Bad Situation

by K. B. Nelson

  Too easy. “Really?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t blame you if you never want to talk to me again.”

  “It would be hyperbole to say that’s true, but I could go another ten years.” He’s always been the better man between the two of us. That’s not saying a lot though, is it? I might be the asshole, but he’s the king of holding grudges. Ten years? I could be settled down with two kids and a white picket fence at that point. Not likely, but possible.

  “I know I fucked up, and I don’t deserve to have you in my life.”

  “Are you trying to make amends, or are you trying to annoy me? Either way, the clock is ticking and I have to be at work.” He checks his watch and reaffirms his grip on the door, ensuring I can’t push past him into his den.

  “You work?”

  “Thanks to you, I don’t have a choice.”

  My biggest regret—and I do have them—about what we did to Dom isn’t that we outed him. It’s that we took his family away from him. Something he didn’t deserve for being who he is. When our parents found out, they flipped and cut off all financial support. I had originally planned on telling him it was my fault the video was released, but after the blowup with our devout parents, I knew he’d hold a grudge against me. I was right.

  “Again, I’m really sorry about that,” I say, and it’s one of those rare occasions when I mean it.

  “You don’t know what that word means.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying shit like that?”

  “Because you’re a selfish person.”

  “You can have my car,” I blurt out, but this has been a part of the plan since I first left my apartment this morning.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I point to my freshly detailed BMW parked on the street of his seedy neighborhood. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “You know me too well,” I grin, prepared to shake hands on a deal. I’m dragging my brother back into my wicked world, but am prepared to pay greatly for his assistance.

  But he goes to shut the door again, not willing or able to trust me. “I’m not interested in your bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit.” I push harder against the door. He’s the stronger person between the two of us, and I strain my muscles fighting against him. “I need your help.”

  “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  “It’s about your friend, Tyra.”

  He rips the door open fully and steps outside. “Leave her out of your fucked up world.”

  “It’s a little too late for that,” I point out. “Besides, I kind of like her,” I add with a shrug.

  “She’s not into you man.”

  “That’s why I’m asking for your help, and this is where the catch comes into play.”

  “You’ve got a minute.” He crosses his arms, but I sense this is more about fishing for info to protect his friend than actually hearing me out.

  “I need for you to put in a good word for me.” I grin and shrug. That’s it. “That took less than a minute, right?”

  “Good word? Are you out of your mind?” He points to his head and takes stock of me from my toe to my head. “I can’t think of one good damned thing to say about you.”

  “Then lie.” I throw my arms to the side. “It’s not difficult.”

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  I sigh and point to my car again, with a look that screams, obviously that.

  “I’m not like you. I won’t help you ruin Tyra’s life the way you ruined mine.”

  “Everyone has a price.” Once I muster the bravery, I sneak a peak past his shoulder and take a quick look at his small, crowded apartment. “And based on what I see here, you could really use the money.”

  “Money?” His brow arches, intrigued.

  “See? Everyone has a price, and ten thousand seems just about right.”

  “Dollars?”

  “And the car.”

  “For a good word, and nothing more?”

  “I’m so glad we see eye-to-eye.”

  Our eyes are certainly glued to each other, but there’s trepidation and hesitation in his eyes. He’s mulling my offer over in his head, trying to figure out the break-even point between the material things in life, and his soul. Finally, he says softly, “I’ll do it.”

  “We’re more alike than you think.” I press my palm against his shoulder because I’m proud of him, but the sentiment leaking from my heart doesn’t feel accomplished. It feels heavy.

  “No, we’re not,” he assures me against the evidence just presented.

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” I give him a knowing nod, and turn to travel the distance of the sidewalk back to my car. “I’ll drop the car off next week once your duties have been fulfilled.”

  He doesn’t respond. Instead, I hear the door shut behind me.

  I think about the terms offered to him, and reflect on the possibility I’ll be transferring ownership of my precious car within the next week. The fine print of our verbal contract is if my plan doesn’t succeed—with or without Dom’s help—I’m not about to lose both Apple and my car in the same week.

  With the mere promise of material objects, I have lured Dom to the dark side. Dom’s considered one of the good guys, an incorruptible force of honesty and integrity. But I know otherwise…

  Everyone has a price. Even those with integrity. Corruption is traded like currency, but instead of adding or subtracting net worth, it’s akin to chipping away at one’s soul.

  The truth is that without winning this bet, and without Apple, everything I own is worthless. Sacrificing my car in order to succeed in an impossible war is nothing more than a casualty of the battlefield.

  12

  Apple

  To clear my head, I went to the nearest place I could find fresh air. Campus howls with a different kind of energy during the summer, during the two-week precursor to fall semester. It’s a quiet kind of energy, a built up of hopes and dreams before the pendulum falls, crushing towering aspirations.

  Expectations are rarely met, and I’ve walked a million miles on this campus, wandering aimlessly trying to remember that who I slowly became was never a part of the plan. When I left high school behind, I was anxious yet excited to leave all the bullshit behind with it.

  I soon found out it follows you like a rap sheet. There’s no escaping your past, and it always comes back to bite you in the ass. Comparing freshman year to now, the similarities are ghastly. I feel weighted down by the impossible probability of ever fleeing my past.

  The streets are dead, awaiting the return of students while building sit in the shade of a form of purgatory.

  I make a right onto sorority row, a place best left remembered and never to return. It was in these hallowed halls I became someone else. It was in the winding corridors of the third floor dormitory where I learned all the tricks in the art of manipulation.

  It’s where I wrote the prequel to my domination of the opposite sex. Now, it’s where I must resurrect long-buried memories. It’s where I must find out if there was ever a possibility of not turning into a glorified bitch.

  I’m passed by a shadow, but it’s not until they call my name, that I become aware I know the person. “Apple,” Cece calls out.

  “Cece.” I force a smile, because she’s one of the last people I want to see right now. Whenever she’s around, or I hear the uttering of her name, I’m sunk by the weight of guilt for throwing her into the path of Brick’s train of destruction.

  “What are you doing on campus?” she asks, a loaded question if there ever were one.

  “Just taking a walk.” I push my hands nervously into my jeans. “It’s a nice night for a walk.”

  “I wanted to apologize again for what I did to you.”

  Apologize? To me? “You have nothing to apologize for.” What she did—exposing Jensen and I to the world, similar to what Brick and I had done to Dom—
would warrant an apology in any other world. But her actions were merely reactions to what we had done to her.

  “I know you see it that way, because you live in this completely different world than the rest of us.” She winces. “I didn’t mean—“

  “It’s okay. You’re right.”

  “I can’t look back at my actions with anything but remorse.”

  “If we’re going to play the blame game, then it’s I who should be taking responsibility. Everything you did was set in motion by the things I did.”

  “Newton has a law about that,” she points out with a warm, welcoming smile.

  “He has a lot of laws about a lot of things.”

  “How are you?” She tilts her head, and listens with intent. “Are you still with Mr. Moon?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “See?” Her smirk reeks of innocence, a glimmering sheen of a quality I had stolen from her. “That Facebook relationship status isn’t completely useless.”

  “Yeah, I guess not.” I catch myself off guard with a genuine laugh. “How are you?”

  “I’m dating Rafe.”

  “Really? Thank God something good came out of this fuckery.”

  “For everything you and your boyfriend—“

  “Brick’s not my boyfriend.”

  “For everything you and Brick did to me, I’m almost thankful in some screwed up way.”

  “No, I get it.” I chew into my lip in thought. “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

  “Right.” She scratches her finger against the tip of her eye. “I actually ran into Brick the other day. He’s still the same old man he used to be.”

  “Aren’t we all?” My words are a rare slip of my tongue, and more than ever, I’m convinced I’ll never change. Intended or not, my words carry poetic truth.

  “You’re not.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I’ve been in your shoes. It’s like you’re standing in a circle of regret, and you wish you could take it all back. I’ve seen the look on your face so many times in my own mirror. You’ve changed.”

  “I appreciate you thinking that, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be anyone other than who I used to be.” A gentle breeze burrows through my hair, sending cold chills down my spine. “It’s hard to escape that kind of tainted past.”

  “By tainted past, do you mean Brick?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “The only way you’ll ever get rid of him is to defeat him at his own game.”

  “He always wins, don’t you know?” I beat him once with Jensen, but in hindsight, it seems like a fluke, almost like he wanted to lose.

  “Then stop fighting fair.” Her tone has shifted from warm to cold. In her eyes are daggers, and they’re all directed at Brick. “Show him what he needs to see, and sneak an attack where he’s least expecting it.”

  “When did you become a master of the game?” I’m in equal parts awe and shame.

  “The two of you kind of forced me to pick up the sword.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Stop apologizing. I promise, we’re on good terms.”

  “You’re a good girl, Cece.”

  “So are you. You just don’t know it yet.” She parks her palm on my shoulder, and the weight of her kindness affects me, almost to the point of shedding a tear. Jensen and her both believe I can change. More than that, they believe I have changed. How can they be so sure of something I can’t even grasp? “I should go,” she says.

  “It was nice seeing you,” I say and mean it. If nothing else, she’s another strike in the Apple can change column, and when it comes time to wrestle with the merits of my soul, every bit of positive affirmation will help.

  Cece nods in agreement. “Kick Brick’s ass. Get inside his head, and fight like he does. He’ll never see it coming.” Then, like an elusive ghost, she’s disappeared into the shadows of this eerie campus street.

  She’s right about one thing. Brick had interfered with Jensen and I, and that’s what I’ll do to him. To get him out of my life for good, I must ensure that he loses at all costs. I’m drawn back into his games, but this time there’s an ultimate endgame in play.

  13

  Brick

  It’s not a coincidence when I run into Tyra at the local park. The advent of social media has ensured anyone can always be found, even when it’s not their intention to be found. Tyra had blocked me on Facebook and Twitter after she fled my apartment in the spring, so I was forced to use alternative measures.

  I knew Dom would be friends with her on Facebook, and following her on twitter, so I hacked into his accounts. His fault for using the same password he’s been using since MySpace was a thing.

  I wait on a swing, with my feet parked against the patted-down sand below me. I keep a close eye on her as she strolls through the park, heading my direction. When she gets close, I kick my feet out and begin to swing. Back and forth, I drift through the air. A cool, gentle breeze skips across my skin as I look out into the distance, and anywhere but at her as she approaches.

  “Isn’t this a sight?” Tyra chuckles and braces a hand against a parallel swing. “Who could have imagined Brick Valmont would trade in the thrill of a nice car for the tranquility of a darn swing?”

  “Hey, Tyra,” I say sheepishly, but it’s all an act. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “I’d almost think you were following me. You’re like a ghost. Always around, you know?”

  “You don’t have to humor me just to be nice.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She sighs heavily and drops into the swing beside me. “You don’t bother me so much.”

  Now, that’s fucking strange to hear coming from her mouth. Consider my curiosity piqued. “Why the change of heart?”

  She shrugs, raising her shoulders until they brush along the base of her short-cut blonde hair. “I think you have a reputation that you don’t really want.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I think it’s hard to let go of who everyone thinks you are, and just be who you really are.”

  “Nah.” I shake my head. For this plan to succeed, I must remain somewhat aloof of my situation. The only way she’s going to give into my temptations is if she believes it’s her idea in the first place. “That’s not it.”

  “I’m friends with your brother, and he tells me you’re not so bad.”

  “Did he, now?” My feet dig into the sand below, and I come to a grinding halt while the chains holding the swing in place continue to sway.

  “Which is a complete turn around from a few months ago, when he told me what you did to him.” She runs her palms down the length of her jeans, wrapped tightly around her hips and tapering at the bottom. She’s so modest, and I want to see what’s underneath. I want to see her porcelain skin stretched over the course of miles.

  “He told you that?” I say, and glance into her angelic blue eyes. It’s a chore to keep them there when I want to study every other part of her.

  “I thought to myself, how could this man do that to his own brother?” She smiles, but it’s not pure. There’s doubt etched into the design of her lips. “I still don’t understand it, but he’s forgiven you. That’s love.”

  That’s capitalism at its finest. It all comes back to money—in Dom’s case, money and a nice-ass car. “He’s a better man than me,” I say, which is the truth, but again, it only serves to enrich my purpose. It drives me one step closer to connecting with Tyra on an emotional level. Only through manipulation am I able to draw people close. I’m not magnetic by nature. I’m magnetic by design. Every move is calculated, and sometimes I grow tired of forced connections.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” I inquire, and am impressed by her quick reaction time.

  She doesn’t even need to think about the answer. “Sure.”

  Just like that, I know gifting my car to Dom was the smart move, because now she’s fully intertwined in playin
g a game she doesn’t even know she’s playing. It’s her on the hunt, and I’m left on the sidelines playing along.

  She’ll do all the work, and I’ll be the game master, tipping the first domino against the next. Her world will crash around her, and I’ll be left in the center picking up the pieces and claiming my prize.

  * * *

  It can be hard to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, but there are places to go if you know where to find them. A short trail through the woods can be found in many places, and this is one of the most beautiful.

  Within a few months time, the trees will lose their luster as the mild winter begins to settle in. For now, the shade from the landscaped trees cools our bodies on an already cool day. It’s a sight I never thought I’d see again after Tyra had cut off all contact, but she paces beside me.

  We take our time on the trail. We have too much to talk about, and it’s nice to get away from the noise. Everyone needs peace and quiet. For people like Tyra, they find solace in the emptiness. For people like me, it allows me to think about my next move, and the moves after that.

  “You’ve done things,” she says, “but I know it weighs down on your soul.”

  “I don’t really like talking about my feelings.”

  “Does anyone?” She laughs, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. It’s light and brittle, like some form of a whisper.

  “I have a therapist, and she loves it.” I smile, and laugh lightly. A clear and present sign her laugh is contagious, and I’m catching the sickness. “She gets off on the sound of her own voice.”

  “She’s trying to help you.”

  “Between you and I, she’s not making much progress.” I shake my head. “It’s almost like she’s a machine, trained in the science of manipulation. She doesn’t care about answers. She cares about results.” Hey, that sounds like me.

  “Results are good. It means you’re getting better.”

  “There’s one flaw with that theory.” I take a break in my stride and turn to her. “People lie about getting better. I have, and she’s none the wiser.”