The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (20 page)

Cash

T
he door opens and a man in a police uniform comes in. ‘You’re free to go now, Mr. Hunter.’

I stand and start walking towards the door.

‘Er … Do you mind signing this CD for my niece?’

I turn to look at him.

‘I … er … ran out to get it during my lunch break. It’s her birthday next month, you see.’ He holds the CD and a marker pen out to me.

‘What’s her name?’ I ask.

‘Athena Williams, but just Athena will be great.’

I take the CD, sign it, and give it back.

He smiles. ‘All right, Sir. Thanks for this. You take care now.’

‘No problem,’ I say, and walk out of the door.

Outside it is gray. There is not a single reporter or TV crew waiting. I have to hand it to Octavia. She knows her job.

I stand on the deserted stone steps and suddenly I remember that night Tori dressed me up in the mustache, beard, and fake nose. It feels like a lifetime ago. I was happy then. But all of it was a lie. Fuck her. I don’t need her.

A woman is coming up the steps, our eyes meet. She recognizes me. As she opens her mouth I let my eyes slide away and, keeping my head down, start down the steps. I’ve got no wheels. The fuckers impounded my car, but whatever. On the pavement I walk briskly down the road.

When I see a taxi I hail it. I sit at the back of the cab and don’t allow myself to think. As the taxi turns into my street I shake my head. Fuck! Both sides of the streets are full of camera crews from all the large TV networks. So she called them.

‘The fucking bitch,’ I swear under my breath.

The driver meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. ‘I can turn around and take you somewhere else.’

I shake my head. ‘Just drop me off right outside that black door.’

‘Right you are,’ he says crisply. ‘My youngest daughter loves you by the way. Can I have an autograph?’

I sign a fifty pound note and slip it through the gap in the partition.

‘Thanks, mate,’ he says.

He stops outside my door.

Pandemonium breaks around me as I run up the steps. Microphones being thrust into my face, flashbulbs going from every direction, people screaming, ‘Here, Cash. Look here, Cash? Is it true you were caught having a blow job at the back of your car? Who was the girl, Cash? Turn this way, Cash? Will the police be charging you with reckless driving? How high over the limit were you? Are you going to lose your license, Cash? Give us a smile, Cash. Any comments?’

I slip my key into the keyhole and turn it. The door opens. I walk in and shut the ugly world outside. The phone is ringing steadily. God, what a bitch! She leaked the story that someone was giving me a blowjob when I was stopped.

An excellent example of a 24 karat bitch style revenge.

Well done, Octavia.

Tori

I catch the six o’clock news and I am shocked by how horrendously pained my heart is by the knowledge that a woman’s lips other than mine have been wrapped around Cash’s shaft. In my mind I must have already claimed it as my own. Then the agony of knowing how quickly he has replaced me.

I go down to the bottom of the garden and sit under the apple tree. The air is muggy and lazy with the buzzing of bumble bees. I pull my knees up to my chest and cry my eyes out. My heart feels like it has shattered into millions of pieces.

In my mind I cannot stop scolding myself. If only I had sat him down earlier. If only I had told him. I’d give anything to turn the clock back. Why did I waste that opportunity in my room having sex? I should have told him then. If only. Oh God. Why? Why didn’t I do it? Stupid. How stupid I have been!

I hear the sound of rustling. I look up and my aunt is standing in front of me. She sits beside me, arranges her skirt around her ankles, and turns to look at me.

‘I’m sorry, Tori,’ she sighs softly.

Fresh tears start pouring down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the backs of my hands.

‘Tell me what happened?’ she asks, her face concerned.

I know I have to tell her. This is going to take much longer than I imagined to get over. I can’t walk around like death warmed over and expect everyone to pretend that all is well. Haltingly I tell her everything.

‘I did write those words. It was my diary and it was where I recorded all my frustrations and thoughts, but she took it out of context and made it sound so bad, Aunt Claire. She made me out to be such a conniving bitch. As if I had set out to trap him. I swear it was never my intention. I just wanted to finish my crush one way or another.’

I sniff and blow my nose.

‘I thought, I actually thought that I would meet him and in the worst case scenario we’d have sex and he would start ignoring me, and I’d have to draw a line in the sand and move on, or best case scenario I would see him up close and realize that he was a media created, shallow creature and naturally fall out of love. And be free. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. In my plan the only person who might have got hurt would have been me.’

‘Oh, Tori,’ my aunt exhales.

‘And you know what the worst thing is? I hurt Britney. She’s the sweetest, most generous soul ever. It was her birthday party and she had so looked forward to it.’

‘Why don’t you call him?’ my aunt suggests gently.

‘I can’t. He’s totally disgusted with me. You should have seen his face, Aunt Claire.’

‘I still think you should explain. The man I met wouldn’t push you away.’

‘He knows where I am, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I can’t say I blame him. I should have told him.’ I pause. ‘Anyway, he’s moved on. It’s not like he’s lacking in female company.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’ 

A bark of bitter laughter passes my lips. ‘They mentioned him on the six o’clock news. He was caught driving under the influence and … and … he was getting a blowjob in his car.’

My aunt frowns. ‘Oh dear. Still, you can’t believe everything you see on the media. A lot of this stuff is just … fluff and scandal to sell more newspapers and boost viewing figures.’

‘I don’t know what to do. I can’t believe I have messed up this bad. It’s so painful I can’t bear it. I can’t stop thinking about him. At night I lay awake for hours, tossing and turning, and when I finally fall asleep I dream of him. Everything reminds me of him.’

‘I know you are hurting now, but you are young and you will get over him.’

I shake my head. ‘No, I won’t. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember, Aunt Claire. Nothing I’ve ever done has changed that. I’ve tried having other boyfriends, I tried cold turkey and I’ve tried this latest fiasco, and in the end I just fall deeper in love with him,’ I sob.

‘Oh, darling. What you need to do is leave England, at least for a while. Activity and change. That’s what is going to knock him out of your mind. Why don’t you take that trip you planned to Europe, hmmm? Isn’t Leah just waiting for you to say the word?’

‘Yes, but the idea of backpacking through Europe has completely lost its appeal. I can’t even bring myself to think of going to the corner shop let alone all around Europe. I’ll just be miserable there instead of here.’

‘No, you won’t. When you’re on the move and seeing new things every day you won’t have much opportunity to mope around feeling sorry for yourself. Trust me. It’s the best thing for you.’

I lean my cheek on my knees and look at my aunt. ‘What if I go and I’m still miserable and I just end up spoiling poor Leah’s holiday?’

‘Honey, you have more chances of winning the lottery than spoiling Leah’s holiday. If I’m reading Leah right, she’ll drag you right over this slump and bring you out on the side of the living.’

I smile weakly.

‘So it’s decided then. You’ll both go on your holiday. She’s coming over tomorrow so we might as well do a bit of shopping today to get you everything you need for your holiday.’

My jaw drops. ‘Leah is arriving tomorrow?’

My aunt nods. ‘Be grateful for everything you have, Tori. Because you have a lot. Far more than most people. You have a big family who love you to death and you have Leah who’ll do anything for you.’

‘She didn’t say she was coming and I thought she wanted to save a bit more money for at least the next two months.’

‘I lent her the money.’

I look at her in amazement. ‘You did?’

‘It was worth it to get your cute little butt out of my way,’ she says with a smile.

My aunt and I go to the airport to meet Leah. She doesn’t say a word. Just envelops me in a big, silent hug and lets me cry my guts out. Never once does she say, ‘I told you so.’

Afterwards, bless her, she takes total charge. She is like a whirlwind. In two days we are in St Pancras International. As we pass a newsstand I see the screaming headlines in one of the tabloids.

Alkaline break up.

I can’t help but read the subtitle.

Sources close to Cash Hunter say that he is the reason the band is dissolving. He wants to pursue a solo career in music.

Then, before I know it, I am sitting on the high-speed train to Paris. I stare out of the window. Cash Hunter is leaving. He’s going to pursue his dream of making the kind of music he wants, and I won’t be there to see it.

I feel my heart sigh deeply. It’s over. The party’s truly over. I’ve drawn the line in the sand. I’m hurt and shattered and I am filled with regret for the things I did, but I don’t regret coming to England. I don’t regret meeting Cash, loving him, giving my body to him.

If I had my time over I would make the same decision again today, only the execution would be different. I would tell him the truth on the first day. I’d say. ‘Wow, do you know, Cash Hunter, I’m your biggest fan?’ Who knows what he’d say. One thing for sure it’d be crude and funny. Maybe I’d laugh. Maybe we’d have dinner. Maybe …

Maybe my aunt is right. One day I will forget. One day I will stop being so crazy over him. I will glue all the broken pieces of my heart together and I’ll find someone else. In the glass I see my reflection. My face is pale and my eyes red-rimmed and blotchy.

‘Look, the white cliffs of Dover,’ Leah cries, her voice full of excitement.

I turn my eyes towards the majestic sight. ‘Goodbye, Cash. Goodbye.’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ny4izkgnX_k

(To Be By Your Side)

Cash

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwIZdh6MqIo

I
t’s been a long but good day. I think I did my best work today, but it is good to leave the studio for a bit and spend some time at my father’s house. Cora has made chicken pie for dinner. It’s delicious and both my father and I polish our plates. Afterwards my father asks if I want to join him for a drink in his study.

‘I’ll just sit here for a bit on my own and …’ I lift my beer bottle, ‘finish this.’ I smile and take a swig.

‘Right,’ my father mumbles, and disappears into his study to wait for Britney to come back. She is out on a date with a guy called Liam Foxgrove. He’s probably a good kid, but my father and I treated him to the Hunter
interrogation
welcome routine anyway. His hands were shaking by the time Britney floated down the stairs.

After a while, strains of music float out of the study. I recognize it. Nick Cave is singing Leonard Cohen’s Suzanne. It suits my mood and I sit back and gaze through the window at the garden. I watch the neighbor’s ginger cat climb over the wall and crouch by a hole in the ground. I see her get bored of stalking an empty hole and walk away, her tail swishing. I stay staring out until the solar lights come on.

Cora pops her head around the door. ‘I’m off. Can I get you anything else before I leave?’

‘Nah, you go on. I know you can’t wait to get home and jump your husband’s bones.’

‘Oh you,’ she scolds, but her eyes twinkle.

I finish my beer and go into the kitchen for another. I go to open the fridge and I suddenly see it and freeze. It’s a postcard from Italy. It has a picture of David wearing a fig leaf. It could have come from anyone, but I knew even without turning it over that it was from her. There was a time I couldn’t stop thinking of her. Now I don’t allow myself to think of her.

Like a man in a trance I reach for the card and slip it out from under the magnet. I turn it over and the sight of her writing is like a knife in my heart. There is only one sentence written in purple ink, but I start bleeding again.

He has a small dick. :)

                           Love,

                          Tori

She has sent a card to Cora. I stroke the ink and just like that I am by her side. I try to think of her in Italy. Her hair bleached by the sun, her skin golden brown. Her perfect body encased in something summery. She was like a glass of bright yellow sunshine. I didn’t drink enough.

I slip the postcard back under the magnet and walk out of the house …

But I come back often. To look for her cards. I tell myself that I’m just curious, but any fool can tell that’s a fucking lie. Every two days once I make the journey to my father’s house. Full of anticipation.

They are always funny or cute. I travel with her through Europe staring up at cathedrals and palaces and great monuments, down to Turkey, then Egypt where she sends more postcards than any of the other countries before. Pyramids, obelisks, statues of Pharaohs.

She leads me to India where I watch her break her heart when she is swarmed by a gaggle of baying child beggars. They grab her clothing and clutch her body, and she has no choice but to beat them with a stick to dislodge their clinging hands. She takes me by the hand into the Golden Temple of Amritsar and feeds me round sweets called
Ladhu.

I follow her down the Ganges River to see the
Aghori,
the mysterious cannibal monks of Varanasi. They paint their unclothed bodies in ash, drink from human skulls, and live their entire lives in cemeteries. Their eyes are red and wild. I’ll send pictures when I get back, she writes.

I am filled with longing to be on the same journey.

From India they take the South East Asia route. In Thailand they visit a Buddhist temple where the girls shake a container of sticks until one of the sticks falls out and a monk reads their fortune according to the number on the stick.

‘Your Prince Charming is coming,’ the monk tells her.

I feel it like a punch in the gut.

But she is mine
.

Next stop, Malaysia. She sets out to enjoy the fantastic variety of food, that is, until they get dysentery. It puts both girls out of action for four days. They lie in their cheap hostel room groaning and rushing to the toilet. Weakened, lighter, and wiser, they reluctantly cancel their trip to Indonesia and catch a flight out of Singapore to the last destination of their journey. Australia.

There are three more cards while she tours Australia. From the postcards I know they spent a few days on a friend’s farm helping to pick cherries. Then comes the final card. It has the picture of a mother kangaroo with its baby peeking out of its belly.

The holiday is over. We’re flying back home tomorrow. A bit sad.

Tori

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I went on this trip. I’ve seen so much and learned a lot about the world. Leah and I have witnessed and done things very few people do in their lifetimes. I know it has developed me as a person.

Before this trip someone would have had a very hard time convincing me that there is a dying breed of wild-eyed monks who exist in a state of intoxication and believe that they can reach enlightenment by the very act of turning away from all earthly pleasure and partaking in everything that is disgusting and taboo. Even eating dead human flesh or human waste.

Now I know better.

When we were in Australia I met a cute Australian surfer who chased me relentlessly. Probably because I didn’t turn him down flat as I had all the others. In some small way he reminded me of Cash. It wasn’t his looks. Maybe the curve of his mouth, but it was enough to endear him to me. Still, in the end I didn’t want him. Even drunk on Fosters I couldn’t bring myself to go with him.

Leah and I made a pact never to discuss Cash. We never bought a gossip magazine or watched E-news. She is of the opinion that the more you obsess and think of something the more it embeds itself into your heart. She thinks the solution to a broken heart is to never talk or think about that person.

We were on a strict Cash free diet.

I fell off the wagon once. Just once when Leah went into a shop to get us a couple of cans of coke. It was in India. I was standing beside a wooden stall selling magazines and sweets and cigarettes and my eyes fell on a magazine cover. He was on it. My heart slammed into my ribs.

I looked away quickly and then, like an addict, I looked back at his face. There was something different about it. I would have stared more, but Leah was coming back and I hurriedly turned away and smiled at her.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked.

‘Nothing. Bit too hot I think,’ I said.

She looked at me strangely, then at the Newsstand, and sighed. ‘Come on. Let’s go find a cool bottle of beer.’

Other than that one time I never thought about him, well, during the day at least, but when I got into my sleeping bag, or into my hostel bed for the night, my mind would replay that scene when he looked at me as if I had stabbed him in the back. With such hurt.

Hurt always turns to hate.

Sometimes I cried silent, bitter tears, thinking of him in England hating me and other times other memories would come back. The ants in his pants, being on the roof, laughing together under the sheets, going to The Ministry Of Sound, our unforgettable time in Milan, having sex, having sex, and having sex.