Bad Situation

by K. B. Nelson

  She swallows a dry lump in her throat. “And they’re waiting for my okay?”

  I plant a short kiss on the base of her neck where her shoulder begins. “Something like that.”

  She laps her tongue across her lips and pushes me back. “You’re not a lost cause, Brick.” She stands up and straightens her skirt. “I think you’ve been hurt by someone or something, and I think you have too much pride to know it’s okay to talk about it.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I lean down, grab my shirt, pull it over my arms, and begin the process of buttoning it up. “Just tell me one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did I pass?”

  She purses her lip and leans against the desk. “I’ll need to see you again in a few days.”

  See? I’ve got her right where I want her, and after I’m done with her, I’ll find a way to destroy her. She wants to help me, but I want nothing more than to prove to her that I’m beyond her expertise. A woman like her could never fix me. Nobody ever could. Nobody ever would.

  “I’ll bring a condom next time.” I smirk at her and reach for the knob of the door.

  She frowns, and she’s not amused. She hates everything I am, but she’s intrigued by me. She wants to travel down the rabbit hole that is my world and explore it—after she’s done exploring my body.

  “Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll fuck you bare.”

  I rip the door open and slam it shut behind me. There’s a certain, articulate smile etched across my face as I pass the front desk and approach the elevator. It’s going to be a fucking beautiful day.

  2

  Brick

  I shouldn’t be here; even I have the headspace to know that. But I’m drawn here, because this is her home. It feels like my home, and when she abandoned it and her roommate moved out soon after, I inherited it. At least until the lease is up and the landlord changes the locks.

  I’m a squatter for the occasional hour on the occasional day.

  There are memories of the good times—I fucked her brains out, splattering them along the wall of her bedroom. Countless games ended and began in this living room. I take a seat in the chair that’s parked in the corner of the living room. She called it her throne, where she was capable of crafting the most devious schemes. That’s the Apple I miss—the girl who knew she was the queen.

  There are memories of the bad times, like the day she decided she was a better person—as if she could ever be anything other than who, or what, she had always been. I was the king to her queen, and she threw that all away for a man she hardly knew.

  But I know she’ll be back. She has to. She might think she’s changed, but her lease will be up in a week, just before the start of the new semester. Ain’t no way she’s going to leave all this shit behind. Not her bed, not her chair, and not the memories.

  From the second she walks in that door behind me, with the sole intent of collecting her belongings, she’ll be reminded of who she really is.

  I drop into her throne. I get comfortable and rest my eyes, prepared to take a nap, but I’m stirred by the clicking of the lock. “It’s open,” I say softly, knowing whoever is on the other side of the door can’t hear me.

  The door pushes open, and burning sunshine casts her body in an angelic silhouette until she closes the door¸ and lord does she look worse for wear. Her glistening eyes are now sunken, and her hair is untamed and wild, like she hasn’t slept in a week.

  “What the hell are you doing in my house?” Apple snaps and throws her purse onto the stand by the door. “I’m calling the police.”

  I chuckle and cross my legs. “What are you going to tell them?”

  “I’d start with, there’s a lunatic in my house.”

  “I miss this banter.”

  “It’s not banter. It’s contempt.” She glides past me, and steps into the kitchen. “I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that.”

  From the kitchen, I hear the clinking of glasses and then the running of the faucet. I lean my head against the chair and smile, because now that she’s home, I can get back on with my life. No more moping. No more theatrics. No more mourning. I hop to my feet and lean against the arch that divides the living room from the kitchen.

  “How’s the other side of the rainbow?” I ask with a smug grin.

  She forces a smile. “You should see it sometime.”

  “Nah,” I say as she moves to exit the kitchen. I peel away from the frame of the walkway and stretch my arm out to the other side, blocking her path. “I’m not interested in that monogamy bullshit.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” She presses down on my arm and forces her way past me. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in my house?”

  “You first.”

  She spins back to face me. “This is my house. Explanation not required.”

  I nod at her, intrigued. “Why’d you come back?”

  “I had to get my shit.”

  Called it.

  She retrieves her phone from the pocket of her tight, indigo jeans.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The police.”

  “There’s no need for that.”

  “If it takes throwing your ass behind bars for breaking and entering to finally get you out of my life, then it’s a call I look forward to making.”

  I shake my head incredulously, but with a smile. “Sorry, babe.” I shrug. “I didn’t break shit to get in here.” I dig a key out of my pocket and flash it for her to see.

  “That’s strange.” She rips the key from my hand, then leans down and peels a high-heeled shoe from her left foot. “There’s glass all over the front porch.”

  I shake my head again, confused as to what the hell she’s talking about. “No, there’s not.”

  Her smile morphs into a familiar visage of beauty—a cold, calculating, devious, pull-you-into-my-world kind of pout. Then, with her heel firmly in hand, she punches out the glass window of the door, sending shards of glass onto the porch and onto the carpet.

  “That’s the Apple I remember.” I bite into my lip and approach her. “The same Apple I love. You’re so much sexier when you’re playing the role of the vindictive bitch.”

  She smiles smugly, throwing my own smugness back in my face. “I’m not playing. I despise you and everything you stand for.”

  “Babe—“

  “Call me babe again, and I’ll gouge out your eye socket with this shoe.”

  I draw my hand to my chin, trying to get a proper read on her. Something about her is different, and I’m flipping backward trying to figure it out.

  She’s the same Apple she always has been. She has to be, and the only thing I can think to do is to present her a challenge she can’t refuse. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  She opens the front door and smiles. “Not interested.” She shrugs, grabs my arm and pulls me to the porch. “I won’t be dragged into one of your stupid games.”

  “That’s right.” I chuckle and lean against the frame of the door. “I forgot. You’re a changed woman,” I say, mocking her.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  And then the door is slammed in my face, almost knocking me to my feet as I flinch my elbow away from getting pinched in the door.

  3

  Apple

  I lean against the door and take a deep breath. I thought I was prepared to come back, but I could never be prepared to come face-to-face with him again. Everything about him is a potent reminder of the girl I used to be—the girl I’m trying not to be.

  The girl I can never be again.

  It’s an addiction I’ll be forced to live with for the rest of my life, but part of the program is learning when it’s okay to be strong, and when it’s okay to break. It’s okay, for example, to never let a guy give you shit. It’s not okay to cut his balls off and string them along a low-hanging electrical wire.

  I did worse things. I destroyed so many people all in the
name of being strong. I take responsibility for my actions, but I know it all goes back to him…

  The devil—Brick—has the ability to buy your soul for next-to-no cost at all. In return, he promises you the world, and he’ll give it to you. But, like an evil genie granting three wishes, your desires are warped, and instead of winning a million dollars when you wish for cash, you’re dropped into the middle of a bank robbery to earn your way out.

  When I first met Brick, I wished that he’d make me strong. He gave me what I wanted, and then he took me for a joyride through his tainted world. He stole my soul the same day he stole my heart, and it’s been an incomprehensible struggle trying to unwrap the barbwire twisted around my heart.

  * * *

  There’s an empty box waiting to be packed on my bed. I’m lost in a daze as I stare out the window of my bedroom. A deep sense of hollowness settles into my soul as I allow myself to get lost in the sweeping of the rain against the window. Thunder cracks from above, and the lights flicker.

  Powerless—what this house will soon be, and what I’ve been feeling inside. I’m weak and weary, pondering the events of the last few months. Collectively, it all feels like a lie—a never ending cyclone of cause and effect, of which I’m not sure if it’s a dream or a nightmare.

  My phone vibrates on the bed silently, and I don’t even need to see the screen to know who’s calling. It’s Jensen. He’s worried about me, wanting to know if I’m okay. All it would take to appease his worry is to answer the damn phone, but I’m not in the fucking mood.

  And the rain holds my attention, captivating me into a submissive haze. I press my hand against the glass of the window, and it all comes flooding back to me.

  * * *

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO

  A winding trail leads to the peak of the mountain, offering an irresistible view of the vibrant city below. From up here, everyone and everything seems so small, as if the traffic backed up on the highway is nothing more than a trail of ants carrying a loaf of bread. They’re marching home, around a towering kitchen table of tall skyscrapers and flattened fields composed of sprawling mansions first, and then ranch homes further out.

  I’m out of breath as we hit the peak of the mountain. Jensen bows over at his knees, collapsing onto himself as he struggles to catch his breath. I give him a playful pat on his bare and sweaty back.

  “What’s wrong, old man?”

  He places his pointer finger to me, signaling for me to give him a second before he straightens himself out and pushes his hands to his hips. “This feels good, doesn’t it?”

  I chuckle. “Are you insane? I imagine this is exactly what hell feels like.”

  He arches his brow and rolls his eyes to the side. “Great? Because that’s how I feel.” He lets out a sharp exhale and pushes his slick hair back. “I feel great.”

  “That’s not the direction I was going in.”

  “Eh?”

  “It’s hot.” I step off the trail and duck under a railing that lines the edge of a sharp cliff. “Hell is hot. Are you catching the similarities yet?”

  “Enjoy the heat while it lasts.”

  “We’re in the city of Angels. I don’t think there’s going to be an opportunity for me to miss the heat.”

  “You’re such a tourist.” He ducks under the rail behind me. “It gets chilly here. It’s not going to snow or anything, but you’ll need a jacket come winter.”

  “I thought you said this was the promise land.” I look back to him with a knowing smile before dropping down and taking a seat at the edge of the cliff. I kick my feet over the edge and experience a quick rush of adrenaline.

  “Nobody knows us here. That’s promising enough, don’t you think?”

  “A chance to start over.” I stare blankly out into the bustling city below. “Every girl’s dream.”

  “Your voice is laced with apathy.” His palm falls to my back. “Something on your mind?”

  “Everything.” I sigh and lean against his shoulder. His body is more comfortable than the softest mattress, and more secure than The White House. With him, I’m safe and I know I don’t deserve him. I’m the luckiest bad bitch in the world, and knowing this brings me nothing but shame and guilt.

  “Sounds rough.”

  “We have to go back,” I say as quiet as a whisper, and with a heavy dose of apprehension.

  “I know why you think that—“

  “I don’t think. I know.”

  “There’s nothing left in Carolina for either one of us.” He pulls away, and leans back onto his elbows.

  “It’s easier to believe that.”

  “Are you saying you don’t agree?”

  “I’m saying I don’t know right from left, east from west, right from wrong—“

  “Easy on the metaphors,” he says with a light laugh, but it doesn’t break the tension pulling on my heart.

  “This place is so full of people, from every walk of life and yet, it still feels so empty.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “What if it is? What if I told you I can’t stand this place?”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m being serious.” I turn to him with a pained look. “I hate this place.”

  “Warm weather and privacy, what’s not to like about this city?” He shakes his head, not able to meet me halfway. To him, my disdain for this place is something he can’t bring himself to understand.

  “It doesn’t feel like home. I don’t know anyone here, and it’s really been getting to me lately.”

  “I don’t want to be that guy who has to point this out to you, but you don’t really know anyone back in Carolina, either.”

  “I know lots of people.”

  He pulls himself up and braces a hand against his knee. “And they’re all one of two things; poison because of who they are, or poison because they remind you of who you used to be.”

  “You’re so sure I’ve changed, that I’m not Apple Malloy, that I’m somebody else.”

  “I know what I know.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “You’re not making it simple.” His deep brown eyes tear into me, begging to be let in. “Help me understand where you’re coming from, because right now all I see is a brick wall.”

  I force a smile, a failure of an attempt to lighten the mood. “Get inside my head.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “It’s dark and scary.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know who I am.” It’s hard to say what you want to say when you have no idea what it is that you want to say. Frustrated, I run my fingers down the trail of my ponytail and rip out the hair tie. “I mean, I know who I want to be, but I feel like there’s this huge disconnect between that girl and who I really am. It’s terrifying.”

  “You have to let it all go.”

  “It’s not that easy.” I pull my hair back through the loop of the tie and pull it tight. Then, I jump to my feet and scrape the dirt from my shorts.

  “Make it easy,” he demands and climbs to his feet.

  “Do you think this is easy for me? I’m trying to open up to you—“

  “Not hard enough.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you in front of the entire world.”

  “Fuck the rest of the world.” He throws his hand into the air as his voice begins to rise from a cool tone into a booming, but somehow still soft, echo. “You can’t keep pushing me away because I don’t understand what you won’t help me understand.”

  “Can we please—“

  “You’re on and you’re off,” he cuts me off. “I don’t know who I’m going to wake up to from one day to the next.”

  “I’m sorry that my personal crisis is an inconvenience to you,” I snap.

  “I’m not saying this right because I’m flustered.” He bows his head and chews into his lip before rising to meet me eye-to-eye. “Do you love me?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” I s
coff.

  “Try to act like a grown up.”

  “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “Fuck it.” He takes a measured step back and scratches the back of his head. “You aren’t the only one who left something behind, you know. I gave up my career for you.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?” I step closer to him, trying to close the gap between us. “You flushed something you worked so hard for down the drain, and for what, a three-month vacation?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” he barks, throwing my words right back at me. “You aren’t making this easy, but I know you—“

  “I don’t think you know me any better than I know myself.” I turn to look away from him, because I can’t bear for him to see me this way—vulnerable. I’m still not used to it. “I don’t think I’m the girl you think I am.”

  “You’re wrong.” Suddenly, he’s back right beside me, tilting my chin with his strong hand. “I know you better than you know yourself because I can see you for everything you are. I don’t have blinders on, and I’m not staring in the mirror critiquing all of my own flaws.”

  “I have to go back.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t go back to that place. I can’t let you go back to that place.” His need to protect me is obvious, charming, and suffocating. “I can’t lose you.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” I step back, knowing if I choose to engage in this conversation any longer, he’ll talk me out of what I know I have to do. “I need to figure out who the hell I am.”

  “And what about me?” he asks, and I don’t have an answer.

  All I know is I must return to what was once my home, and I know it’s a dangerous gamble. I’ve loved and to be brutally fucking honest, it almost hurts as much as loss. The only thing more dangerous than a girl with a bad reputation is a girl with nothing left to lose. At least when I was bad, I knew my place in this world.