I stare at the computer, fighting back the excessive blinking from the strain of the flickering screen.
My vision is blurred; a rainbow of colors and shapes that make no sense at all. The palm of my hand is covered in sweat, nervously twitching on top of the mouse. My chest tightens, my heart beating erratically like a crazed lunatic trapped inside an asylum.
The clock on the wall is loud. Every sound in the room is amplified.
Or perhaps—I’ve officially gone insane.
The tips of my fingers move on their own accord, typing so slowly that each key echoes inside our barely furnished apartment.
His name sits within the search engine. All I needed to do is hit search. Simple, right? There would be no turning back. No erasing of information that would find a home inside my reactive brain and just remain there forever because it had this stupid way of retaining information I didn’t need.
Like the time I accidentally read a love letter from my dad to my mom. It started off like a romance novel then quickly progressed to X-rated porn. And the time I walked in on my brother helping himself to a copy of Hustler perched on his bedside table. Information I retained yet was desperate to erase.
Click.
My eyes wander hastily across the screen. Millions of findings and an overload of information that seemed too much to handle. Where do I start? How, and why, would there be so much information on one human being?
The second finding from the top is a popular website. I figure it would be the most trustworthy resource, and within seconds—his profile appears.
There’s a picture of him on the top right corner. Dazzling smile with hair styled like a movie star, dressed in a black tuxedo and matching bow tie. He looks nothing like the man I know. Facial hair non-existent and skin that looks flawless. There’s no dark circles around his eyes and more notably, the scar that scrapes the bottom of his jawline can’t be seen.
Okay, breathe. Just read the bits you want to read and forget the rest.
Wesley Wade Richland (born September 3, 1987), known professionally as Wesley Rich, is an American actor. Rich became famous on reality television as one of the leading stars in Generation Next.
He most recently starred in the controversial movie Riding the High playing a troubled man Dexter Dickson who was born to an addict mother and shows how it impacted his life. Critics praised Rich on his ability to portray such a disturbed character and many believed that the fictional story was not so far from the truth.
In 2013, Rich was scouted to appear on an upcoming reality show that followed the lives of young adults and their generation. It was during the first season that viewers watched Rich fall in love with co-star Emerson Chase. Their relationship became a media frenzy with Forbes dubbing them the next power couple. It was estimated that their combined fortune was over $80 million after negotiations for a third season leaked and the two stars were reportedly earning $1 million per episode.
At the beginning of Season 3, Rich proposed to Chase in Paris and soon after, the cracks appeared each episode. Rich had been caught in a drug scandal which prompted his breakup with Chase. Fans took to social media blaming him for his addiction and infidelity that led to the split. Rich admitted on a reunion show that he struggled being in the limelight and spent time in rehab after the season aired.
Rich’s personal life made headlines again, including reports of alcohol abuse and allegations of domestic violence against former co-star Farrah Beaumont which resulted in her miscarrying a baby. He was arrested for DUI in Miami on New Years’ Day; the accident he was involved in caused an elderly man to be in critical condition. Rich was sentenced to jail for 12 months but the judge released him on probation after two months.
Gina Geller, Rich’s mother, publicly came out that her son had been abused as a child by her former husband and billionaire tycoon Harold Green. Rich responded to her claims on social media calling her a ‘pathetic excuse for a mother’ and leaking information about her four previous marriages. During this heated family feud that played out publicly, Rich was accused of being an accomplice in the Malibu drownings which saw two ladies’ bodies washed up on shore. The judge ruled out foul play and Rich was acquitted on all counts but his longtime friend, Max Kane, was charged for sexual assault.
I push my chair back as far away from the computer as possible. The heat inside the room is at boiling point. I run to the window in a frenzy to open it and breathe in fresh air. The outside noise and hustle of the neighborhood surround me yet I’m tone deaf. Words after words repeating in my head and taunting me over, and over, again.
This man—in my eyes—deserved so much more than a slap on the wrist and a stint in rehab.
He is also my boss’s ex-fiancé.
He is dangerous.
Danger had a way of finding me, or maybe—I was the dangerous one.
My cell flashes on my bed; a stream of messages from the man himself.
Bad Boy Rich.
It had been the week from hell.
A series of unfortunate events that should have come with a warning.
It started off with some moron from overseas trying to hack into my bank account. I had no clue that it happened until the bank notified me that my ac
count had been temporarily suspended. No big deal except I was in the middle of ordering a foot-long sub and had just asked the lady serving to pack on extra olives and meatball sauce. Great—when you have money to pay for it. Unfortunately, I had no cash in my purse and a card that wouldn’t work. It was embarrassing, mortifying…I could go on. I walked away hungry and with a very annoyed sandwich artist mouthing off profanities even after I explained my situation.
From then on, things went downhill. The photocopy machine decided to be my arch-nemesis. Paper jam alert in some secret crevice that gave me a paper cut when I went in to retrieve it. My computer did this update thing and I lost all my contacts in the process. Then the icing on the already screwed-up cake—my boss told me she was retiring. Since it was her law firm, I would be jobless in just two short months.
It was a shitty week.
There had to be a bottle of wine calling my name. Until I found out that the truck carrying the latest shipment of alcohol broke down outside of Anchorage and the only thing that Billy, our local grocer, had stocked in his store was beer.
I didn’t care for beer.
Mom, as usual, was my knight in shining armor. She knew exactly how to make me feel better and it involved her world-class lasagne. Five types of cheese melted in between a Bolognese sauce that was so saucy it made you drool just staring at it.
Though, I should have known it was a ploy. Smelled the rat that followed the delicious meal.
“I’m going to put the house on the market.”
The lasagne that sits on the plate in front of me suddenly loses its appeal. With my fork sitting firmly between my fingers, I place it down on the edge of the plate and raise my eyes to meet Mom’s. I’m sure this is some sort of joke. A prank to tip me over the edge after a bad week. I’m mentally scrambling to check the date. No, it’s not April Fool’s Day. Not that mom was the type of person to pull pranks.
My brother, Flynn, silently chews on his last bite. Upon his final swallow, his expression mirrors mine as we stare in confusion, awaiting her explanation.
Mom pushes her chair out, and walks towards the counter where she retrieves a yellow envelope that had been sitting around for weeks. She carefully removes the contents and places them in the middle of the table. It’s a brochure: Rose Meadow Care Facility. I flick through the brochure, pages of people sitting around the facility with smiles on their old faces. Mom is only fifty-five, and this place appears to be a senior citizens’ gateway to death.
“Mom, I don’t understand. You want to sell our house?”
She nods, keeping her lips tight and emotions restrained. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way, the two of you taking care of me. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that. I don’t want to be a burden on you.”
“Mom.” I push my chair back and fall onto my knees, clasping her hand in mine. “You’re not a burden. Please don’t do this. I’ll find another job. Granted, it may not pay as well as now but I could pick up a third job. Many people have three jobs. If that’s what I need to do to pay for a full-time nurse.”
She shakes her head, ignoring my desperate pleas. This is just another one of her episodes. This will pass. Tomorrow we will all wake up and this conversation will be forgotten.
“I know what you’re thinking, Milana, and this won’t pass. I’ve spoken to a professional who will follow through with my plans despite my condition. I can’t do this anymore. You have to understand that I only want the best for you both and that’s not staying here.”
She called me by my full name. She only did that when I was in trouble and when she was dead serious about something. On its own accord, my head is shaking left to right, fear turning into anger, refusing to allow her to do this. She isn’t thinking straight. This is our family home. A home that my grandpapa built with his bare hands. He would be rolling over in his grave if he knew his only daughter was selling this place.
“This is not the best for us!” I raise my voice, pulling away from her. “You’re our mother. Taking care of you is our job. Just keep the house and we’ll sort something out.”
“Full-time help is costly, and frankly—I’m tired.” She lowers her head, keeping her gaze down. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow let alone five minutes from now. I need to be somewhere with people who know how to help me.”
Flynn is quietly sitting at the table, offering no words to stop Mom from making this rash decision. I glare at him, demanding he speak up and help me convince her this is stupid. When he doesn’t say a word, I begin to panic at the thought of this going ahead. The knot in my stomach is tightening; my fingers twitching while I hold down the urge to dry heave from the tightness in my chest.
“I promise you we can keep the house, Mom. Like I said, I’ll just get another job.”