Bad Boy: The Beginning

Chapter 4 | Lauren 2004

"Three days?" I squeak.

I'm searching his face for signs that this is a badly timed joke. There's no twinkle in his eyes like when he mixed mustard with frosting and gave me a lifelong aversion to cupcakes. There's no trace of a smirk on his lips like when he told me his grandparents were nudists right before we pulled up to their house for a nice Sunday supper. Instead, I'm met with the same earnest stare as when he first told me he loved me.

"Mack, what are you talking about? We have school on Monday. Why are you fucking with me?"

His eyes don't change. He doesn't bust out laughing and revel in the "gotcha" moment.

"I know we do. I'm just going for a campus visit. Once you're admitted, you can go check out the school for a week and get a feel for it. I'm not going for good until July." He runs his hand over his dark brown hair and sweeps it down over his neck.

My mind is spinning out of control. I might black out. Am I drunk? Is this a dream?

"You're serious? You just decided to drop this on me? On prom night? How long have you been planning this? When did you even apply?" I'm being tossed around on a sea of anger and despair.

I'm drowning.

"I didn't want to just drop it on you. I applied last summer and I've been jumping through all their hoops for almost a year. It's a huge process. I had to get endorsed by our congressman. My athletic ability, my SAT scores, my leadership skills, like every little thing had to be proven and was analyzed. I didn't want to do all that, to try so hard and then have you and everyone else pity me if I didn't get it."

"This is crazy!" I jump to my feet and grab my clothes. "I can't believe you'd make a huge decision like this"—I hop on one foot as I try to get my foot back into my twisted panties—"and not even mention it once." I step into my dress and tug it back up over my shoulders. "What about my scholarship here? You know I can't just walk away from that and go out east. Dammit, I haven't even applied to any schools in New York! Zip this up, will ya?" I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and Mack complies. His fingers send little tingles down my spine, but I blink hard and bury the sensation, letting my disbelief and confusion rule the show. "Didn't you think about me for one second? What kind of an asshole does this?"

If he wanted to make me yell, well, he got his wish.

"Whoa, hold up. Of course I thought about you, but are you thinking about me? Christ, I thought you'd be proud of me. I thought you of all people would understand how important this is to me. You've known I wanted to join the military ever since Ben . . ." His voice wavers.

I remember when his brother died. It's a day our entire nation remembers and mourns. We were fifteen and Mack was so proud of his big brother going out to New York City for a low level finance job after graduating college. We watched in horror as the twin towers were attacked. They tumbled down in slow motion, over and over, on every news station in the country.

Mack and his parents held onto hope that Ben had called in sick that day or showed up late. However, as they left voicemail after voicemail that would never be returned, I watched the hope slowly deflate out of their bodies.

When we saw the groups of strangers and co-workers standing on window ledges, their hands forming a chain of solidarity as they jumped from the burning buildings, we cried. I held Mack in my arms as his body shook with sobs. He screamed at the television as he choked on his tears, "Why are you jumping? You can still get out! Why are they jumping?" He wanted so badly to believe that somehow they could still be rescued. Like there would be a back stairway that wasn't a burning column of smoke. Like there would be a ladder high enough to reach them.

It was the only time in my life I've ever seen him cry.

Later, when it was finally confirmed that Ben had perished that day, Mack confided in me that he actually hoped his brother had been one of the jumpers. He liked the idea that he met God on his own terms and didn't suffer.

I've known since that day that Mack wanted to join the military. Since the day he lost Ben, the day our nation had its heart torn out, he'd sworn he'd fight the war on terror if given the chance. However, I'd always thought he'd join a local unit and that we'd still have our life together here in Colorado. I had no idea he'd try to join the most elite military academy in the country. But then again, Mack never does anything small.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into West Point? They only accept, like, ten percent of the people who apply, you know," he continues. "You can't be over twenty-three, you can't be married, you can't have kids, you have to pass the interviews, the mental testing." He's ticking off each point on his fingers.

He's running out of fingers.

I shut my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. I'm watching each milestone of our future together disappear with every admission criteria he rattles off.

"Community leader," Mack says.

Poof! There goes the vision of us as a cute elderly couple on a Sunday stroll.

"Medical testing," he continues.

Poof! Our wedding evaporates from the timeline.

"Fitness test." His voice is distant now.

Poof! The futon sex and ramen dinners shrivel up and blow away in a pile of dust.

"Are you even listening to me?"

I open my eyes and Mack is standing in front of me. The inches between us feel like miles. For the first time, I realize he still hasn't gotten dressed. His hard muscles and thick cock are as exposed as his soul and I can't bear to look at any of it.

"Yes, I was just thinking. I am proud of you, Mack. I really am." My voice cracks. "But what about us? I thought we were forever, you and I." Fat tears gather in the corners of my eyes and I blink quickly.

"Lauren, we can still be together. There are lots of couples who do the long-distance thing through college." He gently grasps my hand and for just a fleeting moment I believe him. I mean, sure, I've never heard of a long-distance relationship working, like ever. Hey, I could be wrong. Right?

"And then what?" Reality creeps back in, cuffing me in the back of the head. "What about when we graduate? Won't you have to go on tour? Or get posted? It doesn't sound like this is only four years of distance, Mack. It sounds like a lifetime. I . . . I just can't do that."

"What are you saying? You want to break up?" His face twists up and his eyes squint like the revelation is blinding him. Surely he must have thought this was a possibility?

"No, I don't want to break up. I want you to stay here and go to Colorado U with me, like you made me think you were going to. I want you to grow old with me and I want to have your babies someday. You're the one running off to the East Coast to make yourself feel better about a bad memory." I bite my tongue, but the words had already slipped out. I can't take them back. Mack steps back like my stupid remark physically knocked into him.

"My brother," he seethes the words through his teeth, "isn't just some memory. And if you can't support me and my dream, if you can't be fucking happy for me that I earned something and fought hard for it, then this looks like it was the best decision of my life, 'cause it's saving me from waiting another ten years to find out what a waste of time this relationship has been."

My hand flashes in front of my face like a hummingbird wing. A sting spreads through my palm as it lands across his cheek. Luckily, the sound of the slap drowns out the sound of my heart breaking. We both stare at each other. Tears blur my eyes and slide down my cheeks.

"I want to go home." My voice is ice.

Mack doesn't grab me and pull me close, or run his hand through my hair and tell me it's all going to be okay. Instead, he slips his clothes back on and steps up into the golf cart, staring straight ahead, his jaw set.

I slide in next to him and we sit in silence as we drive back toward the country club. The air has a chill to it now and as it whooshes around my ears, I can hear our love story again on the wind. But this time, it's being told in past tense.

And nothing will ever be the same again.