Fixing My Bad Boy Problem

This night is shit, I think as I shove my phone back into my pocket. I have no idea why I thought coming to this party would be a good idea. I should be on my way home right now, where I’m needed.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Right, as if I have anything to offer.

I just got off the phone with Mum, and what did she tell me? We need to find ten thousand dollars within the next four months. If we don’t have that money within that period, my sister could very well lose her sight forever.

I curse and kick a pebble lying next to my feet, sending it flying into the lawn.

Where the fuck am I supposed to get that kind of money in such a short time? It would help if I already had my certificate. With that, I could probably get a decent entry-level job. And maybe make about a quarter of that amount before the time was up.

No matter which way I think about it, we are fucked. The only way we could possibly make that much money so fast is if we sold the house. 

I shake my head instantly at that thought. No. We can’t lose the only thing we have been able to hold on to since my father passed and our finances went to shit.

But even as I think that, I know that unless I find an alternative source of money, that’s exactly what we might have to do. It’s not like we can let Daisy go blind just because we don’t want to sell the house.

You know what? Maybe that’s what we should do. We can sell it, pay for the surgery, and buy a smaller house. Once I get a good job, it won’t take long to get us a better one.

Sounds like a solid plan. If we can get through this, we’ll be fine. I’m done with university, and that’s one huge load off my mother’s shoulder. Now, all we have to do is ensure Daisy gets that surgery in time and recovers fully.

“I didn’t take you for a wallflower.”

I startle, pushing my back off the wall I’ve been leaning on and looking towards the direction the voice came from. But I already know who it is even before he rises from behind the bushes that are a few feet from where I’ve been standing for the past twenty minutes or so.

Benjamin Lockwood.

The very last person I wished to run into tonight.

“The party is that way, you know,” he says, nodding towards the house while brushing his hands over his pants, then straightening his black button-down shirt.

“Says the one hiding behind the bushes,” I say, making sure not to sound spooked by his sudden appearance. How long has he been there? Did he hear my conversation on the phone?

He grins, then parts the bushes with his hands and steps through them, emerging on my side. “You’re the one who has been hiding, Isaac. When was the last time I saw you?” He makes a show of tilting his head and frowning as if in deep thought. “Damn, I can’t recall.”

You know what? Maybe it’s time to get back to the party and try to enjoy it. It’s my last college party, after all. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

“Look, I gotta get back,” I say, getting ready to walk back to the house.

Ben drops his thoughtful stance. “Do you hate me that much?” he asks.

I frown. “What?”

“Every time we have been in the same space since that night, you find an excuse to leave as fast as you can. Like, come on, Isaac. It’s been months. It was just sex. No big deal. You made it clear that you didn’t want to revisit that, and I’m cool with it. So what’s this acting like I’m going to trap you into a marriage every time I so much as look your way?”

I look away from him. Away from those dark brown eyes I definitely don’t think about almost every night. And I try, I really try, not to think about that night all those months ago.

But who am I fooling? I think about that night enough even without anyone mentioning it. And here he is, addressing the elephant in the room.

“I don’t hate you.”

That’s what I say.

Because what else can I say? He is right. I’ve avoided him like the plague since that night. But he’s so wrong if he thinks that’s because I can’t stand being in the same space with him.

Hate him? Gods, I would love to be able to do that.

Hate him so much that I don’t think of him every time I get myself off. Hate him so much that on those days that I feel incredibly lonely and just want someone to hold me, it’s not him I think about. Hate him to the extent that I don’t hate myself for being a coward about what we could have been.

Because we could have been so much more, I know it.

But I couldn’t let that happen. Not when he’s another of those bad boys I seem drawn to like a moth to the light. Bad boys who I’ve been trying hard to shake off. So yeah, getting into anything with a guy who’s pretty much the poster child for bad boys—tattoos; check, long hair; check, all that dark clothing; check, the damn motorcycle; another check, and he’s in a fucking rock-band; check—is not on my to-do list.

“What is it, then?” he asks, taking a step closer to me. “Why do you always run away whenever I show up?”

“I don’t,” I deny.

“We both know that’s bullshit, Isaac.” He takes another step forward, and if I don’t move back, he’s soon going to be in my face. “So, tell me. Is it that you don’t like me as a person? Or was I so bad in bed that you didn’t want to give me an opportunity to talk you back into it?”

Bad in bed? Yeah, right, that’s the entire reason I find myself whispering his name whenever I’m cumming into a wad of tissues. And it would take less than talking me into it to get me back there… So he’s kind of right about that second part. I do avoid him so I won’t give in to the temptation to feel his body against mine again.

About his personality? We would likely be close friends right now if I hadn’t tumbled into bed with him barely a month after meeting him for the first time.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. I shrug. “It’s not like we’ll be running into each other anymore.”

I just completed my final year, and the only thing that’ll bring me back to this city is my graduation ceremony four months away. This could very well be the last time we see each other.

“It matters to me,” he says, passing a hand over his hair. Tonight, it’s in a low bun. But when I look at it, all I can picture is running my fingers through the long tresses while he lays his head in my lap, writing in his music notebook. And that scenario is not just a creation of my imagination. It actually happened. One of the things that happened in the course of that one night, that made me realise that if I had learned anything from my past, I should get away from him quickly before I lost my heart to a bad boy again. “I want to know. We could have been friends, Isaac. I want to know why that too wasn’t an option.”

Because it never was…

“Look, Ben. Can you just forget it?”

“No,” he says automatically. “That’s the problem. I can’t seem to forget it.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I tell him.

He laughs. A laugh that has nothing to do with being ecstatic. “Fuck, I should have known. Pretty boys like you always turn out to be the worst heartbreakers.”

Did he just call me a pretty boy?

“So that’s it, uh? I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life wondering why you shut me out?”

I shift on my feet. “Why would you do that? Don’t you have a steady stream of boys and girls coming in and out of your bed like every night?”

“Exactly. I have a steady stream of boys and girls in my bed, and all of them would kill to come back a second time.” His eyes narrow as he takes another step towards me. “You, on the other hand…”

Is that it? Is that what has been bothering him all this time? That I never went back?

“Did I bruise your ego?”

“A little.”

His reply surprises me. I was expecting him to insist he was confident in his bed skills or something.

Before I can say something, he adds, “It’s not much about you not wanting to come back as it is about the fact that you were the one person that I wanted to come back, but you never did.”

Is he being serious right now? I don’t know if he has noticed, but he is kind of laying out his heart in the open right now. Bad boys don’t do that. They would die before they let someone who rejected them know that they wanted them back. They would be busy acting like they couldn’t give two shits about whether you landed back in their bed ever. In fact, they would make sure to let you know that you were a poor fuck and laugh at the idea of you thinking they wanted you back.

So him telling me this? It doesn’t fit with the archetype…

Ah. I get it. Unless he wants to have the last laugh. Act all vulnerable, get me where he wants me, then spit me out. Be the one to cast me out this time.

But even as I think that, I know Ben isn’t that kind of person. He is sincere, that much I know. There’s no other way he would have become fast friends with my roommate, Jo.

And now I feel like a horrible person for not giving him the simple answer he wants.

Maybe it isn’t all that simple, but does it matter? This could be the last night we ever see each other. Telling him the truth won’t change anything at this point, will it?

It’s not like I’ll keep living with the perpetual fear of him appearing at Jo and I’s apartment in Simon’s company, as he has a few times in the months we have known each other.

It’s only fair that I set him free of his misery.