Wicked Games
Page 39
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It was painful to watch as the camera showed us sniping at each other, showed us breaking down at the challenge and the paint I threw on him. It showed our dejected faces at the first Judgment Day, and then our surprise when we weren’t the first ones voted off.
The credits rolled, and I stared at the TV in shock.
Was that all just good editing? Or was Dean really not the monster I had thought he was?
***
Weeks passed. I watched every episode like a starving woman presented with water, fascinated and horrified at the same time. Once each episode was over, I hit the replay button on my TiVo and watched it all over again. The days between episodes went by agonizingly slowly, and I found myself stalking my fellow castaways online to see if anyone had shared tidbits about the game. Everyone was quiet, as online contact was forbidden until the finale of the show. I hadn’t bothered to get anyone’s numbers, so I felt isolated watching the game play out.
And as it continued, I realized I’d been wrong about a lot of things.
I cringed when they showed the peanut butter moment on camera—I hadn’t even realized that the cameraman had been nearby, taping us. It immediately cut away to a confessional. Dean’s face, angular and just a bit unshaven, filled my television, and I felt a shameful twinge. He was so handsome, and his mouth was doing that sideways quirk that I loved, as if he were laughing at himself.
“I have no idea why I licked the peanut butter off of her finger,” he admitted to the camera. “One moment she’s just standing there, taunting me, and the next, I’ve got her finger in my mouth and I’m licking her with my tongue and I’m getting turned on. And now I can’t stop looking at the way her butt looks in those bikinis.”
I blushed, but felt warm on the inside. At least it wasn’t just me that felt that way. The attraction had been mutual.
Our back and forth bickering—and subsequent flirting—was a heavy theme of the first two months of episodes. Our cabin where we’d shared the sleepover reward had obviously been wired with cameras. Luckily, the network chose to show things tastefully, and I only cringed with shame a few times, thinking of what my parents would say when they saw the episode.
From there, it got worse. We were constantly all over each other, and the cameras played that up. There wasn’t an episode that we weren’t giggling and falling into each other’s arms or sharing a romantic moment. Every time there was a night shot, the camera zoomed in on our feet, tangled together and sticking out of our small shelter.
It was so obvious and very painful to watch. We’d been so happy. At least, I had been.
And judging from his confessionals, Dean had been too.
One particular confessional shattered me. It was after we’d completed a challenge and had returned to our beach and spent time just chatting and putting bug oil on each other. We’d played in the surf for a bit, then lay on the beach, my head propped on his shoulder. We’d looked blissfully content. Dean’s voice came over the shot, narrating from one of his confessionals. “You know, I like Abby. I like Abby a lot. She’s different than most of the girls I’ve ever met. I never thought I’d find someone so stubborn and determined… or that I’d like it. But I really like her. I like hearing her laugh. I like catching her when she trips, or the cute way she sneezes. I like waking up next to her. When we first got here, I thought I couldn’t wait to get home. But… now I don’t know. All I know is that I’d like to keep waking up next to her.”
Tears brimmed out of my eyes and slid down my cheeks. They were beautiful words. But was it the truth?
I started to grow nervous, waiting for the episode that I knew was coming—the tribal merge and my big betrayal. On the day it arrived, I turned off the phone and stocked up on Pepto Bismol and didn’t leave my couch, just in case there might be a commercial that would show me Dean’s face, or an instance of us laughing and hugging again.
I’d grown to crave seeing those moments. I wasn’t sure if it made me a sad sack or just sad that it hadn’t worked out.
The episode began, and I watched with my gaze glued to the screen, hardly daring to breathe. It played on, and I watched my ankle give out in the challenge and Dean carrying me, stroking my hair and comforting me. It went by in a blur of tears at that point, and as I watched the tribal council, I was not surprised by the results.
Dean held his slate up to the camera. He’d voted for Heather.
Lana held her slate up to the camera. It said “Abby.” She made a sad face at the camera, then smiled. “Sorry girl. I love you to death, but you and Dean are way too close, and I want that money for myself. If I break the two of you apart, I get control of the game again, and Dean’s got no choice but to be with me until the end. No hard feelings.”
The votes were read. Rather than close in on my face alone, the camera split-screened and showed my face on the right, Dean’s on the left. I looked confused as the votes were read, but Dean’s reaction was immediate. He was shocked and then furious. As I watched, he bent and started questioning Lana immediately, while I wandered off the stage and out of the game.
He hadn’t betrayed me. Lana had lied.
Chapter Fourteen
I don’t understand what happened… Abby won’t even talk to me. What happened that she’s so upset about? I can’t even get near her without production crawling all over us, worried we’re going to share answers. I just want five minutes with her, to see if she’s all right. If we’re all right. Ugh. Listen to me. I sound like a weepy girl.—Dean Woodall, Post Game Interview
“You’re on in five minutes,” the assistant producer bellowed, stalking past with a clipboard in hand. “Everyone make sure you’re miked up and ready to go.”
I shifted in my seat nervously, my stomach full of dread. In minutes, the lights would be up. I sat on the front row of a double-rise of bleachers on the stage, artfully designed with an island motif. Somewhere on the far end of the stage sat Lana and Dean. Once the lights went up, I’d be facing them directly across the stage. The producers had made sure of it.
What a nightmare.
I felt as if I’d been living in one for the past few months. Every week, the TV continued to show me things that I didn’t want to see. Dean’s silent fury with Lana as they returned from the tribal council where I’d been betrayed. Lana had hastily backtracked, but Dean’s fury would not be contained. It took several days for him to calm down, though he’d hidden it from the other contestants. I thought of Heather’s confident assurances that he’d been in cahoots with Lana because he was constantly with her. Dean’s confessionals to the camera revealed the truth—he was only with her all the time because he didn’t trust her. If he left her alone, she might run off and scheme against him again. So Dean stuck to Lana’s side, oblivious to the rumors about them that flew about.
One episode focused on Shanna’s vote out. She’d tried to work her charms on Dean to stay on the island. I watched, chugging Pepto, as the model won an overnight reward at a hotel. She immediately invited Dean, which made the other two furious. I watched as she sat close to him at the dining table and reached over and touched his knee. Her smile was inviting. Skinny from hunger and tanned a deep brown, Shanna was still beautiful. I expected him to take the bait. Instead, he laughingly brushed her hands off and went to bed alone. His confessional was all about me—how he missed me, and how he didn’t want anyone but me.
The credits rolled, and I stared at the TV in shock.
Was that all just good editing? Or was Dean really not the monster I had thought he was?
***
Weeks passed. I watched every episode like a starving woman presented with water, fascinated and horrified at the same time. Once each episode was over, I hit the replay button on my TiVo and watched it all over again. The days between episodes went by agonizingly slowly, and I found myself stalking my fellow castaways online to see if anyone had shared tidbits about the game. Everyone was quiet, as online contact was forbidden until the finale of the show. I hadn’t bothered to get anyone’s numbers, so I felt isolated watching the game play out.
And as it continued, I realized I’d been wrong about a lot of things.
I cringed when they showed the peanut butter moment on camera—I hadn’t even realized that the cameraman had been nearby, taping us. It immediately cut away to a confessional. Dean’s face, angular and just a bit unshaven, filled my television, and I felt a shameful twinge. He was so handsome, and his mouth was doing that sideways quirk that I loved, as if he were laughing at himself.
“I have no idea why I licked the peanut butter off of her finger,” he admitted to the camera. “One moment she’s just standing there, taunting me, and the next, I’ve got her finger in my mouth and I’m licking her with my tongue and I’m getting turned on. And now I can’t stop looking at the way her butt looks in those bikinis.”
I blushed, but felt warm on the inside. At least it wasn’t just me that felt that way. The attraction had been mutual.
Our back and forth bickering—and subsequent flirting—was a heavy theme of the first two months of episodes. Our cabin where we’d shared the sleepover reward had obviously been wired with cameras. Luckily, the network chose to show things tastefully, and I only cringed with shame a few times, thinking of what my parents would say when they saw the episode.
From there, it got worse. We were constantly all over each other, and the cameras played that up. There wasn’t an episode that we weren’t giggling and falling into each other’s arms or sharing a romantic moment. Every time there was a night shot, the camera zoomed in on our feet, tangled together and sticking out of our small shelter.
It was so obvious and very painful to watch. We’d been so happy. At least, I had been.
And judging from his confessionals, Dean had been too.
One particular confessional shattered me. It was after we’d completed a challenge and had returned to our beach and spent time just chatting and putting bug oil on each other. We’d played in the surf for a bit, then lay on the beach, my head propped on his shoulder. We’d looked blissfully content. Dean’s voice came over the shot, narrating from one of his confessionals. “You know, I like Abby. I like Abby a lot. She’s different than most of the girls I’ve ever met. I never thought I’d find someone so stubborn and determined… or that I’d like it. But I really like her. I like hearing her laugh. I like catching her when she trips, or the cute way she sneezes. I like waking up next to her. When we first got here, I thought I couldn’t wait to get home. But… now I don’t know. All I know is that I’d like to keep waking up next to her.”
Tears brimmed out of my eyes and slid down my cheeks. They were beautiful words. But was it the truth?
I started to grow nervous, waiting for the episode that I knew was coming—the tribal merge and my big betrayal. On the day it arrived, I turned off the phone and stocked up on Pepto Bismol and didn’t leave my couch, just in case there might be a commercial that would show me Dean’s face, or an instance of us laughing and hugging again.
I’d grown to crave seeing those moments. I wasn’t sure if it made me a sad sack or just sad that it hadn’t worked out.
The episode began, and I watched with my gaze glued to the screen, hardly daring to breathe. It played on, and I watched my ankle give out in the challenge and Dean carrying me, stroking my hair and comforting me. It went by in a blur of tears at that point, and as I watched the tribal council, I was not surprised by the results.
Dean held his slate up to the camera. He’d voted for Heather.
Lana held her slate up to the camera. It said “Abby.” She made a sad face at the camera, then smiled. “Sorry girl. I love you to death, but you and Dean are way too close, and I want that money for myself. If I break the two of you apart, I get control of the game again, and Dean’s got no choice but to be with me until the end. No hard feelings.”
The votes were read. Rather than close in on my face alone, the camera split-screened and showed my face on the right, Dean’s on the left. I looked confused as the votes were read, but Dean’s reaction was immediate. He was shocked and then furious. As I watched, he bent and started questioning Lana immediately, while I wandered off the stage and out of the game.
He hadn’t betrayed me. Lana had lied.
Chapter Fourteen
I don’t understand what happened… Abby won’t even talk to me. What happened that she’s so upset about? I can’t even get near her without production crawling all over us, worried we’re going to share answers. I just want five minutes with her, to see if she’s all right. If we’re all right. Ugh. Listen to me. I sound like a weepy girl.—Dean Woodall, Post Game Interview
“You’re on in five minutes,” the assistant producer bellowed, stalking past with a clipboard in hand. “Everyone make sure you’re miked up and ready to go.”
I shifted in my seat nervously, my stomach full of dread. In minutes, the lights would be up. I sat on the front row of a double-rise of bleachers on the stage, artfully designed with an island motif. Somewhere on the far end of the stage sat Lana and Dean. Once the lights went up, I’d be facing them directly across the stage. The producers had made sure of it.
What a nightmare.
I felt as if I’d been living in one for the past few months. Every week, the TV continued to show me things that I didn’t want to see. Dean’s silent fury with Lana as they returned from the tribal council where I’d been betrayed. Lana had hastily backtracked, but Dean’s fury would not be contained. It took several days for him to calm down, though he’d hidden it from the other contestants. I thought of Heather’s confident assurances that he’d been in cahoots with Lana because he was constantly with her. Dean’s confessionals to the camera revealed the truth—he was only with her all the time because he didn’t trust her. If he left her alone, she might run off and scheme against him again. So Dean stuck to Lana’s side, oblivious to the rumors about them that flew about.
One episode focused on Shanna’s vote out. She’d tried to work her charms on Dean to stay on the island. I watched, chugging Pepto, as the model won an overnight reward at a hotel. She immediately invited Dean, which made the other two furious. I watched as she sat close to him at the dining table and reached over and touched his knee. Her smile was inviting. Skinny from hunger and tanned a deep brown, Shanna was still beautiful. I expected him to take the bait. Instead, he laughingly brushed her hands off and went to bed alone. His confessional was all about me—how he missed me, and how he didn’t want anyone but me.
