CHAPTER 7

Bastian

Most days, I considered myself a good person. I did everything in my power to be kind to others even if they didn't deserve it, and it took a lot to anger me. I tried to be honest, brave, and stay positive in situations that would make most people crack. It wasn't that I was perfect or anything, but my mom had always impressed upon me that our money and status didn't entitle us to treat others as if they were beneath us. She said that our actions were what defined us, not our words, so I should always work to show people that I had a good heart.

A part of me suspected that she was so adamant in teaching me that lesson because she knew that my dad would try to instill the exact opposite values. My dad was a politician through and through, making everything about appearances and putting on a mask that portrayed strength to the world while hiding any weaknesses in a locked box ten feet below ground.

Micah was the first person to genuinely see past the glamorous mirage of my family's image and get to know the real me. The real me who only played sports in high school because my dad pressured me to, or the real me that was an actual tech geek who wanted nothing more than to be a web developer or app designer rather than go into political science or business like my dad was requiring me to. Micah wasn't interested in my friendship because of our big house, my dad's money, or my popularity in school. He was captivated by my own personality, my interests, and the way things had always felt effortless between us. He was my constant that kept me grounded in tumultuous circumstances, that gave me perspective when I was too blind to see clearly, that helped me want to be a better person even more than my mother's words compelled me to.

Too bad it didn't matter. I was a shit human being and I didn't deserve my best friend.

When I got back to Austin after the weekend at UNT, I was a fucking mess. That morning with Micah was so far outside the realm of how we normally were that it was screwing with my head. Leaving him that time cut deeper than any other time I had left before, but the only emotion emanating off of him was relief. He probably didn't think I had noticed it, but my MM was pretty damn easy to read, and I knew then that I had royally fucked up.

I spent my time that week alone in my apartment, ignoring my friends' texts and offers to go out drinking, opting instead to get drunk on my couch while bingeing episodes of The Office and pretending like I hadn't damaged our friendship beyond repair. When the texts and phone calls from my dad started rolling in, I avoided them like the plague knowing full well what he wanted to discuss.

Last November, right around the Thanksgiving holiday, my dad had invited me over to the house for dinner with a "close colleague" of his and his family. I didn't think much of it. This was dad's modus operandi after all. He ignored me for ninety-eight percent of the time, and then turned around for the other two percent when he needed to wheel me out like a prize cow for his colleagues or friends.

We were just about to sit down for dinner that night when the doorbell rang, and my father ushered me into the foyer with him to greet our guests. Mr. Whitten was a portly man with a thick beard shaved down to only encompass his mouth, and a balding mop of hair on his head that was graying with age. He reeked of expensive cologne and carried himself with the same arrogance that my dad did. What was unnerving about him were his striking blue eyes that seemed so clear they could be glass. His wife, Mrs. Whitten, was the quintessential trophy wife. She was tall and lean with a rack that was the best money could buy, and even though you could tell she had some Botox done, she was still a very beautiful woman. Her dark brown locks were twisted up into a flawless updo, and her heels put her at least an inch taller than her husband.

All three of them prattled on for a minute, remarking on the weather and how glad they were to have this chance to get together. Then Mr. Whitten stepped aside and a short, slender girl about my age stepped in between them.

"Ah, and here is the light of my life, my darling Ainsley! Ainsley dear, this is Mr. Dupont and his son, Bastian," Mr. Whitten blathered away. There was the usual minuscule flinch from me whenever someone in my dad's world used my full name. It was like that name held all the expectations and weight of responsibility that came from being Rupert Dupont's son, and I hated it.

Ainsley was an attractive girl with thick, curly dark locks like her mother, but she had the same piercing blue eyes as her father. On her, it was less unnerving and more like they could see right through to your soul. Not in a warm, accepting way that Micah's did, but in an almost cold, calculating way that left you feeling naked and vulnerable under her gaze.

The fact I wasn't told she would be there was the first clue that I had been played.

"Ahh yes, the lovely Ainsley," my dad schmoozed, "I have heard such delightful things about you. I hear you're attending UT Austin just like Bastian is! It's amazing you both haven't crossed paths before!"

I had to suppress the urge to roll my eyes and remind my dad that there were over 50,000 students at our school, so it was nowhere near as impossible as he believed for us to have never met before. But fuck if I was going to mention that to him then.

"Well, it's a shame I haven't met you before, Bastian, or this would have been a lot less awkward," Ainsley said demurely, her eyes flicking over me in blatant appreciation.

Fuck. I knew exactly where this was going.

I just chuckled politely, at a loss for what to say as I waited for my dad to take over the conversation again and lead us to the dining room. It came as no surprise that dad had instructed that mine and Ainsley's place settings end up right next to each other. I was no longer shocked by anything my dad did. He was manipulative and scheming to a fault, especially when it came to finding an advantage for himself. My guess was Ainsley and I were pawns in our fathers' games, meant to be moved and played with in whatever way worked best for them.

I tuned out for most of dinner as they all inanely babbled away, but my ears eventually caught onto my dad mentioning his annual Christmas party. I should have seen it coming from a mile away, but he cornered me into bringing Ainsley as my date. In a move of great stupidity all I said was "Sure, sounds great."

*****

In the following weeks leading up to Christmas break, I had managed to avoid Ainsley as much as I could, despite my father giving her my cell number, unbeknownst to me. Just another example of the control my father tried to exert over each corner of my life.

Ainsley was a nice enough girl, but I really wasn't interested in pursuing anything romantically with her. What I had told Micah for the last year was true; I didn't really want anything serious at this point in my life. However, my father apparently didn't get the memo because one weekend when I went down to see my mom, he told me in no uncertain terms that he expected me to be getting to know Ainsley "personally".

In dad speak, that meant I had better be courting her to the best of my abilities or there would be hell to pay. In the past, my dad had always made subtle threats if he felt I wasn't on board with anything he required of me. He'd make a passing mention of how grateful I should be for my car, or how terrible it would be if I had to spend my summer break in a full-time internship rather than with Micah and my other friends. As I got older, he would mention how expensive college was, and how it would be so damn hard to get through any of it without his financial support. I knew they weren't idle threats. My father would follow through on them if he was pushed to his limits.

So I sucked it up and took Ainsley to the Christmas party. It was another tedious affair full of my parents' friends and the constituents my dad was courting for their votes next year, and I made quick friends with the server and his never-ending supply of cocktails. Micah had come to most of the Christmas parties over the years, but he and his parents had plans that night and couldn't make it.

I was actually relieved he wouldn't be there, but I wasn't sure why I worried about him seeing me with Ainsley. Something about it didn't sit right, just like all the other times I was hesitant to talk about my love life with him.

Ainsley was polite and sweet, but we had nothing in common. Not that she seemed to care, seeing as how she stayed plastered to my side the entire night. She had a wandering hand though and kept pressing into my body any chance she got in a not-so-subtle fashion, and if I had been less inebriated, I would have been more firm in halting her advances.

I'm not sure what possessed me to agree to give her a tour of the house, but my blood alcohol level definitely had a hand in it. When we got to my room, Ainsley grabbed my hand to drag me inside with her. She closed the door behind us, and I heard the telltale click of the lock. Before I could even get my drunken bearings, she was on me, attacking me with forceful kisses and tearing at my clothes.

Look, it had been a while since I had fucked anyone and it's hard not to react when you have a girl throw themselves at you, no matter if you really like them or not. In my plastered state, I gave into it and started ripping off her clothes as she undid mine.

Five minutes later, I was slipping on a rubber and pounding into her, frantic in a way that spoke to the level of my intoxication. I remember it feeling strange to have her small frame beneath me, her delicate hands clawing at my shoulders, and her voice whining in my ear. I wasn't a playboy by any stretch, but I was no stranger to sex or random hookups, and I had never had this reaction to one of my sexual partners before. I was usually way more into it, even if I had no real interest in the girl beyond what she could offer me that night. Ainsley was different.

After the world's fastest, most unsatisfying orgasm, I laid there next to her catching my breath with the sinking feeling settling into my gut that I had just fucked around and sealed my fate.

After that, it was near impossible to get rid of Ainsley. To her, my dad, her parents, and whomever she felt inclined to tell, we were dating. It wasn't that she was a horrible person or anything truly bad, but I just felt…wrong when I was with her. Every once in a while she'd do her best to seduce me into bed with her again, and a few times I gave in. Each time though was unfulfilling and left me with a twisting, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I couldn't shake. I didn't know where it came from, but every time it happened, Micah's face would pop up unbidden in my mind.

I chalked it up to feeling bad that I wasn't telling him about Ainsley. Deep down I knew it was more than that, but I hadn't been ready to inspect that idea any closer. To me, my relationship with Ainsley was purely for image sake to get my dad off my back, and even the romps in the sack with her were like ticking off check-boxes on the boyfriend requirements. At least, that's how they felt.

I told Micah that I couldn't help him move in today because I was busy, but I neglected to tell him that my dad had more or less commanded me to bring Ainsley with me to attend a luncheon he was hosting for some of his major donors. Even begging him to let me out of the commitment to help Micah fell on deaf ears, and I once again folded under the pressure. When we got back to my apartment, Ainsley decided now was the perfect time to bring up how distant and uninterested I had been lately.

That was the understatement of the fucking century.

I didn't want to fight with her, mainly because I had no desire to explain to her how I had really been feeling about our so-called relationship, but also I had a desperate need to see Micah knowing he was now just a few blocks away.

This last week with minimal communication between us had been the fucking worst. I missed him more each day, and I wanted nothing more than to make things normal between us again. He had been texting me on and off all day as he was driving to Austin, then again when he and his parents were unloading at his apartment, and then a final text asking if I wanted to get lunch. I read the message, but then Ainsley didn't allow me a second to answer it before her unavoidable questions and whining had prevented me from texting him back. I also didn't know how to respond to him. Fuck, of course I wanted to go eat with him and see him again, but I was barely able to fend off Ainsley right now, let alone get her out of my apartment.

When I heard the knock on the door, I had been locked in my room to escape Ainsley's interrogation and undress in peace without her trying to grope me and get us heated. It took me all of five seconds to figure out who was there. I knew it in my bones. There was never a time when I wasn't acutely aware of his presence near me.

"Shit! Oh shit shit shit shit!" I hissed as I started trying to get dressed at warp speed before Ainsley could open the door and ruin fucking everything.

Of course, that was a delusional wish because there was no way in hell I could come out of this unscathed.

All my fears were realized in a single heartbeat as I heard Micah say he was looking for me. I heard Ainsley mumble something unintelligible, and then Micah told her he was my best friend and asked her who she was.

FUCKING FUCKSTICKS!

I raced out of my room to prevent the inevitable as Ainsley let out the words I was dreading more than death for Micah to hear without context.

The minute I heard her say the word "girlfriend", I knew I was utterly and totally screwed. That was confirmed a second later when I flung the door open wider to see Micah's face…and He. Was. Pissed.

Goddammit.