Confessions of a Bad Boy (20 page)

I stride so vehemently I almost get dizzy, my heartbeat and my breathing quickening to match my steps. I feel full of heat and frustration, a balloon ready to burst violently.

“Jessie,” Lorelei says, sounding almost frightened, “just…try to think about it rationally. You always knew he was a player, didn’t you? That he liked to screw around, have a lot of one-night stands. This is who he was, sure. But maybe not anymore? It’s not like—”

“What was that thing you said a few weeks ago?” I say, stopping suddenly and pointing at Lorelei. “We were in the kitchen, Nate was here. You said he stopped.”

Lorelei pauses for a second and screws her face up a little as she tries to remember. “’Bad Boy’? Yeah. He did.”

“And then he came back…” I say, feeling a whole new rush of turbulence shake through me.

“Yeah,” Lorelei says, seeing where I’m going.

“He came back,” I say, in a hushed whisper, before gritting my teeth. “While he was with me…the fucking…he was in the kitchen with us even and…”

The murky image comes into focus, pieces falling into place, and the facts are so clear, so stupidly, annoyingly clear that I feel like an idiot for missing them.

It’s too much. Too ridiculous. Fury, exasperation, and lucidity overwhelm me. I consider slamming the table over, throwing myself out of the window, and allowing myself to crumple to the floor all in the space of a split second, and in the end, all I can do is laugh. The laughter of someone giving up, despairing and hopeless.

L
orelei does
everything in her power to drag me along to a movie premiere that she’s been invited to cover for her gossip column, but it’s still not enough to make me go. Once I promise her for the thousandth time that I’m fine, and just need some time to myself, and a big tub of ice cream, and no, I won’t watch any more of his entries, Lorelei leaves me with the promise that she’ll call to check up on me. I nod gratefully and wait for the sound of the door shutting, then go straight to the computer.

And so began one of the worst nights of my life.

Cross-legged on the office chair, Haagen-Daaz on my lap, and lit only by the glare of the computer screen, I embark on a journey of a thousand humiliations. A stomach-churning ride through the darkest side of the man whose baby I’m pregnant with. There are hundreds of videos, each one seemingly more graphic, more explicit, than the last. A personal horror movie that lasts for hours. I try not to cry, but by the fourth my sweatpants are drenched with tears, and the tub of ice cream has melted from the heat of my misery.

I go numb as the man on the screen continues to talk in graphic terms about his sex life, struggling almost to believe it’s really Nate, but knowing somewhere deep inside that this is more Nate than the guy I felt I knew. Every word seems to push me further away from him, and every encounter he talks about makes me a little colder toward him, until I lose every sense of connection and compassion I built up with him. Years of friendship are torn away, and my feelings for him are overwritten by a steely, calm indifference, the best emotion I can muster for whoever the person on the computer screen is.

And that’s before I even get to the recent entries, the ones Nate made after we got together. I know I’m there because the comments all mention Nate’s ‘disappearance,’ and in the first video back there’s a difference, a new tone. Darker, sexier, more serious – and even more stunningly unbelievable.

If realizing for how long, and how seriously, Nate had been making these videos pushed me to the point of despair, seeing him make a video about fucking – while the only person he was fucking was me – makes me boil once again. Suddenly I’m out of my seat, screaming at the screen with more hardcore venom than any football fan in the country. I’m pacing up and down, my hands wringing an invisible Nate’s neck as he talks about the finer points of going down – in a video posted a day after he did it to me. There are other offenses, other examples, other humiliations, and I cringe so hard I almost turn inside-out, get so angry I elbow-drop my couch and throw punches at the pillows, find myself so shocked I have to rewind parts to double-check I’m not imagining this.

Around midnight, going through the last – the most recent – of his videos, I’m finally half-insane and distraught enough to answer back as the sound of his sordid thoughts fills the room. With the last video done, I sit back down in front of the computer, the sudden silence almost unbearable. I almost don’t notice that I’m crying again, given that it’s become almost irrelevant now, and through the blur of tears I stare at the giant play button.

This was the guy I thought I could have something real with. The guy who’s just described in no less than three minutes how to make sure a woman enjoys anal sex. The guy who has three videos about involving food in the bedroom, one giving tips on harmonious threesomes, and countless vlogs devoted solely to doling out sex advice or answering heaps of e-mailed questions. A guy who can talk for four minutes about nipples.

Actually, forget all that. I can deal with nipple-talk. That’s not what’s making me bawl my eyes out. That’s not the part that makes me want to throw this computer out the window, and then follow it. The problem is this: in every single video, Nate makes a point of mentioning how much he hates the idea of settling down, how much he loathes commitment. His devotion to staying single and free from accountability – it’s almost obsessive. The man on the screen hates marriage with a passion, fears it and detests it to the depths of his very soul. I mean, I always knew Nate didn’t believe in getting married, but to see him tear into stable, serious relationships at every opportunity, to see just how deep his dislike – bordering on fear – goes, is more than I can ever forget or forgive.

This is a guy I would have to be stupid to think could be anything more than a one-night stand – let alone a father, a husband. Even just thinking that thought makes it seem impenetrable, hard and cold. A slab of truth that chains me to it. Nate won’t ever be the guy I need him to be – and where does that leave me? Alone. Until this baby arrives, and then…

I drop my head onto the desk, forehead against the keyboard, and let the wave of sobs and hurt come to the fore again, draining me of what little energy and fight I have left.

L
orelei wakes
me up in a frenzied panic, cooing when she notices the ice cream stains and the red marks on my face. I emerge from an uncomfortable dream in which I’m falling headfirst into a cave, and she helps me to my room and undresses me like I’m wasted, then sets me to bed.

“What time is it?” I say through the pounding in my forehead as she pulls my sweatshirt off me.

“Three AM.”

“Shit,” I moan, as she adjusts the blankets and I flop backwards. “I’ve got work tomorrow. My call time’s in five hours, I have to be on set by—”

“No you don’t! Jesus, you can’t go to work in this state. I’ll call them in the morning.”

I try to protest, but the heaviness in my eyelids pushes me back toward those gloomy dreams.

I
wake
up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Lorelei on the phone. For a few seconds I experience the bliss of nothingness – and then the memories of the night before enter my mind like annoying stabs. They’re quickly followed by the freight-train of fear that comes with being late for work. I throw the covers off and run out of my room toward the bathroom.

“Hold on, I’ll call you back, okay?” I hear Lorelei say in the other room, before she hurries over to stand in the doorway of the bathroom.

“I’m fucking late for work,” I say scrambling recklessly around in the sink to wash my face.

“No you’re not,” Lorelei says, calmly. I turn to look at her. “I called in sick for you.”

“What? But I can’t call in—” I stop myself. It only takes a deep breath to realize Lorelei did the right thing. I smile a little and hug her. “Thanks.”

When we break apart Lorelei looks at me like I’m a patient.

“I’ll make you a coffee, come on.”

Once I’m dressed and sitting in the living room, Lorelei brings me a big latte and I take it eagerly. She settles herself on the chair perpendicular to me, like a psychiatrist, and I let myself smile at the idea, but it disappears quickly. Smiles don’t stick when you have the kinds of worries I have.

I nod toward her computer. “Shouldn’t you be working now?”

“I can hand it in whenever,” Lorelei says casually. “Do you want to talk?”

I sip slowly from the coffee, but the mental fatigue and numbness seems to extend to my tastebuds.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Jessie…” she says, making my name sound like a sigh. “You shouldn’t have watched those videos.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I should have. That’s the father of my child. The guy I thought I…” I don’t say the word. I can feel the tears building up in my sinuses already, and I’m scared even thinking the word would open the gates.

“I know it seems bad right now, Jessie, but Nate isn’t the worst person on the planet.”

I freeze halfway through bringing the cup to my lips in order to glare at Lorelei.

“Isn’t he? The guy has been making videos about his sex life for years now. He spends half the time talking about techniques and positions – some of which I wouldn’t even think were possible if he hadn’t done them with me – and the other half of the time talking about marriage like it’s an Illuminati plot to castrate all men. And the worst part is that he did it
even while we were together
. I mean, who does that? What kind of guy would do that?”

Lorelei looks at me sympathetically before shrugging.

“I don’t know. I admit it’s kinda weird. But at the same time, it’s kinda not. So he played the field, never expected to commit, and did those videos. Maybe they were an ego-boost, maybe it was therapeutic for him – I don’t know. But something changed when he met you.”

“Pfft.”

“It did, Jessie. You can see it in his videos. And by the fact that he hasn’t spent the past few months picking up more girls in bars. He’s been coming here. To be with you.”

“It was just sex.”

“Was it? Do you really think so?”

I look at Lorelei and find that my breath is shuddering. It’s the hope that kills you. Is Lorelei trying to kill me?

“Still,” I say, shaking my head so hard my hair tosses against my face, “it’s fucked up. Am I really going to raise a kid with a guy who makes videos about fucking random women? I don’t think he wants to be part of a family.”

The doorbell rings and Lorelei gets up, holding her hand out to stop me from going.

“Well. It would certainly make the ‘birds and the bees’ talk a lot more interesting.”

I smile into my coffee cup. But not for long.

The voice at the door is too far to hear clearly, but I can tell from Lorelei’s concerned voice that it’s not good news. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my muscles stiffen, and I suddenly start wondering why our apartment doesn’t have a fire escape.

“Hold up!” Lorelei says, her voice getting louder. “Wait!”

Nate steps into the living room, the sight of him literally taking my breath away. Lorelei follows close behind and looks from him, to me, then shrugs.

“I need to talk to you, Jessie,” he says. “Please.”

I look from Lorelei back to Nate, then back to Lorelei, my mind doing flips. Too many emotions and thoughts flooding through me for me to act on any of them. Nobody tells you about the calm that comes when you reach critical mass, nobody tells you about the zen you get when you feel like it can’t get any worse. I place my coffee cup slowly down on the table and, still looking at it, say, “It’s okay, Lorelei. He’s right. We should talk.”

N
ate stands
in the middle of the room, his eyes focused on me. I glance up at him, but it’s like looking at the sun – almost painful – and I quickly look down again at the spot where my coffee is.

“Um…” Lorelei mumbles awkwardly. “I’ll…I should go do a thing…that I have to do. I’ll leave you two alone.”

She leaves without either of us acknowledging her, and I keep my stare fixed on the coffee table. “So I guess you’re still mad at me,” Nate says, moving to the center of the room.

I raise my eyes to his, almost in a challenge.

“Give me a reason I shouldn’t be.”

Nate smiles.

“How about because I’m here to say I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, almost amazed at how easy Nate thinks this is.

“Sorries don’t change the past, Nate,” I say, standing abruptly and moving toward the window. “And they don’t change who we are.”

I turn back to find him staring at me with a frown on his face.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means there’s nothing to be sorry about. It means that I’m not angry, not confused, not frustrated. Not anymore. I’m just disappointed.”

Nate clenches his jaw before talking.

“Jessie, I came to try and fix things between us. To admit that I fucked up. To tell you that I know I was wrong and that I—”

“To ‘confess’?” I interrupt, studying Nate’s face for his reaction. When he barely flinches at the word, I smile – he’s one hell of a poker player. “About being a ‘bad boy’?” I say, driving the point home.

This time I watch the tiny changes in his expression, so subtle even I wouldn’t spot them if I hadn’t spent so much time looking into those eyes. I can almost see his thoughts play out, the instinctual desire to call my bluff, to try and talk his way out of it, the realization that it’s hopeless, the calculation of his best defense. It only takes a few seconds, but I see everything that’s there, and at the end of it all Nate laughs gently and looks at the floor like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“So?” Nate says, his eyes unrepentant. “I make videos. That part of my life doesn’t have anything to do with this – with
us.
I don’t see the problem.”

“Fucking hell, Nate,” I say, with as much awe as frustration, starting to pace in front of the window. “You really don’t get it.”

“Get what? That you want me to feel ashamed? That you keep trying to fit me into some perfect little boyfriend role? That you don’t like the life I led before we got together? You know exactly who I am, Jessie, who I was.”

“I do, that’s the problem. Regardless of the videos you make, and whether or not you chose to hide them from me, I know that you’re never going to be the guy I need you to be.”

He flinches back as if I’ve struck him. “And who exactly is ‘that guy’? The guy who cheated on you? The guy whose car you wrecked? Or is it the one who bailed you out of jail at a moment’s notice? The one you’ve known since you were a little girl? The one who fucks you the way you want? Which guy do you really need?”

“Ugh,” I groan. “It’s always about sex with you.”

“What else is there?” Nate shouts, raising his arms wide as if imploring some third party. “We fuck well, and we’re good friends. This could work as a relationship, it doesn’t have to get more complicated than that. What else do you even want?”

I feel the pain and humiliation and anger rising in my chest, and I narrow my eyes and try to keep from yelling in his face. “A little fucking honesty, for a start.”

Nate sighs, laughs, and puts his hands on his head. “Shit, Jessie. If that’s what this is all about, those fucking videos, I can just stop making them. You don’t have to be this fucking melodramatic.”

I stop and stare at him, half-shocked, half-insulted.

“You think I’m being melodramatic?”

“Yeah. And I’m a talent agent, so you know that means something.”

He says it with a smile, a controlled joke, meant to break me down, meant to release the tension, meant to make everything we’re arguing about feel irrelevant. But I don’t laugh, and his attempt at humor hangs there like a bad taste.

“Look,” Nate says, his voice low and soothing, as he steps toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders, “I get it. I understand how you can be mad at me. I’m a little slow on the uptake when it comes to relationships – you know that. It just took me a little time to get to where you are, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, looking up at him, holding on to my resistance despite the seductiveness of his eyes. He still thinks this situation is so simple. When in reality, it couldn’t be further from that, now that this baby is on the way. And how can I tell him?

“And the video thing…I should have told you. I
would
have told you. It’s not that big a deal to me, so it shouldn’t be for you. Shit, we’d probably have laughed about it if I got to tell you myself. I never meant for it to be some kind of secret.”

He holds me in his eyes, and despite my warring emotions I can’t help feeling the effects of the controlled desire in them.

“Actually…” I start, as his hands brush down to my waist, “I’ve got a secret of my own.”

“Oh yeah?” Nate says, and I see the smolder in his eyes that always ends with us naked.

“Yeah.” I take a deep breath, my heart about to pound right out of my chest. This is it. Now or never. “I’m pregnant.”

Nate stops breathing. I feel his hands stiffen at my sides, and his face turn to stone. He steps back, away from me, and brings his hands to his mouth, turning away, then turning back toward me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” My pulse is still skyrocketing, and I cross my arms and try to just breathe.

He paces a little more.

“How did that happen?”

This time I’m the one who smiles with controlled aggression. “I thought you were an expert?”

“It’s mine?”

I try – and fail – to hold back an insulted snort.

“No, it’s Lorelei’s - of course it’s yours. And I’m keeping it, so don’t even think about suggesting otherwise.”

Nate paces a little, breathing into his palms. He stops and looks at me.

“Okay. So what happens now?” he says, suddenly defiant and confrontational again. “Do you expect me to just…change into someone else?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t expect you to change at all. That’s the problem.”

Nate stands there glaring at me, tense and angry, as if I’ve cornered him. I guess I have.

“I need some time to think,” he says, already moving towards the door.

“I won’t hold my breath,” I reply, but he’s already gone.