Be My Bad Boy

As I waited to cross the side street, a car pulled up, splashing water all over me. I shouldn't have expected anything less. I pretty much couldn't think of anything worse. My nose had started running again and I just wiped it on my sleeve. I was filthy anyway and I think I smeared dirt and grime over my face. My hair hung down in rat's tails and I could feel the rain dripping off my fringe, in cold rivulets down my face.
I ran along the next section of street. I just needed to get past there and I'd be home. It'd only be five minutes and I'd be in a warm shower.

As I ran by the last bar on the street, I barged into someone, like hitting a brick wall.
"Sorry, sorry," I said preparing to run on, but he had hold of me.
He brought his face close to mine and scrutinised it.

"I know you. Hannah Sorrento." He stepped back and looked me up and down. "Hannah Sorrento, I can't believe it. You've come down in the world."
My heart stopped.
Then he laughed a lot and nudged his friend. I tried to walk off but they blocked my way. The pair of them were huge.

See, here's the thing. When I was in school, I wasn't always so nice. Sometimes, I might have been a bit mean. Only in fun, you know. But some people don't see it like that. Some people stew over those things and hold it against a person for life. Maybe even looking for revenge. I include Mitch and Cameron in those people. Big, gallomping farm boys with no brains but lots of simmering resentment.
Mitch leaned over right in my face.

"Hah, those rumours I heard about her father must be true. He's a swindler." He pushed me to Cameron
"Karma's a bitch, isn't it Hannah?"
There was another one in their group too. Frog-face. I couldn't remember his real name.
He'd always been known as Frog-face. He did something in the media now. As a camera flash went off in my face, blinding me for an instant, I remembered. He was a journalist.

***

The next morning, I walked into the café with my head held high. So they’d taken a few photos. That didn’t mean anything.
Then I saw it. The newspaper sitting on the table near the barista. A huge photo on the front page of a bedraggled girl. A pain shot through my heart. A sharp, horrible pain that radiated out all over my being.
I couldn’t look at that picture. I didn’t even recognise the person on the front of the paper. She looked filthy and poor and ugly. I turned the paper face down, hoping it would disappear but it seemed like the noise and chatter in the café had turned up to deafening levels and the eyes of everyone in the room burned into my back.

After I gave my order, I turned to look for a seat. I took a few steps then returned and picked up the paper. I had to read the story even if it shattered me.
At least I looked presentable again, I'd put on my most expensive dress. An Alexander Wang woollen dress, casual but unmistakably designer. It was one of only three designer dresses I'd kept. Well, it'd been four but that linen dress was never going to be wearable after the dryer incident. I'd paired it with a cashmere cardigan and a great pair of heels. I'd paid extra attention to my hair and makeup too then surrounded myself with an aura of expensive perfume. No one would equate me with that bedraggled creature in the paper in the elephant pyjamas. I felt protected.

I wanted to buy up every copy of that paper and burn them all. Maybe run around the entire city and buy every copy and burn the lot. But that would cost a fortune and what about the people who got their paper home delivered? I could never get rid of them all. No matter what I did, people would see that photo and they'd read those words.

Maybe if I dyed my hair and had plastic surgery, no one would ever recognise me. I needed a hat. A big hat that would cover my face.
I held my head high as I walked across the room. I defied anyone to judge me. But I found a corner table where I could keep my back to the room.
The pain in my heart kept twisting. All those years when Dad talked about never causing a scandal, never giving anyone reason to talk bad about us. That meant nothing now. The whole city would see our shame.
While I waited, I picked up the paper, by the edge as though it was dirty and would poison my skin. I didn't want to read the news story but I needed to know what they said about me. I picked away at it like a scab on my knee, reading a few words then cringing too much to continue. I threw the paper face down on the table, not wanting that pathetic me staring up at me before I'd even had my coffee.

I slowly turned it over. God, I looked bad. I never imagined that, even on my worst day, I could look so bad. Maybe they'd photoshopped the photo to add extra ugly to my face. There was the big photo of me looking startled, close up with all the impact of the soaking wet hair and the dirty splattered face and the sodden pyjamas.

Millionaire family's downfall – the headlines read.

I imagined all those bitches I’d been at school with, the ones that hated me, reading this and laughing. I could almost hear their laughter ringing out over the city. Saying I deserved this, that they’d always known.
There was another smaller picture with my hand covering my face. They'd taken that one as I tried to get away. After they'd extracted every bit of humiliation and torture they could out of me, they let me run off. I'd had to take all sorts of jeers about Dad being a criminal and conman though. They'd said he'd end up in jail if he were caught. That made me wonder if maybe I should've loaned him the money. Maybe, if I'd been a bit more sympathetic then, he'd have been able to save himself.

I wouldn’t think about. Thinking about it made my eyes prickle. I’d wait until I was alone in my room then I could fall apart.
"Sheesh, what kinda trouble do you get yourself in without me around?"
Angie slid into the seat opposite me as though nothing had happened. I had half a mind to tell her to clear out. I didn't need her, especially after what she'd said last night. But, to be honest, I could've jumped up and kissed her. She was talking to me again, so something had to be right and good. Even if she was angry, angry and talking beat the hell out of angry and silent.

"You're not still mad?" I asked, and shot her a weak smile.
"I'm mad. I mean, you said you were too sick to work then I get to your place and you’re rolling around on the bed with Andy. What's with that? But what's the point of being mad if you don't know I'm mad, so I thought I'd come here. Then I saw that picture on the front of the paper. You probably don't need more shit today, huh."
"It was nothing. He was wiping my nose." It did sound a little bit wrong and unbelievable when I said it like that. I mean, who has some bad boy rock star in their bedroom, rolling around wiping snot. Like some kind of sicko fetish or something. No wonder he preferred the skanky chick. At least she wasn't snotty.
"Aha, you expect me to believe that?"
"Well, it's true." I grimaced at her and wiped my nose to prove my point.
"Wow, even when you're sick, your life is a huge drama. And now this whole exposé thing. What the hell is with you?"
She picked up the paper.

Notes

Happy? Cx