Kicking Reality

He pauses the screen and turns to face me.

“Em, I’m trying here. I fucking miss you,” he strains.

“I know,” I say quietly, turning to face him.

His stubble covers his square jaw, and with his eyes serious and begging for forgiveness, I find myself softening under his gaze.

Placing his hands on my cheek, I rest my face in his palm allowing myself to revisit the feelings of being in love with Wesley Rich. He is warm, and only a small part of me wishes things were the same. The other part of me is raging with jealousy that Logan is fucking some slut.

I allow him to kiss me—without the cameras present. It’s soft, sweet, and nothing like the ravenous Wesley that would practically maul me each time we kissed.

When I retract, he tugs on the string of my tank and pulls it down, exposing my shoulder. He kisses my skin, and when my eyes close, all I see is Logan.

This isn’t fair. I felt guilty each way I looked at it.

Moving his hand against my stomach, he moves upwards until he is cupping my breasts, growling into my neck and applying pressure with his body weight. The passion builds up, but the mere thought of screwing Wes again is outweighed by the guilt of what I had done.

“Stop,” I murmur, laying my hands on his chest and pushing him back.

“Emerson, please don’t. I need you,” he begs.

“I need more time.”

His expression changes, eyes wild and full of anger.

“You can’t fucking do this!” he yells. “Walking around and teasing me, telling me now when I know you need to be fucked. It’s been over a month, Emerson. If you don’t need to be fucked then you’re fucking someone else!”

“I’m not fucking anyone else.” I lie so easily.

“Then prove it. Fuck me. That’s all I ask of you.”

“No Wesley, give me time to forgive you.”

“You’ve had time,” he pushes, disrespecting my wishes.

“Two months is not enough time to get over the hurt of you fucking two hookers!” I argue back. “We were supposed to get married. You threw that out the window for what?”

With my heart racing, scared he will call me out on what Logan and I had done, we both remain as silent as possible, the vibration of my cell distracting me. I quickly pick it up, wanting to diffuse the argument.

There were two notifications on my screen. One from Farrah tagging me and Wesley in a picture. I forgot she had taken it. Wes has his arm around me and I’m smiling. The caption read: Even when the cameras stop rolling, these two can’t keep their hands off each other. #SoontobeMr&MrsRich

I don’t know why she would post something like that, but I show Wes the picture, calming his curiosity. I could see his shoulders relax, the breath of air that he is holding in releasing slowly.

The second is a text from Ash.

Mom told me you’re coming to London. I’ll call you tomorrow. Trying to find somewhere else to crash tonight because Logan took his date home and told me he’s fucking her till the sun is up. Night sis.

I don’t know why I showed the text to Wes, maybe because I wanted him to see that Logan and I had nothing going on. That, and my heart was pumping so hard, emitting a burning sensation in my chest. Placing the cell down, I sit against the couch pretending my silence is driven by our argument and not by the hurt and jealously over a man who meant nothing to me.

“How long do you need?” Wes breaks the silence.

I answer with haste. “For what? To repair a broken heart?”

“I said I was fucking sorry!” He raises his voice again, running his hands through his hair.

My stress levels peaked, on a night when I wanted to lay here and do nothing. I didn’t understand why Logan had to be such a prick. Demanding me to come play then running off with someone else. Mom was right, he would destroy any woman who fell in love with him.

Not that I was in love with him.