Yours Truly—Chapter 9

Todd Brunson shoved his microphone in the president’s face.

“Can you tell me why you are so cagey about your son’s criminal behavior? Did you cheat on your wife? Talk to me. Talk to me.”

The president remained silent. Thomas Franklin had a son who had sold pot during his teen years—before it was legal. He had indeed cheated on his wife and the press was suspicious. Despite all of the media attention, he’d refused to say a word. In fact, he would still see Amanda on Saturday nights, but his wife, Agatha, didn’t really know. She was suspicious, but she had no evidence to prove her doubts and no one else did. No one in the media.

There were no pictures. No videos. Just People’s magazine suspicions. That was it. They’d seen him at lunch with Amanda and jumped to conclusions.

Sure, they were right, but he’d take it to his grave before he told them a word.

The fact was, Todd Brunson himself was not married, but he’d been in a relationship with Jean Johnson—a brunette who’d been nothing but lovely to him.

Despite this, he’d already cheated on her with no less than five women. He couldn’t even remember their names—just that they were beautiful and each had big tits, long hair, and an eagerness to fuck him in their eyes.

He remembered last night, though he’d tried to forget it, throwing himself into his job by focusing on someone else’s bullshit.

The president cheating on his wife would make a good story, and Todd Brunson would do anything for a good story. Unless the story was about him, of course. If any of his escapades came out in the public, he’d be devastated. But that wasn’t about to happen. He was too busy digging for dirt on people more famous than him for that to ever happen, or so he thought.

“DID YOU CHEAT ON HER? C’MON! ANSWER THE QUESTION! ANSWER!”

He shouted after the president, who slammed the door a little too loudly and went into the oval office to cry and pour himself a glass of rum that was nearly overflowing.

This job was taking a toll on him. His eyes were red from trying to get Palestine and Israel to come to some compromise, attempting to support pro-choicers when republicans were at his neck night and day and, finally, attempting to make it easier for immigrants to enter the Land of the Free.

It is all just too much. Now they have fucking dirt on me. I’ll have to deal with another damn media storm, like I’m not already handling enough!

His wife stormed into the room.

“I hear you’re cheating on me?”

“Uh. I’m not, I swear. You know how these people are. Anything for a good story. They chase down dirt. They ruin people’s reputations for a living.”

He slammed his glass down on his desk so hard it shattered to pieces, which fell on the floor, littering it like the words on the page ruining his reputation bit by bit.

“I don’t believe you. Bastard.”

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door.

Todd marched away, disappointed that the man hadn’t answered the question. He headed home, wondering where he was going to get his next story—he was a reporter, after all, so he needed something to report constantly: He had to remind the public that he is here. He is loud. He is proud. He is dedicated.

He’d worked on his writing since he was 18 years old, and he hadn’t had much success until his thirties, so he was determined to stay in the limelight.

He loved his job, even more than he loved his girlfriend. Well, that was a poor comparison. To be frank, he loved his job more than he loved sex, and he was openly a sex addict who refused to go to any sort of counseling. He loved it too much to stop. He loved it too much to even want to stop.

But there was one thing Todd Brunson loved even more than his job: Power.

Brunson would do anything for power.

A prime example of this was with his mother. He’d done a smear piece on her after she’d been caught cheating by his father Bill.

Miss Samantha Carlton was caught redhanded, her cheeks flushed red, heart pounding in her chest.

She had been unfaithful, and her whole family knew it. As far as we were concerned, she should rot in hell…

This had actually been his first big break. He’d immediately earned a reputation for throwing his own mother under the bus, but he didn’t care: He was rolling in dough.

They were now estranged, but he was proud of himself regardless.

Maybe she didn’t like it, but it had been poetic. She should admit that, honestly.

She never did. She should tell him how she feels. No, she shouldn’t. He doesn’t want to fucking know. All he wants to do is go to the strip club and bring pretty girls home. He doesn’t seem to care about anything else.

Nonetheless, he finds himself a bit hollow on dreary nights, after the alcohol has worn off.

He has a weakness for rum, but he only drinks it on Friday nights—to decompress. No one at the media firm has any idea he does this.

Oh no. He’s fucked himself up all on his own. He’d given his relationship with his mother up for a chance at fame, after all, and he didn’t even think he’d get filthy rich like he had.

He wanted fame for its own sake, desiring the feeling he experienced when women threw themselves at him, begging him to have sex with them in poorly lit hotel rooms until the sun rose the next morning, catering to his every whim.

One morning, he was scouting for stories and listening to the radio when he heard about the whole deal with Tom and Jane.

This is something I can really sink my teeth into.

He thought to himself.

They won’t know what to do without me. I’ll make their lives a living hell. Damn I love my job. I have to get my hands on that video.

Tom and Todd had a history. Back in grade school, Todd used to be absolutely cruel to him. There was one incident in particular that stood out to Tom to this day, making him hate the bastard from a deep hurt in his soul, threatening to boil to the surface if he ever set his eyes on the man again.

Bastard. He has no moral IQ. Honestly, he’s just a little bitch. A little pussy with way too much money and way too many women who don’t know who he really is. If only they knew what he’d done to his own mother. They’d been close before that.

But the women had never bothered to find out. Not once. They only saw his good looks and chiseled shoulders, his Ken-like short hair and ocean-blue eyes, begging them to throw themselves at him with his flirtatious words to boot.

He was everything to them. Honestly, this was it. This was what he’d been waiting for. He felt a bit empty—Todd did—but he didn’t care.

He’d once been told that the person who cares less has the most control, and that had had a lasting impression on him. He followed it like most people follow The Bible. Todd was about as far away from a holy man as anyone every could be, but he was proud of himself. Power, money, and fame were his golden trio, and he wasn’t about to change that.

He wouldn’t change a damn thing. He was proud of his success, even if he had no friends and nothing but raving critics or raving fans and a few sex slaves who would cater to his every will—he called them that, but really they were more like groupies, addicted to the spotlight that shined on him, for better or for worse.

Nonetheless, he loved being worshipped, even though he was practically the handsome douche whose trap they’d fallen into, labeling him as God as he spout off an inordinate amount of pretty little lies before he undressed them and went onto the next lovely lady, putting another notch in his belt.

Todd didn’t think about the past much, but he was particularly proud of humiliating people, and he’d really made a lasting impression on Tom. He was a big shot now, but he knew the man would likely crumble when he saw his face if he showed up in his life again, remembering that fateful day on the playground.

It was fifth grade. The girls were on the swings with ribbons in their hair nearly falling off in the wind. They would go as high as they possibly could and then jump off, the wind blowing their locks poetically, before promptly landing on the ground—usually on their feet.

The sky was filled with smog and the playground was tiny, but at least it was something—it was tough to come across anything large in New York City unless you paid two arms and two legs for it.

Todd was surrounded by the redheads.

“Todd. Todd. You won that football game. How’d you do it?”

“At the very last second. It took all of my strength!” He replied, puffing out his chest proudly.

Among the redheads was Tom’s girlfriend Maggie May.

“Maggie. I love you,” Todd said, “You’re beautiful. Suck my dick.”

She went red in the face, the flush in her cheeks swelling up like a tomato.

“I will not.”

“Oh you will too.”

Tom ran over to the circle.

“What’s going on her, Todd?”

“I’m just asking your dumb girlfriend if she could give me a blowjob. She’s a pussy.”

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL HER?”

“A little bitch. A cunt.”

“No fucking way, asshole. You don’t talk to her like that!”

He punched him squarely in the face. His nose started bleeding, the bones inside of it breaking.

“Ouch.”

Todd ran to the classroom and retrieved a baseball bat. He then proceeded to swing and never miss, breaking both of Tom’s legs with his hits.

The guy was a baseball pro. Todd always used his strengths to gain the upper hand. It didn’t matter what they were or who he had to go against. The man would always choose power over love. Always.

Tom Harris had had to stay in the hospital for six months, unable to walk and, somehow, to rub salt in the wound, Maggie May had been attracted to his alpha nature and promptly cheated on

Tom with him—while he was in the hospital.

“Maggie, please. Not him. Literally anyone but him. I would understand if it was anyone but him.”

Bitch, he thought to himself, but conjured up the respect not to say it out loud.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured from her scarlet-painted lips.

Tom felt a knot forming in his stomach as his heart sank to the sterile hospital floor.

“Goodbye, Maggie. Goodbye.”

She left, wiping away tears.

Honestly, I don’t know why she’s so fucking upset. For fuck’s sake, she’s the one who hurt me. She’s the one who cheated. While I was in the hospital. It’s not like Todd didn’t have anything to do with it though. That bastard has not only taken the love of my life away from me, but he has also taken my dignity. I will get him back someday. I will get that bastard back. I will bury him alive if I have to. Hell, I might even kill him. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it. That boy deserves hell. Absolute hell.

Todd Brunson pulled into the parking lot at Fox News.

“Good morning,” he flashed his perfect smile, accented by his porcelain skin and slicked back brunette hair.

“Good morning,” Katie replied. She was that anchor in the grey pencil skirts—too uptight to talk to him in any sort of depth but tolerant enough to be professional. They disagreed on everything under the sun, but Todd liked it that way: It was good for ratings.

Katie walked around like a student in school who was paranoid about getting anything less than an A+ on her papers, always almost breathless and flushed in the face. She did good work and was determined to speak her truth to the masses, even if people like Todd Brunson vehemently disagreed with her.

Somewhere buried very, very deep, there was a spark between her and Todd. She felt it. Perhaps this was because Todd thought every woman was in love with him. Perhaps it was nothing less than passion in the guise of anger towards each other, making them hate the other’s guts. Despite her annoyances, he was good at what he did, and she liked that. She had someone to spar with who wouldn’t take it easy on her, and Katie McClay wouldn’t want it any other way, except most of the time. She hated his yelling and venomous remarks, commenting on female democrats as pigs and running his mouth about how awful abortions were without even remotely considering the other side of the issue.

Todd Brunson was the bane of Katie McClay’s existence, testing her every nerve from Monday-Friday—she made a point of never seeing him on the weekends. She went as far as to avoid any office parties she was invited to, worn out from the constant bickering and correcting of her well-researched arguments and ideas.

Bastard.

Yet, despite her anger and resentment, Katie McClay would miss Brunson if he ever left, though she would take that to her grave before told a soul about it. She couldn’t even come to terms with these feelings herself, so she promptly pretended her fondness for the man did not exist because she knew it shouldn’t. She continued to be professional, pushing her female hormones down as far as they would go. She even started wearing more conservative dress and less high high heels, making a point to the man that she didn’t give a damn what she thought about him and his notorious lust toward the female species.

“You look nice.”

“Fuck off Todd,” she said, then scurried away, concealing a smirk.

This man is awful, with his fake compliments. You know he doesn’t mean them. He never does. You know that, Katie. Honestly, get a hold of herself.

She was now blushing against her will. Thankfully, she was heading too her office to work on an article that had to be out yesterday, so she knew he couldn’t see her face. He was behind her.

She sat down at her computer and tried to concentrate on the words she was writing instead of her strong feelings towards her arch nemesis who would clearly stop at nothing to fuck with her head.

He just wants to distract me so his story is better than mine. Catchier. More well-written. More clever. He wants to have what he calls ‘star power.’ Yes, he calls it that. Such a noob.

She was spot on with everything. Todd Brunson was not only trying to distract her so she’d screw up on her piece; he was also trying to get into her pants. He didn’t want a relationship with her, but he took her aloofness as a challenge.

She’s just playing hard to get. She loves me. She’ll give in eventually. I’m charming, honestly.

Todd Brunson was bold and blatantly disrespectful, but not entirely wrong in his assertion.

Later that morning, Todd Brunson sat down next to Katie McClay to report on a story. His trained eyes scanned the lines in front of him with expertise. They lit up when he realized what he was reporting on that day.

Tom Harris’ wife goes missing. Police suspect she has been killed by a man dubbed as the letter killer. The man who murders his victims and then writes letters on their behalf to their loved ones, tricking them. Currently, no one has any proof that this is the case, but there are a lot of leads to indicate that it might be. Lucille and Tom were on the brink of a divorce when she left him. According to an anonymous source, Lucille wanted a postnup since she was a successful novelist and Tom refused to give her one. Their marriage was falling apart. Tom had been caught cheating on his wife—who had just disappeared and could be dead in a ditch somewhere.

Sarah Gunderson had accidentally leaked the video online during one of her drunken nights, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone that.

Todd Brunson added his own personal spin on it.

“Men, don’t do this. If you do, you might get caught and be on TV like this guy, famous for being unfaithful! This could ruin his life,” Todd pronounced gleefully.

Later that day, he sat down at his desk in front of his computer and he immediately began typing away.

TOM HARRIS FINDS HIMSELF IN HOT WATER

Tom Harris, an unjustifiably renowned lawyer, has just been caught cheating on his wife. This is bad enough, but it turns out that she’s just disappeared, and could be dead for all we know. The guy is a cheating bastard!

The tone of the piece worsened bit by bit until, finally, it was from the worst part of Todd’s mind, indicating the many made up character flaws he’d attributed to Harris.

Not only is Tom Harris cheating on his wife, but he also decided to skip his honeymoon, leaving Lucille all alone in Paris, France.

This, of course, was not exactly true, yet Todd was an expert at painting a person as a villain, choosing not to acknowledge the full story. He hated Tom. Why? Because the guy had always been able to love in a way he couldn’t—The fact that Tom Harris even had a wife caused a poison of resentment to flow through his veins, daring him to ruin the man’s formerly spotless reputation.

Tom REFUSES to get a postnup despite his wife’s constant chiding. He is not a generous man. He’s a chauvinist. He doesn’t want Lucille to have access to her assets. That’s why he refuses her wishes. Clearly. Men, SIGN THE POSTNUP. It will save your marriage. Your wife won’t run away from you because you’re a worthless piece of shit like Tom.

He crossed that last part out.

Because you’re a feeble excuse for a man.

Equally insulting but more appropriate for the paper, Todd Brunson thought to himself.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

It was Katie. Katie McClay.

“Hello, Katie.”

“What the fuck, Todd? Tom’s in hot water right now. I get it, but you’re literally spewing it in his face and,” she leaned in closely to make her point, “You’re missing some facts, Todd, if I’m being honest.”

“Such as?”

“Well, Tom never abandoned his wife to go on that honeymoon. At least, we don’t know if he did.”

“He did,” Todd responded with certainty.

“How do you know?”

He grinned from ear to ear.

“Because it makes a better story if he did, Katie. Simple as that.”

Her eyes flitted around the room in anxiety.

“Honestly, Todd,” she whispered, “You could get yourself fired for this.”

“Well, if I do, it will go down in history and people will be all over it: ‘Successful reporter gets fired for getting too much dirt and exaggerating a horrible marriage.’ I can see the headlines in the paper already.”

He slid his thumb and pointer finger across the air, indicating where the line of print would land.

“Todd. Really!”

She sighed in exasperation.

“All press is good press, Katie. If I go down, I’ll go down in flames, and everyone pays attention to someone who gets fired and humiliated. I’d have an audience and everyone would know my name. I want the whole damn world to know my name.”

“Language, Todd. I’m a Christian.”

“Sorry,” he sneered as he replied halfheartedly.

She walked away, miffed at him for being so nonchalant when using that horrible word as she held her cross necklace in her right hand, begging God to forgive the man for his sins.

That night, Todd was back in his apartment in the Upper East Side, sitting on his black leather couched and contemplating a session of The Bachelor on his enormous flat-screen TV, then thinking better of it.

He headed to the wall on the 15th floor and peered through the enormous window which depicted the view of the lit up New York City skyline.

He then laid down on the leather couch and swiftly fell asleep. For once, there wasn’t a woman with him. He’d tried to get Mary—a beautiful brunette law student— to come with him when he’d seen her unwinding at the club, but she’d refused.

Although Todd Brunson was surprised by this course of events, no one else would have been: She was, in short, out of his league.

As he dreamt, a memory crept into his mind. It was one he had long tried to forget, burying it below his chiseled surface.

He was on the ledge that Dudley had pushed him toward. Dudley was an obese child of eight years old. His parents treated him as though he was the best thing since sliced bread, never saying no matter what it was he wanted. The kid thought very highly of himself, and had flame-red hair framing a face filled with what some would say were far too many freckles.

“Jump. Now. Jump. No one wants you. You’re nothing to us. You’re not even human. Just a pathetic excuse. You just take up space, and too much of it. “

“Stop! Please! I’ll give you my lunch.”

“Fine. If you insist. All of it?”

“All of it,” Todd muttered, his face pale with worry. He’d gone completely white.

Dudley pushed him a bit, but not enough for him to actually fall.

“Ahh-uh.”

“Stop being a pussy, Todd.”

Tears swelled in Todd’s eyes but he pushed them down, refusing to let them flow out and embarrass him even more.

The lunch was homemade spaghetti with meatballs. It was his favorite and his mother, Maureen, had made it with love the prior evening after a long day at work, knowing he would cherish it on today’s hike with his classmates.

All of that tender love and care had, sadly, gone down the drain on account of Todd having to save himself from Dudley. This wasn’t the first time either—the kid bullied him every day, stealing his lunch constantly, telling him he was nothing, and making sure everyone else—especially the girls—felt the same way.

Finally, Dudley left in eighth grade. Todd Brunson was popular in high school. He started playing football and he even worked at a sports column. By tenth grade, he’d started reporting for a gossip magazine by the name of Dirt Central and this had caused him to lose his faith in humanity and his own sense of decency while also accelerating his celebrity in class.

He wasn’t only popular now—He was also famous. He wouldn’t give that up. Ever.

Todd Brunson was 38 now, but he still refused to give up on his life’s passion: Digging up dirt on other people and writing about it until he was blue in the face.