Beautiful PRICK

by Kenzie, Sophia

  “We did go out for a drink. My drink is just non-alcoholic.”

  “Why?” I know my voice is loud, but I can’t seem to quiet down.

  “Caroline, I’m on a strict diet. Alcohol has a lot of calories.”

  Here’s the thing. It makes sense: he’s been really good about his diet. It could be genuine: he’s invested in his routine. But however he’s saying it, makes him seem like he was planning this reveal the entire time. He got me drunk, and he’s in complete control.

  Dick.

  “Well, I’m going home.”

  “You’re not. There’s no way you’re driving like this.” He wraps his fingers in mine. I can’t peel myself from his grip.

  “Then I’ll walk.”

  “It’s too late, and you live too far.” He calmly announces.

  “You don’t know where I live.” I smile, thinking I have won.

  “I saw your address when I got you that new contract.”

  Damn. He has an answer for everything.

  “Then I’ll take a cab.” I try again to pull my hand from his. His face doesn’t even twitch, but I know he’s enjoying himself.

  “You left your bag in my trailer.”

  I look around for my bag, but it’s not there. He’s right. In my annoyed state from missing out on my night to take a bath, I must have left my bag on the table in his trailer.

  Not only had he planned on this, but he had planned on this. What kind of games was he used to playing?

  I purse my lips together and prepare to fight. “Well, then I’ll just walk back to the studio and get it.”

  He shakes his head. “Your badge is in your bag.”

  “Dude! What are you doing to me?”

  He narrows his eyes and quickly bites his lower lip before he continues. “I feel like that’s obvious, Caroline.”

  Of all the low down, dirty, scummy ways someone has tried to get me into bed, this is by far the sneakiest… most conniving… most tempting…

  “You’re coming home with me.” He holds his credit card up in the air and signals to the cocktail waitress.

  I want to. Oh God, why do I want to? But I can’t. I won’t. I still hate him.

  I stand up from the table, trying to find any bit of left over self-respect.

  I can’t.

  “Well we can’t both ride your bike, now can we?” I try to make it seem as though I’m taking back over the situation.

  “It’s a three block walk.”

  “Really?” I drop my hands to my sides. “You only live three blocks from the studio?”

  “The producers are renting me an apartment there. I actually live in a beach house in Santa Barbara.”

  And now, I hate him more.

  The walk is fine. It’s fine. He makes stupid little jokes, I reply with snarky comments, and then we walk in silence.

  Of course the apartment is worth more than my entire apartment building.

  “Why do you need all this?”

  “Why not?” He smiles as he pushes open the door.

  Eh, he has a point. If I had the money, I would certainly live in a place like this. I really can’t judge him, for that at least.

  “Question for you…” I take a step toward him, trying my best to act as though I’m seducing him. I’m sure it’s not coming off that way though, as I would definitely consider myself less of a sexy person and more of an awkward person. “Why were you so adamant that I become your assistant?”

  He takes a step into me. Hey, maybe drunk Caroline is sexy. Who knew? “Because I wanted to make sure I saw you again.” He whispers as he brushes the back of his hand against my cheek.

  Wow, that was oddly sweet. I wasn’t expecting that.

  Then he just keeps talking. “I always pick my assistants based on if I plan to sleep with them.”

  And there it is.

  I knew it, I knew it all along, and yet I let myself get sucked up in his little Welsh accent-y game.

  Ugh. Just ugh.

  If I were not so utterly shocked, I’m sure I could come up with something witty. Instead, I simply make some sort of shrieking sound before I turn and run for the first door I see.

  I throw the door open, close it behind me, and securely lock myself inside. I’ve proved my point.

  Unfortunately, the first door I saw was the coat closet.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It’s about an hour before I finally decide to sneak out of the closet. Johnny had spent a good twenty minutes trying to coax me back out into the living room, but I was so utterly embarrassed by the whole thing that I refused to even acknowledge him.

  He even offered to let me sleep in the bedroom and he would take the couch, but I just knew he’d get too much satisfaction from that. I wanted control, even if I had to sleep in the closet, I was taking it.

  But after an hour crammed in a small coat closet, I was over it.

  “Are you still out here?” I whisper into the darkness.

  There’s no reply, so I assume I’m safe. I tip toe into the center of the room, looking this way and that, just in case he’s hiding in the shadows. On the couch I notice two pillows atop a folded blanket, a glass of water, and a bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table.

  Why can’t he just be all bad? This minuscule act of thoughtfulness humanizes him and in my still-drunk state, makes me smile. I don’t want to smile at the thought of him. I want nothing more than to hate his non-nectarine knowing ass.

  Is that too much to ask?

  But as I look around, I feel myself soften. The room is bright, even in the darkness. There are a few pictures, but not too many, and not many at all of him. Most of the pictures are actually of a dog—some sort of shepherd. I catch myself staring at one picture in particular. It’s a candid shot of Johnny and the shepherd, both sitting on the beach staring off into the water.

  They look so peaceful, so happy, so… and I’m hugging the picture.

  Okay, I have to leave. I quickly scan the room for my bag, and then remember that I still don’t have my bag. My bag is at the studio, in Johnny’s trailer, along with the keys to my car and my apartment. I can’t stay here, I know that. Staying here is not an option.

  It’s a little chilly outside, as the sun has stopped warming the city and only the soft breeze has taken over. I wrap my arms around myself and swiftly walk to the gates of the studio.

  “Hi there.” I put on my best I’m not drunk face. “I’m Johnny Braylock’s personal assistant, and I left my bag with my badge in his trailer. Is there any way one of you nice gentlemen would be able to walk me to the back of the lot so I can retrieve it?”

  The two middle-aged men quickly glance at each other before one nods in my direction. “I’ll take a walk with you, Miss.”

  “Thank you so much. I feel like a scatter-brain!”

  I hum a little to try and break the extremely awkward silence between us, but the security guard doesn’t flinch. We walk the rest of the way hearing only the sound of a late night shoot in the distance.

  After stepping into the trailer, I quickly rifle through my bag, and pull out my ID badge. “See. I belong here.”

  “I had no doubt, Miss. Do you need me to call you a cab?” He lowers his eyes at me as I stumble down the trailer steps.

  I’m still not sober enough to drive, so a cab would be the next best option. Now I’m embarrassed. I don’t want him to think I can’t take care of myself.

  “Oh no, I’m fine, thank you. I think a nice walk is just what I need.”

  Only the walk is twelve miles, and the only way I know how to navigate those twelve miles is on the highway. Maybe I should’ve thought this through.

  But now I’m in it, and changing my mind would only make me seem weak. I don’t really know why I care what this security guard thinks of me, but for some reason, I’m determined to prove my independence.

  I think quickly about calling Melissa to see if she’ll come out and save me, but it’s now two in the morning, and I really don’t want t
o be a bother.

  So, I start my twelve-mile walk. The city is oddly quiet, desolate-at least this area. New York isn’t like that. There aren’t many places you can walk around at two in the morning and be the only person on the street. There are bars, diners, people walking their dogs, and couples walking hand in hand as they enjoy the crisp night air. That’s just New York, you’re never alone.

  But here… here is different… and different feels… well, it doesn’t feel safe.

  I see the silhouettes of four or five people up ahead, and start to feel a little better about my circumstances. I’m already about ten blocks from the studio, and this is the first group of people I’ve seen. But as I start to near them, the little hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise. My skin pricks and my stomach sinks.

  Something is wrong.

  “Hey little lady. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  I politely smile, but don’t engage. I keep my eyes down and keep up my pace, now passing them.

  “What is a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone?”

  I hear one of them call from behind me. I step faster, hoping to get away without seeming too obviously fearful.

  “Answer me when I talk to you.”

  “Do you need company?”

  “She must think she’s better than us.”

  “Why else would she be ignoring us?”

  They keep talking: they keep getting closer. They must be walking fast now. I wonder if I should stop and confront them. Would that make them leave me alone? Would that end this harassment?

  I figure I’ll give it a try.

  So I stop.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” I politely smile as I push my hair from my face.

  There are five men, I’d say all within five years of my own age, standing before me. The one in the center steps forward.

  “You can give us that bag of yours and be on your merry way.”

  As I’ve already mentioned, I have never been attacked before. That also includes being mugged. I lived in New York for ten years before moving to the west coast, and never once had an incident like the one I currently find myself in.

  That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it. I’ve come upon dark alleys or groups of interesting people and I’ve played out scenarios in my head where I’ve had to defend myself. In none of those scenarios did I ever give up my bag. Sometimes I scared them away with my wit. Other times I took them down with a sharp kick to the groin. In some fantasies, I’ve even whipped out extensive martial arts expertise that I was unaware I had, and then I laughed as an entire group of grown men were groaning on the ground, incapacitated by my skills.

  But those were just fantasies; none of them ever saw fruition. None of them were a reality.

  But this is.

  “No.” I meekly spit.

  “What?” The center guy speaks again.

  “No.” My voice is louder this time. “I’m not giving you my bag.”

  He laughs and shakes his head as he begins to walk toward me. “You see that you’re outnumbered, right?”

  “I do.” I nod.

  “And you know what we could do to you, right?” His voice becomes a whisper as he inches closer to me.

  “I do.” I nod again.

  I feel his cool hands brush up my arms, and then his fingers wrap softly around my neck.

  I want to wow him with my wit.

  I want to kick him in the groin.

  I want to surprise myself with my adrenaline-triggered martial arts.

  But I can’t. I am frozen. My body won’t move.

  The group surrounds me and my head starts to spin. I feel someone grab my hand and another brushes up my thigh. I feel fingers grip my hips and I feel breath on my neck. There’s weight on my collar and then the sound of something tearing. My shirt hangs off my shoulder, as it’s been sliced to one side.

  There’s a sharp blow to my back, then to my side, and now I’m on my knees. I can see blood begin to soak through my jeans, as I must have landed on some piercing stones. Someone grabs at my purse, so I try desperately to hold on tight, but my bag is soon pulled from my grip, and my wrists are secured behind my back. The center guy steps forward, and through my tears I can see his bright smile. He raises his hand and I close my eyes as I prepare for the sting across my cheek.

  It hurts, I try to hold back the stream of tears, but I am painfully unsuccessful. I hear a few murmurs, a few grunts, a few laughs, and then another blow. There’s a pounding in my head, a ringing in my ears, and I see nothing but blackness.

  I know I’m on the ground. I know my head is resting in a puddle, but I can’t move. I can’t see. I can’t hear.

  I can’t do anything.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Caroline. Caroline. Wake up.”

  My ears are still ringing, but I know I hear my name. Someone is shaking me.

  I’m lifted from the cold, hard ground. I try to blink my eyes. I try so hard. I want to see. I want to know what happened. I want to know why everything is so foggy.

  There’s water running and now there’s something warm on my head: warm and wet. It’s comforting and calming and…

  And I remember.

  My body shakes with a jolt at the vision of those five men, especially the one in the center. My eyes spring open and focus.

  It’s all white. Everything is white with a warm glow.

  “Caroline?”

  “How did I get back here?” I groan as I try to roll over. My face stings and my ribs feel bruised.

  Johnny’s eyes appear above me. His disapproving look followed by his raspy voice makes me not only feel pain, but also guilt.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  Why do I feel guilty? He has no right to talk to me that way.

  And yet… what the hell did I think I was doing?

  “Let me go.” I try to push him out of the way, but as I do, I feel a stabbing pain rush through my entire body. “Ouch. What the…” I pinch my eyes through the agony.

  “Don’t move, kid. You’re pretty banged up.” He hums at me as he continues to press the warm towel to my forehead.

  “Don’t call me kid.” I snap.

  I watch as he furrows his brow and rolls his bottom lip under his teeth.

  “Well, I won’t call you kid if you stop doing childish things.”

  “Me? Me?” I blow up. “You’re the one who devised an entire plan just to get me to sleep with you!”

  He half laughs as he lifts his face away from mine. “I wouldn’t necessarily call that childish.”

  And then he winks.

  Oh dear Lord, I could just punch him.

  And yet, I can’t. I still can’t really move without wincing.

  “You still never answered me.” I call to Johnny who is now in the kitchen.

  “What question did you ask me?” He calls right back as he sets out a mug on the kitchen countertop and pours out boiling water from the tea kettle.

  “How did I get back here?”

  Johnny steps back out in front of me, setting a cup of tea onto the coffee table. “This is my own little brew. Something to get you back on your feet.”

  He carefully explains to me that he woke up early to go for a run when he realized I wasn’t on the couch, and I wasn’t still locked in the closet. So he jogged down to the studio and checked with the night security. They both told him that I had been there about two hours earlier, but refused to let them call for a car.

  Knowing my stubbornness, he decided to run down the street a little ways, in the direction he knew I might try to walk.

  That’s when he saw me-passed out on the sidewalk.

  “Do you remember what happened, Caroline?”

  I do. But I don’t want to talk about it.

  Instead, I take a sip of my tea. “Is this whiskey?”

  “It is. In tea.” A sharp grin flashes across his face.

  “Really? How many times are you going to tr
y and get me drunk?” I half tease.

  “That’s not what this time is about.”

  “Oh really?” I raise my eyebrows in distrust, but it hurts.

  “You’re in pain, kid. I’m just trying to help ease that.”

  “Again with the kid.” I quietly cry as I push myself up into a seated position.

  Not only does he call me kid, but he also looks at me as if I’m a child. Awesome.

  I sigh and look away. “I’m fine. Don’t look at me like that.”

  Johnny twists his face. “Take off your shirt.”

  “Oh my God, do you never quit?” I’m stunned at his persistence.

  But he just laughs. “Caroline, take off your shirt.” He moves to the bathroom and opens up the medicine cabinet. After grabbing two bottles, he comes back and kneels down in front of me. “This is arnica ointment. It helps to reduce the inflammation and swelling. This is Bromelain. If you take one of these, it will actually break down…” He looks up into my utterly confused eyes. “You know what? Just take this whenever I tell you to.”