Chapter 20 – Braxton
CHAPTER TWENTY
brAXTON
We're about halfway done with this shit show, and I'm regretting inviting my mom.
During a commercial break, I wave at her in the front row of the audience and smile, but it's faker than hell.
It's been about twenty minutes since Pookie stormed away from the stage, and he hasn't returned.
I'm starting to think he's not going to, that he's done for good.
With two minutes on the clock, I decide to go look for him and run into a frenzied Jules in the hall. "What the hell is this?"
"It's a reunion," she says deadpan, completely void of the usual pep in her voice. There are dark bags under her eyes. "The first one is always the toughest."
"It's an ambush," I sneer.
"Production wasn't happy," she says slowly, choosing her words carefully. "They wanted reality and decided you were all hiding too much."
There's a heaviness in her tone, tired with an inkling of sadness. She and Talon have been interchangeable up until this point, but I don't think she would have played any part in the Cameron setup.
Still, I have to be sure. "Did you know about Cameron?"
She shakes her head and ekes out, "No."
I give her a nod before brushing past her to find Pookie with only a minute left until the commercial break is over. I find him outside on the patio, his lips trembling from the cold. I wrap my arms around him, offering my warmth, and guide him to the door.
Once inside, he wipes the tears from his reddened cheeks.
"I'm so sorry." I rub my hands over his arms. "If you want to get the hell out of here, I'll go. Fuck this place and fuck these people."
"I'm not crying because I'm sad," he whimpers, and I lift my gaze to meet his.
"There's this weight that's been lifted.
It fucking sucks it had to be lifted this way, but I feel free from all this shit in my past." He ducks away, sniffling.
"Maybe this is the push I needed to confront it?
In some weird, fucked-up way, maybe Talon and Matty saved me from the chains of my past."
I purse my lips. "That's what psychologists call Stockholm Syndrome."
He chuckles through the emotions, the first honest laugh he's had all day. It's infectious. "So what do you say? Do we walk back on that stage and kick everyone's asses?"
"I'm ready to rumble." He readies himself with both fists held in front of his face and jabs each of them forward, punching the air.
Thank God he's not a fighter because his form is awful.
As we return from the break, the audience erupts in applause, hungry for more blood. I sit in a rather comfortable position on the couch, my arms stretched out along the back on either side—one behind Pookie and the other behind Dixon.
Mr. Pink cups his chin with one hand, massaging his thumb and pointer finger through his beard. He stares straight ahead, somewhere out in the audience, unfocused and, if I had to guess, still reeling from the earlier revelations. For his part, Talon has slipped into the shadows.
Matty, ever the shit-stirring host, gets straight to work. "Braxton, we have a lot to talk about."
I choke on a gulp. That whole ready to fightthing goes straight out the window.
Matty picks up a cue card and waves it in front of his face. "We got a lot of questions about you and Tamra. Vicki from Maine wants to know more about your relationship prior to filming. Was it always this strained?"
An easy enough question, but I recognize it's most likely a softball to butter me up before bludgeoning me over the head with a gavel. "I don't want to dig too far into the past, but unfortunately, the cameras picked up right at the end of our relationship."
"Tell the truth, Braxton."
I swallow nervously. So much for waiting until next season. I narrow my gaze at her, warning that I won't fight fair.
"It's always been strained," she says, looking directly at the host. "Sometimes, couples don't work out for this reason or that, and unfortunately, it was simply the end of the road for us."
"Right..." Matty's declaration is drawn out. "But you did cheat on him, correct? Surely, that would be the end of most relationships."
I can't help but snicker under my breath, but immediately fix my face when I catch her glaring. I tuck my face away behind Dixon and proceed with my enjoyment of her being raked over the coals.
"I regret my decisions," Tamra says, choking on her words. Razzie Award-worthy fake tears. "I was going through a lot behind the scenes, and I made a bad decision, but ultimately, I believe us parting ways was for the best."
"I agree." I pass her a sideways glance. "Funnily enough, I think we're both in a much better place."
Matty cocks his head sideways, an amused expression creeping over his gossip-obsessed lips. "But she did accuse you of being a drug addict, or at least strongly implied it. Between the cheating and the accusations, surely there must be some kind of bad blood?"
Tamra juts forward in her seat and raises a pointed finger. "I never actually accused him of doing drugs."
Matty sighs and tosses the stack of cue cards onto the stand beside him. "What are we doing here if we're not going to be honest?"
Tamra smiles widely, exposing all her teeth. "I don't know what you mean."
Matty twirls his fingers in the air. "Roll the tape."
The room darkens as footage begins to roll. Tamra and I are in the dressing room at Mr. Pink's. I remember the scene all too well—Tamra has just asked me if I'm on drugs because of my behavior. Then I lean into her ear, clearly not understanding just how strong the microphones are.
My voice is a dry rumble, "I know what you're doing. You're not going to turn this into a storyline. Do you understand me? I'll burn us all to the ground before I take the fall."
The screen goes black, and a satisfied smirk passes over Matty's lips. "That's pretty damning, I'd say."
I look at Pookie to my left, powerless to help me.
I look at Dixon to my right. Then to Tamra, and finally straight into the camera.
There's no getting out of this. The decision to film a live reunion is making a lot more sense because I'm more certain than ever before the whole thing is a fucking setup.
Finally, I settle on a lie that comes out like razors on the back of my throat, "We all smoke marijuana."
"Braxton..." Matty shakes his head with a quiet laugh. "Do you have a problem with the truth?"
Before I can respond, another clip begins to play.
The camera is zoomed in on the bathroom door in Maverick's penthouse.
About fifteen seconds into the clip, the door opens.
I leave the bathroom first, scrubbing a finger beneath my nose, and Dixon follows right after.
Tamra's voice begins to play over the footage before cutting to a confessional of her sitting alone in front of the camera.
"I saw Braxton and Pookie out last night," she says, her legs crossed.
Talon prods her out of frame, "Did you notice anything off about him?"
She clears her throat before answering, "He was higher than a kite, dancing with Pookie."
I freeze in place as the screen fades to black.
A chorus of gasps from the audience sends me spiraling into a pitch-black void.
This was supposed to be fun. It's no consolation, but at least there's remorse written all over Tamra's face.
A dark cloud of regret in her eyes about the words she can't take back.
"Maybe..." I choke out and collect my breath.
"Maybe we should start being honest." I nod, giving myself the courage to say what needs to be said, but I know my mom's watching in the audience.
I can't even bear to look in her direction for fear of being met with disappointment.
I know I can't tell the full truth. Society is too harsh on recreational use.
You get caught high one time in your life, and all of a sudden, you're painted an addict. "That night, I did—"
"You don't need to explain yourself," Mr. Pink growls. He turns to Matty with a scowl. "Move onto the next question."
"I think the audience wants to hear his answer," Matty shoots back.
"I said move on," Mr. Pink rips the cue card out of Matty's hand and tears it in half.
"You're the boss," Matty says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He grabs another cue card but doesn't even look at it. That's how I know it's about to be another attack on my character. It's fucking planned. "There's been a lot of discussion about your friendship with Pookie. Let's take a look."
A montage of clips plays:
Unseen footage from a hidden camera as Pookie dances on me in the dressing room.
Pookie crawling across the circle during the game of spin the bottle and kissing me.
Both of us dancing on the bar, when Pookie bends over to pull his jeans over his ass, I stare at him for a little too long with a sly grin.
Footage of Pookie and I exiting the bathroom at Mr. Pink's, the camera zooming in on what looks to be cum on my boots.
Talon's voice carries over the rest of the footage, "When we set out to film this show, we were dedicated to an honest portrayal of the Pink Stallions. What we found, though, was that the participants weren't willing to share their real lives."
And then, the final nail in the coffin to the life I wasn't ready to let go. A pitch black screen, but me and Pookie's conversation aired out for the world to hear.
"You deserve something more than this,"I say."Something more than being fucked in backrooms because we can't be seen on the dancefloor."
To which, Pookie responds, "I like being fucked in darkrooms."
"Not the point," I grumble. "I'm scared I won't ever be ready to say it myself, and I'm scared you'll get tired of waiting and you'll find some other sexy himbo to fuck you in darkrooms."
The clip ends.
The lights turn back on.
Complete fucking silence.
Mr. Pink shares an empathetic glare.
And Matty, piece of shit Matty... He smirks as he leans back in his chair, gripping the arms of it as if he's some goddamn king. "How long have you been fucking?"