29.
Becca
I can’t see where I’m going the tears are blinding me so. All I know is that I have to get away, have to put as much distance between me and what I’ve just seen as I can.
You dummy! How could you be so damned stupid?
“Becca! Becca!” Rich is calling after me.
I’m running as fast as I can down the path, my sandals flapping with every step, my shoulders brushing the bushes as I weave from side to side.
“Becca! Wait!”
He’s closing in; I can hear his pounding feet just a few yards behind me. If only there were somewhere to escape! Where was a white rabbit when you needed it? I’d trade just about anything at the moment to disappear down some hole in a tree. How gladly I’d leave it all behind!
How could he? How could he have done this?
I race past several alcoves, catching only flashes of the bewildered-looking people in each as I fly by. I’m running so hard that my lungs are burning, my heart just about ready to burst.
Of course Charlotte had been there! I should have known. I should have fucking known! Why hadn’t I just stayed away? What had I been thinking? How could I have been so stupid?
It’s useless. I can’t outrun him. Just as I burst into the dining garden, he catches me, his hand closing around my forearm and pulling me to a stop.
“Becca,” he says, “Becca, please.”
Every head in the garden is turned towards us. Twisting my arm out of his hand, I spin around to face him, my chest heaving, my lips salty with tears.
“Becca,” he pleads. “Becca, it’s not what you think.”
“No?” I sneer. “So I didn’t just find your girlfriend sitting on your lap?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Sure.” I snort. “Not your girlfriend. That’s certainly not what that looked like.”
“Please,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I swear to you. I didn’t know she would be here. She just appeared this morning. She…she was…it’s not what—“
“You know what?” I interject. All traces of my sadness are gone. Now only white-hot anger is bubbling inside of me. “Screw you, Rich. I trusted you. I gave myself to you and all you gave me in return were lies. Do you know how it felt to read all of those stories? I wanted so badly to believe they weren’t true, that it wasn’t as everyone was saying. And maybe they aren’t true, maybe they aren’t, but it certainly doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t the nice guy you pretend so hard to be. The truth is that you lied to me and took advantage of me and made me think we were one thing when really what we were was something else entirely. I don’t need people like you in my life! I’m tired of it! I’m so fucking tired of it! The last thing I need is another source of disappointment.”
I can tell my words are cutting deep, can see them slicing like swords into his heart. But I just don’t care. I want to make him hurt, want to make him hurt just like I hurt. Why should he be allowed to walk away without any scars? Why did I always have to be the one to carry them?
“Becca,” he says quietly, desperately. “That’s not fair.”
“No? Not fair? So you weren’t lying about who you were? You weren’t hiding it from me?”
“I…I was, yes, but only because—“
“I let you sleep with me! I let you fuck me any way you wanted to fuck me! I shared everything about myself with you! I gave you the truth! I gave you exactly who I was and you took that and gave not one shit about it. For you, everything was just one big game!”
“It wasn’t a game.” His voice is small, pathetic. “And I didn’t lie. Not intentionally. I just didn’t know how to tell you. Do you know how hard it is to confess something like that, especially when none of it is true? I was scared.”
“Scared? Oh, I bet you were scared. Scared that you wouldn’t get to sleep with me again.”
All around us people are snapping pictures, several filming on their phones.
“I was scared because I didn’t know if you were going to believe me. I couldn’t bear the thought of you thinking those things were true. It broke my heart just thinking about it. I was scared to tell you because I was worried it would push you away, that you’d stop looking at me with all the love and—“
“Well, if finding out about you didn’t push me away, seeing Charlotte on your lap certainly did the trick.”
“She straddled me! She made the move. I was trying to tell her to get off of me, to go away. I didn’t—“
“Oh yeah. Uh-huh. I bet you—a professional football player—just couldn’t get a tiny, hundred-pound woman off your lap. Yeah the fuck right.”
I turn to go but am stopped by a hand on my elbow.
“Let go, Rich,” I say without turning back. He drops his hand and I set off across the garden, people scooting their chairs out of my way as I stomp past.
“Becca,” Rich says, hot on my heels. “Becca, come on. Please.”
We’re in the lobby now, the tears staining my cheeks all but dried. No more room there was for them in my heart. Not anymore. The world and all the terrible people in it weren’t deserving.
“Becca…” he says again. Cal is standing next the receptionist’s desk, watching us with his arms folded in front of his chest. “I’m telling the truth. I swear to you. I swear! It’s just like I said. I was scared you would believe the stories over me. I couldn’t bear the thought of that. I’m nothing like that man on the news. I’m exactly who I told you I was, exactly the type of man you thought…”
“…Rich Anderson, world-famous football player, and the trouble he’s found himself in lately.”
We hear it at the same time, Rich falling silent as the sound of his name issuing from the TV behind reception catches our ears. As one, we turn to the screen, both of us gasping when we see it.
“What in the…” On the television is a photo of the two of us. It’s the same picture I’d emailed Sophia, the picture from my first dinner with Rich that had prompted my best friend to send me the articles about his true identity.
“So then,” the announcer is saying, “let’s get right to the story of the week. Is this the woman Rich Anderson, two-time league MVP, is having an affair with? As I mentioned before the break, a source close to the matter was kind enough to provide our station with this photo of the two alleged lovebirds enjoying a nice dinner at a high-end resort in Hawaii. As our viewers are well aware, since the allegations against Mr. Anderson first went public several weeks ago—allegations concerning instances of domestic abuse, not to mention a host of other offenses—the football star has kept conspicuously out of the public eye. While many of his teammates and peers maintain that such accusations are baseless, other…”
I glance over at Rich. He’s staring right back at me.
“How…” he begins, his head cocked to one side, his gaze far away. “So that’s how she found me…” he murmurs, the confusion on his face shifting to anger as his eyes refocus on mine. “You. You sent that picture. You sold it to the news.”
“No, I wouldn’t—“
“And yet here you are,” he continues, his voice growing louder with every word, a fury in his eye I’ve never before seen, “yelling at me when all along you’d done this? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Of course! Of course all you wanted was some fame for yourself! How could you, Becca? How the fuck could you?”
“Rich, I swear—“
“Lecturing me about how I lied to you. When you were the one that betrayed me! And for what? For some extra cash? Or maybe to launch your own career in the public spotlight? I can’t believe you. I seriously just can’t believe you. The worst part, too, is that all you had to do was talk to me! I would have given you anything! I would have given you everything!”
He’s so angry his hands are shaking, his face and neck beet-red. How had they gotten that picture? How had they found out where we were?
The lobby has filled with vacationers all come to see the spectacle. Charlotte is standing near the back door, a triumphant smile on her face.
“Rich, I—”
“No!” Rich shouts, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Being such a large man, his wrath is terrifying to behold, the very walls trembling. “No! I’m tired of it! You know what, Becca? Why don’t YOU go screw YOURself! I loved you! I loved you like I had never loved anybody else. And yet here you are with the audacity to lecture me about lying when you were the one who was lying the entire time. You’re exactly like every other woman I’ve ever met. I should have known. I should have fucking known! No matter what I do I can’t escape, can’t get away from you greedy, soul-sucking leeches. All of you just want to take and take and take…”
Tears are gathering in the corner of his eyes, sadness fast replacing his rage. Bit by bit, I watch the energy drain out of him.
“You’re all the same,” he whispers. He’s utterly defeated now, his shoulders drooping, his chest rattling with choked-back sobs. “All the goddamn same.”
Lip quivering, he turns to go.
“Rich…” I say weakly, one hand reaching out towards him. But he’s already halfway across the lobby, the crowd parting as he stumbles through. No longer is anyone snapping pictures or filming. As a broken man, he’s finally earned his respite.
As he passes Charlotte, his head down, his hands in his pocket, she lets out a little laugh and makes to take his hand.
“Leave me alone,” he groans, shrugging her off. “Everyone please just leave me alone…”