Bad Influence

Caroline

I never thought I'd find enjoyment in being arrested for stabbing a man in the ass. The longer you live, the more you learn about yourself, I guess. For example, this morning, I learned that seeing my fiancé fucking his assistant while she’s bent over his desk throws me into a fit of anger.

I also learned that my fiancé’s fuck buddy is not above calling the police and having me arrested for assault.

Assault.

The real assault here was done to my eyeballs because I had to see the back visual of my fiancé coming inside another woman. I flew into a rage and grabbed the nearest sharp object--a letter opener--and moved towards him.

Across from me, the Police Captain shifts in his chair, leaning back to regard me with curious eyes. I swallow thickly.

I may as well start looking for apartments because once this gets back to my parents, they’ll surely kick me out of the house.

The funny thing is, I already know they’re going to support Beckett, my fiancé, in this.

He’s their precious, future son-in-law, the one who can do no wrong, and I’m just their daughter.

“Ms. Sinclair, is there anything you want to say about what happened in Mr. York’s office?” Captain Crane asks.

He’s a handsome man, mid-fifties, with a discerning gaze and a no-nonsense demeanor. I’m not foolish enough to think I’m sitting in his office because he feels my crime isn’t worth the punishment. If it were up to him, I’d be in a cell right now.

Beckett didn’t want to press charges, so the only thing the police officers did was arrest me and bring me here.

“I think Beckett’s ass did all the talking,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that?” Captain Crane leans forward.

I swallow. “Can I get a water?”

Captain Crane leans back in his chair, assessing me with his cool gaze.

I’m sure being pleasant to a criminal goes against his nature.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he bends down and opens the fridge behind his desk, removing a bottle of water which he hands to me.

My family’s reputation in San Francisco means something, and that’s another reason I’m sitting here.

It’s also the reason I wish he’d put me in the cell, so I won’t have to see my mother’s disappointed face.

“Ms. Sinclair, you can’t go around stabbing people because of a disagreement,” Captain Crane says.

I can tell he’s trying to be gentle, like he’s talking to someone who’s prone to lashing out.

The funny thing is, I’ve never done anything reckless before, not even when the opportunity presented itself.

An image flashes in my mind of earnest blue eyes, windswept dark hair.

“Come with me, Caroline.”

I crack open the cap on the water bottle and take a deep pull of the water, drowning the memory.

“The only disagreement I see happening is what happened in Beckett’s office before I walked in,” I say. “Since I’m sure you don’t think Beckett did anything wrong.”

Captain Crane sighs again and doesn’t say anything.

I’m not surprised he supports Beckett. I’m the inconsequential daughter of an influential family who is soon to marry into another influential family.

I look down at my engagement ring. The diamond is tastefully large, sitting on a raised bed, the band studded with smaller diamonds.

It’s a bit much for my taste, but it’s a York family heirloom.

“Caroline.”

I blink at my ring, swallowing down the bitterness and tears, and sitting up straighter.

Slowly, I turn to face my fiancé, who’s just walked into the Captain's office. His hair is perfectly coiffed, the grey suit he’s wearing perfectly tailored and pressed.

It’s a different suit than the one he was wearing this morning when I stabbed him.

I look out the window and notice the shadows have shifted as the day has gone on.

I’m not sure what time it is because my watch was taken from me when I was processed.

Which I found a bit dramatic since I wasn’t technically arrested.

I’ve been here for hours because it’s given Beckett enough time to get discharged from the hospital and come get me.

“Let’s go. We’re going to be late for the gala and you still have to get ready,” Beckett says.

His words grate in my ears, and I swallow the lump in my throat. Because we’re not going to talk about what happened. It’s going to be swept under the rug like so many things are, and I’ll be expected to be the good daughter like always. To fit into the mold already cast for me.

“Captain Crane, since Caroline was never formally arrested, I assume we can leave without any issues,” Beckett continues. His tone suggests he’s not giving the Captain any room to argue.

“Of course, Ms. Sinclair is free to leave,” Captain Crane says.

I stand up, and neither man pays me any attention.

“I appreciate that,” Beckett says. “I hope I’ll see you at the gala tonight with Mrs. Crane.”

The Captain stands and rounds his desk to shake Beckett’s hand. The two men lower their voices as they talk.

“Caroline, let’s go.”

Conversation over, Beckett turns to me and sets a hand on my back. I stiffen, walking faster to get away from the feel of his hand on my body. His hand which was gripping his assistant’s thigh as he told her he was going to fuck her harder than anyone else ever has and she felt so fucking perfect.

I’m suddenly grateful we’ve never had sex. Beckett never initiated and neither did I. I assumed he was just being respectful of my parents and their conservative thinking.

The muggy early evening sticks to my skin when we walk out of the station and Beckett rushes us to his car.

The only reason I continue to walk next to him is because it’s ingrained in me not to react. Appearances must be maintained at all costs. I can be on death’s door and I’ll still be expected to keep a straight face.

There’s a donut pillow on the driver’s seat and the sight of it sends a strange thrill through me.

Beckett winces as he sits down and slams the door shut. I’m surprised the hospital discharged him this quickly. He turns to me, brown eyes blazing.

“I had to get twenty stitches. My ass is numb, our families are losing their minds, and we have the gala tonight.”

I blink at him once, tilting my head. The apology is at the tip of my tongue, burning up my throat. I don’t let it out. “Do you expect me to apologize?”

Closing his eyes, Beckett sighs deeply. He presses the start button and the car gently roars to life.

“I don’t expect you to apologize. I didn’t tell you about Emily, and that was my mistake.”

How does he sound so normal?

“You think telling me about Emily would have made this better?” I ask.

He glances at me as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Come on, Caroline, you know how this works,” he says, like I should know better.

“Actually, I don’t. Because I thought we were getting married.”

I never expected love from Beckett, but I thought I’d at least get some respect.

This is my fault for trying to be perfect for my family.

Trying so hard to fit what they want me to be.

I went to law school, which I enjoyed, and I allowed Beckett to woo me and when he asked me to get married, just like our families expected, I said yes, just like our families expected.

“We are getting married. This doesn’t change anything,” Beckett says.

“Excuse me?” I’m so confused. “You were fucking your assistant in your office this morning. I think that puts a wrinkle in our wedding plans.”

Beckett actually laughs, which infuriates me. There’s a condescending tinge to it, like he can’t believe I’m this stupid.

“Our parents are never going to let you cancel the wedding, Caroline. I know you will never go against them. If you actually think about it, you’ll realize I did this for you.”

We’re stopped at a red light and for one blinding second, I actually consider unlatching my seatbelt and walking into traffic to get away from him.

But where will I go? I’ve never lived anywhere other than my parents home, slowly drowning under the weight of their expectations.

Being engaged to Beckett has eased that burden because in their mind, I’m no longer their responsibility.

“You cheated on me as a favor to me?” I ask through cold lips.

Beckett sighs, pulling the car through the front gates of my house and onto the winding driveway. He parks it and turns to look at me. Sometimes when he looks at me, I wish it was blue eyes staring back at me instead of brown ones.

Reaching out a hand, he brushes my hair back over my shoulder.

“There are some things a man doesn’t do with his wife, Caroline,” he says, tone condescending.

“You’re so beautiful and delicate. I don’t want to hurt you.

It doesn’t mean I want you any less. You’re going to be the perfect wife and being a good husband means I have to protect you from the animalistic nature of sex. ”

I never realized it’s possible for someone to say so many wrong things all at once. I never knew it’ll be possible for my brain to completely run out of my words.

Unable to think of anything in reply, I simply get out of the car and walk into the house.