Becca Ritchie - Kiss the Sky

“There’s such thing as Photoshop,” I tell her with an even-tempered voice. I hate that she’s hurt, and another guy was the cause. From the sound of it, he wasn’t even a heckler.

“LET ME AT HIM!” Daisy screams.

We all turn our heads. Ryke has Daisy thrown over his shoulder, beelining towards the exit. I follow with Rose in my arms, Lily and Lo behind me somewhere.

Daisy tries to climb down Ryke’s back to go attack the tattooed guy who’s seated at the bar again. Her head is near his ass until he pulls her back up on his shoulder.

“HE HIT MY SISTER!!!”

“Say it a little louder, Dais!” Ryke shouts at her. “The world can’t fucking hear you!”

She screams incoherently and then yells, “If someone hit Lo, you’d kill them!”

“Someone did hit Lo, and I didn’t do a fucking thing,” Ryke retorts, “so calm the fuck down!”

I remember that night. It was when they met each other. He didn’t really know Lo then. I try to concentrate on Rose, who looks murderous at any person who passes, as though every dancer in the club wronged her.

“You’re okay,” I tell her.

“I should have punched him back.”

“You were on the ground.”

She huffs. “How do I look?” she asks, her eyes softening as she stares up at me. Her cheek continues to swell.

“Beautiful,” I say, and I kiss her forehead before she can refute.

“At least he didn’t break my nose,” Rose says, pinching the bridge with two delicate fingers in gratitude.

If he broke her nose—I think my mind would have truly ejected at the sight of her blood.

Just as Ryke disappears through the door to go outside, I glance over my shoulder to make certain that Lily and Loren are following. But I notice Scott close by, speaking to Brett, both of them laughing and smiling together.

I have a horrible feeling.

I’ve willfully handed over my pleasure and the wedding to-do list to Connor Cobalt. I’ve either gone mad or he’s put a spell on me. I smile at the thought. He doesn’t like when I accuse him of witchcraft.

My phone buzzes as I finish clipping the buckle to my heel in my bedroom, back in Philly, cameras positioned overhead.

4 days and I bought new makeup for you – Mom

I head to the vanity just to check my face once more. It can’t be that bad…well it’s not good.  A purplish bruise puckers on my cheekbone. It could have been worse. My eye could have swelled shut and oozed puss—that’s what Connor told me to lessen my misery. It worked. Now I’m just happy I don’t have a puss-filled eye to deal with.

And I can also say I’ve been punched. The bachelorette party hasn’t aired yet, but if anyone thinks it’s my fault, I don’t really care.

 Connor walks into the bedroom, shirtless and in a pair of black slacks. His muscles ripple across his abdomen, dipping down towards a place that I saw early this morning. He’s sexier than he realizes—no, no, he definitely knows how hot he is.

He holds up two button-downs by the hanger. “White or blue today?”

“Did you just come out here to show off your body?”

His eyes gleam with mischief, telling me that’s exactly what he did. “I need your impeccable fashion advice, darling. White or blue?”

But I like this more than he knows. It feels comfortable and normal. Sharing space. Sharing each other. I want to wake up and be the woman who chooses what color he wears for the day, and I want him to be the man who chooses what position we’ll take at night.

“White,” I say easily. “I like you in white.”

“Blue it is,” he replies casually.

I glare and his eyes rake my body, taunting me even more. He loves to make me mad. He rests the blue shirt on the desk and takes the white one off the hanger.

“What are you working on today?” I ask as I head towards the door, my purse hung on my forearm.

“My proposal for Cobalt Inc.,” he replies. “The board members approved it this morning. It will go into effect within the next few months.”

He still hasn’t revealed what he’s doing to the company.

I think he just wants to surprise me.

I slip into the hallway, wearing a dark purple peplum dress. Before I can go downstairs, Scott ascends them. His ugly gray eyes latch onto mine. Really, whatever part of him was decently cute or hot has suddenly become putrid like a rotten sulfuric swamp.

“Rose, how are you?” he asks cordially.

“Brilliant,” I say. “As always.” What? I never claimed to be humble.

“Of course. You’re a member of Mensa, you graduated in the top one percent of your class, and you know random facts that no one cares about.”

Prick.

He flashes an oily smile.

And there goes my future children. Sorry, Connor. My ovaries just withered and died.

Before I can combat with something much nastier, he says, “Where’s your necklace?”

I frown and my heart jumps in fear. Did I lose it? I quickly touch my chest, and I relax once my fingers find the smooth diamond pendant. I even glance down to double check. The thin chain is still clipped.

Now he’s just trying to pointlessly irritate me. “Go annoy someone else,” I snap, “preferably someone from a different universe. Maybe you’ll reunite with your ancestors.”

I try to shove past him, but he sidesteps and blocks me. “I was talking about your other necklace. The one with more than one diamond.”

“I have many diamond necklaces, Scott,” I retort, not realizing how bitchy and snobbish I sound until it’s too late.

“Not this many diamonds,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “The inside is leather.” And then he drifts to the left, stuffing his hands into his pockets and sauntering away.

I stay frozen, too stunned to force my heel down the stairs.

He was talking about my collar. My diamond collar.

The one I only wear during sex.

And I’ve never had sex outside of the bedroom or anywhere the cameras can film.

Something is wrong.

I sense it deep in my gut.

Dread mixed with paranoia, a nauseous combination, carries my feet downward. I’m on autopilot, trying to shake Scott’s words and continue my daily routine.

Breakfast. A vanilla yogurt with strawberries and granola and then I’m off to New York to introduce myself to the new Calloway Couture staff.

My heels clink against the hardwood in determined steps. Two stairs down and I stop, worried thoughts creeping back, despite my urgency to brush them away.

What the fuck are you doing, Rose? If Scott knows something, I need to confront him. Or talk to Connor. I almost turn around, but I hear the television from the living room below. Two more stairs down, and the voice becomes distinguishable.

“…a top story. Another Calloway girl in a scandal,” the news anchor says. “This time there’s legitimate proof.”

Daisy.

Something happened to Daisy.

 I walk hurriedly, reaching the bottom of the staircase in no time. Loren, Ryke, Lily and Daisy sit on the couch together, their backs facing me. They watch the television above the fireplace, and I march further into the room to have a better look at what’s on screen.

“Oh shit,” Ryke says, seeing me first.

Loren quickly snatches the remote, and the television flickers to black.

I set my hands crossly on my hips and direct my hostility towards my sister’s boyfriend.  “I’m not five-years-old, Loren,” I snap. “You can turn on the news.” Especially if it’s about Daisy.

“No,” Lo says, flipping the remote in his hands nervously. “I’d rather not.”

Ryke runs his fingers through his brown hair—a clear sign that he’s anxious too.

Lily and Daisy huddle together on the couch, cupping their hands by their mouths as they whisper. I frown and scan the area for Ben, Savannah, or Brett, but the camera crew is nowhere to be seen.

That’s…strange.

And why are my sisters acting like gossipmongers in front of me?

Unless…

I refuse to believe what’s right in my face. I don’t want to accept it yet.

I stomp over to Loren on the couch, my five-inch heels never letting me down. They keep my body sturdily upright, confident and fucking poised. I try to snatch the remote from his hand, but he holds onto the other end tightly—as if we’re about to have a tug-of-war.

I glower. “Let go, Loren, unless you’d like me to dislocate your arm.”

He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you tired of making all these empty threats?”

I twist his arm, just like Connor taught me in the self-defense “class” and Lo winces. His grip loosens on the remote, and I take it quickly from his hand.

As he massages his shoulder, he says, “Bitch.”

“Yes, but I’m a bitch with real threats.” I power on the television. When the news pops up, I freeze. Again.

Fixed to the floor. Too cold to move.

“Bet you feel like a bigger bitch right now,” Loren comments.

“Shut up, Lo,” Lily calls out. “Rose…”

I wave her off and turn up the volume. But the headline on the bottom of the screen is vitally clear. Yet, I still have to reread it five times just for the letters to sink in.

Sex Tape of Rose Calloway and Connor Cobalt Sold to Porn Site for $25 Million

Porn site.

Sex tape.

I didn’t sell shit. That little scumbag forged our signatures to a porn distributor? The only satisfaction right now is picturing Scott’s head behind bars because if I imagine the other thing—everyone watching Connor fuck me—a tingling sensation crawls up my arms like thousands of centipedes.

The news doesn’t even bother to explain who we are. Through the reality show and blogs, we’re already famous. Now, I suppose, we’re infamous.

My head buzzes with all the noise from the television, from my friends and sisters. “The producer is none other than Scott Van Wright, Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” I barely catch that line. He’s still my ex-boyfriend? I concentrate on that stupid lie that’s still being aired. When the real shit hits the fan—Scott still manages to keep half his mask on. I hate him.

I have to be stuck in some fucked up nightmare.

Loren tries to grab the remote out of my hand, and I jerk back and turn the volume up. “I’m watching this,” I snap. And there I am.

They play a clip from the sex tape. I’m lying on my bed in this house, naked. Black bars censor the tape for network television, my breasts and vagina sufficiently covered now.

But somewhere online the unedited version is being circulated. And how can I stop it? Lawyers. Lots of them. But I can’t even bring myself to call my father or to dial the family’s attorney. I am hypnotized by me. On screen. With Connor.

My arms are tied to the bedpost with Connor’s belt, and the expensive diamond collar glints in the dim candlelight. I remember that night. It was right after the Alps. My second foray into sex and it’s public for everyone to see.

I turn the volume higher, my finger stuck on the button as it blares.

“Rose,” Loren complains, his hands on his ears.

“Rose.” Lily stands and tries to touch my arm, but I jerk away again.

“Don’t touch me.” I need to see this. No one tells me to turn it down, probably afraid I will kill them for it. I feel murderous. I feel like I could go kill a coalition of baby cheetahs and not bat an eye.

The news anchor’s voice escalates to an intolerable level. But I don’t lower the television. Not yet. “Scott Van Wright has sold the sex tape to Hot Fire Productions for a multi-million-dollar deal. There’s been no comment yet from either Connor Cobalt or Rose Calloway, but it appears to be a legal transaction between all four parties.”

My mouth drops. That fucking liar. There is no way in hell this is legal.

“The summary of the film says the hour-long session is rough and for mature audiences only.” Clearly.

I turn the volume to the highest level.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ryke asks, putting a hand to his ear to block the noise. Lily is the only one standing up by my side. Her face twists in pain, and I remember she’s been in this position. Sort of. She’s never had her sex life distributed. No one has seen it online.

She was just called a sex addict, and everyone took it as truth. Which it was. But this is clear, physical proof that I’ve had sex. I’m no longer a virgin.