Born Wrong(24)
“I could get her for you, Dax. You could be happy. You could have everything you ever wanted. We need another drummer for Ice and Glass, you know? Lola's so out, she's practically toe tagged.”
“Hayden, stop!” I shout, and I don't hold back. I stand up and the world spins around me. “This isn't you. It doesn't have to be you!”
“We could get rid of Turner. We could … we could get Naomi. You could keep her warm and safe and comfortable. Dax, you could fuck her whenever you wanted. You could – ” I move forward and before I know what I'm doing, I'm slapping Hayden hard across the face. I don't mean to do it, not really, but I can't seem to control the rage that's building up inside of me. I want to believe the best about people, but I can't. I can't. Why? Why does the world have to be so fucking cruel.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Hayden,” I bite out at her, turning away as she scrambles at my arm, digging her nails into my bicep, drawing blood.
“Dax, no!” Hayden screeches, and her voice echoes around in my head like a curse. She loves me, I think, but I don't love her. I really wish I did. Maybe then I could figure out a way to free her from herself? I wonder if Naomi feels the same way about me? If she wishes she could love me. But love's not an emotion that can be forced. It has to fall from your heart like a skydiver, floating through the air, captive to no one. Eventually though, eventually you have to hit the ground. “Don't leave me, Dax! I love you. I love you. God, I love you.” I jerk my arm from her grip, slamming my hands against the door, palms flat against the wood as I lean forward and suck in a massive breath, gritting my teeth and holding back the tears of frustration that are threatening to tear through my eyes. “Dax, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dax. Just please don't leave. Don't leave. Everybody always leaves me.”
I stand there for a minute as she wraps her arms around my waist, and I almost give in and stay. Almost, almost, fucking almost.
“I could give you the world, Dax, if you'd just let me. We could make things happen together.”
“Like making Naomi my sex slave?” I whisper bitterly, my breath fogging against the glossy paint on the door.
“Whatever you want, Dax. I would never say no to you; I love you.” I squeeze my hands into fists. I'm so disgusted by Hayden right now, I can barely breathe. My chest feels tight and my heart hurts like crazy. All I want to do right now is lay down and sleep it off. Fuck.
“Yeah, well, I don't love you.”
And then I push back, untangle her arms from around me, and storm out the door.
I wonder if I'll regret that decision later.
“Is it true that you identify as a woman, Mr. McCann?” the interviewer asks me. She's a pretty chick with long, blonde hair and a movie star smile, but fuck. Really? Really? I turn and glance over my shoulder, catching America's forced smile. She's standing next to a table covered in finger food. When she sees me looking at her, and not at the reporter, she gets this mean look that I'd be hard pressed to describe. Just imagine what a crocodile would look like if you first crossed it with a velociraptor, and then pissed it off.
I sigh. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. My interview is going nothing like Turner Campbell's. Or Naomi's. Or even Hayden's. Why am I sucking so freaking much? I turn back to the woman, Pearl I think is her name. Nothing hip or cool about that. My grandmother's name, on my dad's side, is fucking Pearl. I keep reminding myself of that as I stare into her white-blue eyes and try to think up an appropriate response. Somewhere nearby, somebody's chuckling. Fucking Turner Campbell, piece of shit eating, self-aggrandizing sack of garbage.
“If you mean, do I embrace my feminine side, sure.” The laughter intensifies, and I have to fight the urge to get up and pummel the crap out of Turner. Maybe he could kick my ass; maybe not. But he reminds me of all the boys in high school that made fun of me, teased me to within an inch of my life. I won't take that crap anymore. Not from anyone. I've tried to be civil, but I have a breaking point. I probably won't go all bat shit crazy like Ronnie McGuire, beat a guy to a pulp on the street, but you never know.
The reporter's eyebrows are raised now. I try to cut in before she can comment on that.
“All I mean is that I'm in touch with my feelings.” Her smile gets a little wider, and I can tell I am fucking this up so bad, it's nobody's business. Okay. Breathe, Dax. Breathe. You can do this. I imagine my dad might read this, too. He's not going to like it, not one bit. “Look lady, I have a dick and I'm quite aware of it, okay? I'm not a woman, and I'm not interested in being a woman. That doesn't mean I have to be a self-serving, penis worshipping sack of shit.” Pearl's mouth twitches, but her smile never changes. She didn't like me from the moment I walked in here. Fine. Whatever. I don't care.