Bad Intentions (Bad Love 2)

Jess: Studying.

Me: Liar.

Jess: Well, she does give good brain.

I’m confused for half a second before he sends me a picture of a girl’s blonde head bent over a book with a notebook and pencils scattered around her, unaware that Jess has taken the photo.

Me: Don’t be creepy. By the way, I left a few bucks for you on the counter for lunch tomorrow. I’m probably going to pass out early. Be safe.

Jess: I will. Pleasantville is hella sketchy after dark.

Me: Shut up.

Jess: I’m gonna need a gun if you expect me to survive these streets.

Me: I’m going to bed, now…

Jess: Make sure you lock the door. I hear home invasions are on the rise here.

Such a jackass. I laugh at his ridiculousness, tossing my phone facedown onto my bed. I start to pull my shirt over my head, but my phone rings a second later.

“If you’re calling to tell me you’ve been kidnapped and need ransom money, tell your kidnapper he took the wrong kid. We’re poor.”

“You wouldn’t have to be poor if you’d come back to me.”

My stomach twists at the voice from the other line, and even though I know exactly who it is, I pull the phone away to check the screen, but it doesn’t show the number that I’ve had memorized for the past year. It reads Private.

“How did you get this number?”

“That’s all I get? No, Hello, Eric. I’ve missed you?”

“What do you want?” I ask, trying to sound assertive and unaffected. I don’t want to let him know he can still affect me in any way. He can sniff out when someone is intimidated, and he feeds off it.

“I want you back here. In my house. In my bed.”

I can’t help but laugh. He is literally insane.

“That ship has sailed, Eric. Besides, your bed is big, but it’s not big enough to share with your wife.”

“She’s gone.”

“Bullshit,” I spit.

“She’s…away, getting help. Then she’s going to get her own place once she’s well again.”

I hope that’s the truth, but I can’t believe a word out of Eric’s mouth.

“Where’s Cayden?” I ask quietly.

“He’s here. With me, of course.”

My heart physically hurts when I think about Cayden. At twelve years old, he’s the only innocent in this fucked-up scenario. My throat gets tight when I think about how he must be feeling without his mom. I know better than anyone. The hardest part of leaving Eric was leaving Cayden.

“He misses you, baby. We both do,” Eric says in that soft tone. The one he saves for times like these, when he knows he doesn’t have the upper hand. But sweet-talking won’t work this time.

“I miss him, too,” I say, voice cracking before I steel it. “But you’re fucking delusional if you think I’d ever come back to you.” I hang up the phone before he can respond, and then I stare at the dirty carpet, sucking in a deep breath, trying to escape the guilt that threatens to swallow me whole.

I had an accidental affair with the married father of the child I nannied. There were many casualties, but the one I regret most is Cayden.