12 Days

by Dark Angel

  I grab my cock and point its glistening head at the camera.

  “Eleven fucking inches!” I boast, as I wave my cock in circles in front of the camera.

  The network honcho's going apoplectic, trying to wipe himself off.

  Maybe time to go. Besides, I've had enough. "See you all later," I say, reaching down and grabbing my boxer briefs. I slip into them and jump into my jeans and grab my wife-beaters as I head out the door.

  I run to the elevator. People are standing up staring at the televisions all over the floor. They stare at me as I go by. Shock is on everyone's faces.

  Outside the building, there are some people who seem blissfully aware to what's just transpired.

  I run to the motorcycle, hop on, rev up the engine and peal out down the street as I hear sirens in the distance.

  Alicia

  The alarm clock wakes me up and I groan, trying to turn it off. I open one eyelid and look at the clock. It's only 6:30 am in the morning! I wish I could sleep more! I'm not supposed to be up till 7:30.

  But I can't sleep. I guess that's the part they forget to tell you in college. You're so excited to be getting out into the real world but they forget to tell you that it means being responsible. And being responsible means worrying about bills and that means your body waking you up at 6:30 to go to a job because it's worried about paying back student loans. So you can pay for your apartment and, well, I guess life.

  I'm not complaining. Please don't take it like that. It's just five years out of college, I'm living what many people think of as the dream. I mean, I have an apartment in New York City - in Manhattan as well, not priced out of the city into Astoria - that I share with a roommate and a cat. I also have a stable job. That’s more than a lot of people I graduated with have.

  But that's where the dream ends and it looks more like a facade. I wake up at 6:30 every morning to go to work at the News of the Times. It's the biggest tabloid newspaper in New York City. But it's not what I expected when I got my journalism degree from Yale. I was thinking The New York Times, or the Washington Post. Instead, I work on stories for the News of the Times - maybe you saw my last story that got a front page. They put a headline on it to grab as many readers as possible when I wrote the story about the Governor of New York State being caught with a hooker in a cheap New Jersey hotel room. Want to guess the headline?

  Give up?

  Well this was what was blared across the page: "Ho No!".

  Yup. My first big headline and it's titled "Ho No!". Really makes you want to frame it and send it over to Mom.

  I sigh as I get out of bed. I'm not really complaining. Please don't think that. In fact, at the end of the day - I'm doing what I love. I've always loved journalism. I get that from my mom. See, my dad died in a car accident when I was three - so I never really got to know him. And my mom went from job to job in her career in public relations. She finally moved me to St. Livy when I was 8 to take up a job as the Press Secretary for King Leopold II.

  Every day, I saw her deal with the public relations operations of the King and his kingdom. It was a very firsthand look and one that resonated with me as I grew older. You can say I had a unique childhood growing up. I lived in the palace - the King insisted that all his staff reside in the palace - and our healthcare and schooling were taken care of by the Royal coffers. Part of being a member of the King's retinue, I guess. So whereas most kids were out playing and learning about fractions and cheese in elementary schools back in America, I was in a class with the sons and daughters of lords and ladies, learning about the geopolitical changes that were affecting the kingdom with the close of the Cold War.

  For a girl that loved learning, that should have been a very happy time of my life right?

  It wasn't. It was horrible.

  I don't know if it was me, or if it was the fact that I wasn't royalty, or that I was an American, but from the very first day I was the center of ridicule. Picked on.

  It didn't help that I was a good girl. That my mother always doted on me in every aspect. That she protected me from the "ways of the royals" as she put it. I always studied. Always did my homework. Always got the best grades. And sure I had friends, but I never felt completely accepted. When I finally came back to America to go to college at Yale I finally got a chance to get out and on my own two feet.

  And it felt wonderful. I started dating boys - something I didn't do all during high school. I was surprised that they were into me. I still don't know why, to be honest. Don't get the wrong idea though - I'm still a virgin. And no, I'm not waiting till marriage or anything.

  It's just that I haven't met the right guy yet.

  Is Jake the right guy? He's my current boyfriend - and my first real potential person I would have sex with that I've had since I started living on my own two years ago. We've dated for like five months and we've fooled around. I mean, I've gone down on him twice. It was okay, I guess. He acts sometimes like he's all that, but Jake's safe. He doesn't have like a large dick or anything - like normal, 5 inches. I'm kind of getting ready to sleep with him by inviting him over. He came over last night and we cuddled in bed as we watched a movie in my room together.

  Speaking of which...where is Jake? I've been up and sitting in bed for like ten minutes now and he can't be in the bathroom that long. Usually he wakes up and tries to stick his hands down my panties. What? It's not like I wear anything sexy to bed. Just a t-shirt and a pair of boy shorts. But I'm getting close. I even got laser hair removal the other day. You know...down there. I want the first time to be special.

  But while it's nice to not have Jake pawing at me, I'm a little curious where he went to. It's not like he's an early riser and he doesn't usually wake up to make me breakfast or anything. Although that would be absolutely lovely, it’s not in Jake's MO. Doesn't make him a man, apparently, according to him.

  I get out of bed completely now, driven by curiosity and walk to my door. It's closed, so I open it and look out the living room.

  My roommate, Jenna, and I share an apartment on the Lower East Side. It's decent. A fourth floor walkup on Essex and Rivington. We've had it for two years now and we found each other on Craigslist. She's usually gone a lot for work - she travels and buys clothes for Wal-Mart.

  Right now, I pad across the living room and see that the bathroom is dark. Is Jake even in the apartment?

  That's when I hear a faint giggling coming from Jenna's room. Jenna brings home guys pretty regularly, but she's usually really discreet about it. She respects my space and makes sure they come in and out without fuss. I generally don't mind, but somehow I have a nagging feeling about this.

  Plus, her door is slightly open. Not knowing why I do it, I walk closer and closer and peer in through the gap. She’s definitely in there with someone.

  I should probably leave them alone. I’m acting like some sort of voyeur out here. Jenna’s room is dark, and she still has some music on. I hear muffled voices.

  I’m just about to leave when something catches my eye.

  A man’s watch.

  So what, right? If Jenna has a guy over, he’s gotta have a watch, right?

  Well this is the same one I gave Jake for our 3-month anniversary. It’s a Bulova – all I could really afford. Stainless steel with a blue face.

  More suspicious now, I’m listening to the paranoid voice in my head and I think I’m walking inside.

  Oh no! What if it’s not Jake? Jenna’s going to hate me!

  Just to make it clear, I clear my throat and knock.

  “Oh, fuck!” I hear Jenna say. I look in. Something is squirming in her bed. There’s clothes all over the place.

  Then I see Jake’s tighty-whities. He insists on wearing them, saying they keep his “gigantic” balls in place. Whatever.

  A lot of guys could wear them, right?

  But wait. My boyfriend did laundry once at the laundromat. He put all his whites in with a very dark red shirt. And everything turned pink.

  And there
are now pink tighty-whities on the floor.

  Fuck!

  It can’t be. There’s no way!

  My heart racing, I walk in the door and turn on the light.

  A hand is sticking out from underneath the blankets. Is that Jenna’s hands?

  “Jenna?” I ask quietly at first. The hand is struggling. Is it trying to push off the blankets?

  No.

  It’s trying to hide.

  “Hey, Alicia,” Jenna pops her head out from the other side of the blankets that are on her bed. There’s a silence in the air. She looks at me with guilty eyes.

  “Is that…” I am about to finish my sentence but I don’t. It’s hard to explain the emotions going through me but the biggest one right now is fear. Fear of what I’m going to find out.

  “Fuck,” Jenna says aloud, sighing. Her eyes are big and she's looking directly at me. It’s like she’s realized that this is a losing fight.

  A bit annoyed I turn my gaze to give Jenna a moment to get up and cover herself. But turning around means looking at the hand on the other side of the blankets that's still trying to hide.

  Despite everything, I almost want to laugh. I can’t believe that was Jenna’s hand! It’s so feminine looking!

  "Jenna..." I manage to make out before I see the second head that emerges from underneath the blankets, as if giving up on hiding as well.

  It's Jake. My boyfriend.

  "Oh my God," I say, not knowing what else to say in a moment like this. I've watched plenty of movies where the wife catches the husband cheating or the girlfriend realizes that her man has been unfaithful and they always have some great witty takedowns and one-liners. All I manage to do is sit down on a chair in Jenna’s room - my heart going a mile a minute.

  "Alicia," Jake says, seeing my reaction. He whips off the blanket and I vaguely realize that he's naked.

  I'm sorry, it's still taking me a moment to put everything together and I'm having trouble processing. Why is Jake, my boyfriend, naked in Jenna’s bed? Was I snoring? Did I hog the blankets? Was he maybe sleepwalking? Did he fall in?

  "Alicia," Jake says again, picking up and putting on his tighty-whities with a snap and walking over to me. "I'm sorry you had to see that and find out this way."

  Find out? That he was sleepwalking? This is all happening too fast for me. I look up at Jake as he comes over to where I’m sitting across the room. I see Jenna clasp her bra and put on her panties before getting out of bed.

  "I'm just going to give you guys a few minutes," she says, as she climbs into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top.

  I never really thought Jenna as pretty. She ends up looking really pretty with the clothes she wears and the makeup she puts on her face, but it always looked like more work than needed to me. But who am I to judge? I just saw her in bed naked with my boyfriend.

  "Jake," I say, refusing to let tears come as I look at him. "What's going on?"

  "Alicia," he says again. "I thought you were still asleep."

  Wait, that's his excuse? That he thought I was still asleep?!

  I make a face at him. "So what if I was?" I ask him, a bit pissed off. "That means you have open season to screw my roommate because I’m asleep?

  Jake looks at me like I grew a second head. "Well, babe, it's just that I know you want to wait to bone or something, and I’m cool with that. I just thought..."

  I look at Jake and can't help but feel a bit angry. "What?" I ask, a bit harshly. "Just because I’m not ready yet that it's okay to start hooking up with other girls? My roommate??"

  "Well, no," he says, still in his tighty-whities. "She was just here."

  What the hell! That’s his only criteria? That they have to be there?

  "And since she’s here and I’m not putting out, you thought you could go bang her?"

  Jake sighs. "Honestly, babe, I thought you were okay with this. This has been our arrangement all six months now, hasn't it?" he asks me, looking at me a bit annoyed, as if I'm the one that should feel sorry.

  What arrangement has he been talking about? Why does he look perfectly okay? As if he’s done nothing wrong?

  Oh God. Oh, no!

  "Are you telling me..." I can't finish the sentence, the enormity of what I'm saying is just too much for me to get through my mouth.

  Jake shrugs. "You know I need to have sex on a regular basis, babe," he says, walking over to where he put his shirt. "So until you’re ready to put out, I have to find it elsewhere. I thought you said you were okay with that."

  That man never talked to me about something like this! How in the nine hells would I ever be okay with something like this. What kind of person does something like this?!

  Jake casually walks to out Jenna’s room and through the living room to my room. I follow, glancing daggers at Jenna, who’s in the kitchen. She decides it’s probably a good time to go for a run.

  Jake pulls on his polo shirt and then gets his jeans and puts them on, tucking in his shirt. I wince at myself. I've never really liked this look on him, but he doesn't listen.

  "You've been cheating on me all for six months? The whole time we’ve been dating?” I ask, too horrified to think of anything else but him cheating on me and him tucking in his shirt.

  He shrugs. "It's not cheating if we've never had sex, babe," he says coming back to the bed and sitting next to me.

  "But, I…I went down on you! And I didn't hook up with anyone else, Jake," I say, partly embarrassed that I've been a fool for this long. That I’ve trusted him.

  He shrugs and says with an affected macho vibe. "I think it's more for me, than for you, Alicia. You know I need to have sex pretty regularly." He holds my hands and looks me in the eyes, giving me the cues that he's going to say something profound. Jake's a corporate lawyer for Carter Jeffries. He lives for this kind of stuff. "Alicia, don't let it bother you, darling. It's just sex. You don't really like it. You don't want to have it. Besides, it won't feel good for you. And the stuff that we do, you're not too good at either. And sex is basically for guys. It helps me clear out my system so I can take care of you."

  I jerk back. I'm not too good at the pre-sex? Okay, so maybe we’re not moving as fast as he’d like, but that's because Jake never wants to try anything new. I mean, how many different ways of putting his cock in my mouth can I do? And only when I only have three to five minutes to work with. I mean, out of the twice I’ve gone down on him, the longest he’s lasted has been like three minutes, and that was like with a condom on. And he always refuses to go down on me. So, what am I supposed to do?

  But I can't let go of his words on how he's cheated on me because I’m not having sex and I'm even bad at pre-sex. Tears come to my eyes but I don't want him to see me. I refuse to cry.

  "But, how is that even fair? I ask him instead. “I mean, do you get in bed with me afterwards?!"

  Jake shrugs. "It's just what works, babe. You get what you want, and I get what I need, and then I come back to bed."

  I wonder when I was supposed to even know any of this.

  Jake's phone rings and he looks at it. He turns to me.

  "Babe, it's my dad," he says. "Can you give me a minute?"

  I nod my head and get up from the bed that I was sitting on. Jake doesn't like it when he talks to his parents in front of me and usually asks for some privacy. But there's nowhere to go in the room. I sigh and walk outside as he closes the door. I look at my phone. I figure I can go to the gym for a while before work.

  Wait a second. That guy just kicked me out of my own room after cheating on me! I knock on the door. No answer. I knock harder. I kick.

  Jake opens the door, his eyes squinted in annoyance.

  I push past him and he looks at me like I've gone crazy.

  "Alicia, what is..." he starts but I don't let him finish.

  "Get the fuck out of this room, you stupid asshole!" I shout, not knowing I had it in me.

  Jake looks at me in shock. He covers the mouthpiece to his phone and says to me, "E
xcuse me?"

  "Out!! Or I call the cops!" I yell again.

  "You're crazy!" he yells and walks fast to the door. I glare at him as looks around and decides it’s probably best to leave the apartment. "Have a good life, bitch!" he yells and slams the door on his way out.

  I flop down on my bed and bury my head in the pillows but again refuse to cry.

  The pillow smells like Jake. I can't have that. Sighing, in the midst of my sadness, I go over to the couch in the living room and lie down. How sad, I think to myself, that even when he’s not here, I can’t lie down on my own bed.

  The thought makes me want to cry even more. But no. No tears for him!

  * * *

  I finally get up and get dressed for work. I walk to the train and catch the uptown D train like normal to Times Square. It’s the same routine every day. If I had a better job and access to funds like the people I sometimes cover, I’d totally call in sick today. I’d be a rebel and break the rules and take the day to just be sad.

  But I don’t have that kind of luxury. Instead, I do my best to keep a straight face as I walk into work.

  The place is somber and grim. I know I’m early. It’s probably only 7:30 am, but it was better to come to work than sit at home and feel miserable. I didn’t even feel like morning yoga – something that I almost always never miss.

  The giant clock is ticking towards 8:00 am, when the head of the Gossip Page – Page Eight - Mike, has his normal all-hands meeting on what we’re covering for the day. Since I’m a junior writer in Gossip, I usually don’t have to attend, but I like showing up because it shows I have ambition.

  But all the department heads are already here today. They’re all glued in front of the television.

  Sighing, and wondering what it could be, I turn towards the TV also.

  The result is something out of Bizarro world. It’s him. The Prince. Prince of St. Livy.

  Remember when I told you I didn’t have a great school experience? Remember how I said I was mocked and teased? That people were mean to me.