hayden, a kidnap victim returned from the depths of horror. No Naomi, risen from the dead and the first and only chick to ever tame the wild beast that is Indecency's lead singer. I'm useless to them. The only way my interview will be worth anything is if she pisses me off. And I'm letting her. I instantly hate myself for it. And then I realize I'm acting exactly like the emo bitch I always get accused of being. And then I just get pissed off.

  “But also inside of a man?” Pearl prods. I think she's really enjoying herself here. Nobody is that fucking stupid. I move my grip to the arms of my chair and lean forward.

  “Are you dumb, Pearl? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a child?” This doesn't particularly faze her, but it does get America's attention. I can hear her heels clicking across the floor behind me. I have seconds, maybe, to save this interview. “Look, I'm not gay, okay? Please stop asking me that. Can't we talk about something else? The music maybe? That's why we're here isn't it?” Pearl doesn't look particularly interested in me anymore. She sighs and then yawns, glancing down at the clipboard in front of her.

  “Any crushes we should know about?” she asks me, more like it's a required question and less like she actually gives a shit. Naomi's name immediately springs to mind and then dies on my lips. Yeah, that's the last thing I need. To tell the world how pathetic I am. We've all been watching Turner and Naomi's whirlwind romance. I scramble for something to say while Pearl looks on, getting more interested by the moment. She probably thinks I'm trying to comb through my hundred butt buddies. Fucking fuck. I mean, I don't really care what she thinks, but Jesus. I just want people to know me. That's it.

  “Sydney Charell.” It pops right out of my mouth like it's been summoned. The words sit there in front of my face, letters swimming round and round in my blurring vision. Aw, shit. Shit. Man. Shit. “I … ” Have no idea what to say. Pearl looks confused for a moment, rustling her papers and then tossing them aside for her iPad. After a moment, understanding dawns on her face.

  “So you're in love with Treyjan's sister? Interesting. That's interesting. So you might say, Trey's tragedy was your miracle?”

  “Huh, what? No. No. I didn't say I was in love with her. I just … And my miracle? I'm sorry. I don't follow.” This isn't the live interview. This isn't the live interview. I just keep repeating that to myself. Somebody, probably Pearl, is going to write this shit up and post in on the Rockersbloodpills.com site. The TV interview comes later. I can't fucking wait.

  “Trey getting shot was the best thing that ever happened to you. If he hadn't been shot, Sydney wouldn't have come to town. A stripper with a heart of gold waltzes into your life, takes you by the hand, and really redeems you as a man. Does that sound accurate?”

  “That couldn't be further from the truth,” I start, but suddenly, there's a warm body spilling into my arms, a mouth on my mouth. My whole body goes numb, like it's in shock. When sensation starts back up in my limbs, it's with a vengeance. My skin gets tight, my cock gets hard, and my hands curl around the plump curves of a one, Miss fucking Sydney Charell. When her tongue hits mine, it's like an explosion goes off inside of me. I growl, and I never growl. I bite at her fucking face like an animal, eating at her sweet heat and tasting her like I've never tasted another woman before. Sydney smells like summer and wild things, like citrus and fruit groves, like the sea shimmering under the sun. I squeeze her hard, splaying my hands out against her supple flesh, pulling her as tightly against me as I can get. And Pearl? Yeah, uh, fuck Pearl.

  I get that there's a world around me, spinning through the dark depths of space. I get that Naomi's probably watching me tongue a chick I just met. That Hayden's watching. Kash, Wren, Blair, America. But I can't seem to stop myself. My body just reacts and that's that. Sydney's lips are soft and smooth, fluttering over my angry mouth like a butterfly. For a first kiss, it's pretty bomb.

  When we pull apart, we're both gasping, breathing hard. I'm physically fighting my body, begging my dick to stop throbbing and my stomach to stop aching. I get lost in her blue eyes, quivering there, my mouth shaking as I just barely brush over her skin. Get a hold of yourself, asshole. You're not an untamed beast. I ignore the part of me that says, but Sydney makes me want to be one.

  “I, uh, I'm Dax.” And I can't believe nobody thinks of me as a Casanova? That's so fucking shocking. I lick my lips and Sydney makes this, this noise in her throat that has me going crazy. “I mean, uh, thanks. Thank you.” I tear my eyes from hers and glance over her shoulder, determined not to feel the slick, hot skin of her bare back rubbing against my arms. Pearl is gaping at me, actually gaping. I resist the urge to flip her off. Too Turner. And I'm not Turner. I am
Dax McCann, born and raised in the Midwest but never a real part of it, never a card carrying member. I am Dax McCann and I really, really want to have sex with this woman.

  “I have no idea what I'm doing. Sometimes, I just do things.” Sydney shrugs, but all that does is cause her breasts to rub against my chest. I debate moving her off of me, but then, I've got a massive fucking hard-on. And while the camera behind Pearl isn't supposed to be rolling, it could be. I take a second to glance around the room and plan my exit. There are a lot of faces staring at me. Too many. Kash gives me a thumbs up, but I ignore him. Turner's head is cocked to the side like he can't even fucking believe what he's seeing. And Naomi. I can't even meet her eyes. So, I do what any logical dude would do. I grab Sydney under the legs and around the waist, lifting her up with me as I rise to my feet. I carry her low, moving across the suddenly silent room. You could hear a pin drop in here.

  We only make it about as far as the back curtain, sliding into the darkness near the bathrooms with a rush of breath and a few gasps. I drop Sydney to her feet and slam her into the wall with a groan, fumbling at her dress, pressing my erection against her firm body. She's just … killer. Absolutely killer.

  “I don't know you, but I want to slam you into this wall and fuck the shit out of you. Explain.”

  “You've never had a quickie before?” Sydney asks, but her voice catches like maybe she's never felt a lust this strong before either. Thank God, right, because I wouldn't just be considered emo, I'd be a downright fucking loser. I can hardly remember my own name right now. Imagine if this happened on a regular basis?

  “Are we going to have one now?” I ask. My dick has a mind of its own and currently, it's attempting to make a jail break. I've managed to push Sydney's skin tight dress up her thighs, leaving her hot core just a thin, silken shield away from me. I press my crotch tighter into her and try to remember to breathe. Doesn't seem all that important in the moment.