Elastic Heart (20 page)

“What the fuck?” Riley screamed, looking at her now soiled suit. 

How had I let this happen? I had known from the beginning he was working for Morris, but I had let him convince me otherwise. I had been swayed by his pretty words, and maybe a little by his pretty face. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three and four and five times? Well fuck.

“What’s going on—Nami?” Law came up behind Riley, looking like a deer caught in headlights. I could see the cogs turning in his head as he prepared some kind of explanation for me. I didn’t want to hear it. I put my hand up, signaling him to stop.

“She fucking threw up on me!” Riley bellowed, making obnoxious hand gestures at her suit.

My brain told me to run away, to sprint from this horrible revelation and get as far away as possible. I was done running, though. I turned and walked away from them, refusing to go any faster than normal. I was through running away from bad people.
They
were the bad ones, not me. I had done nothing save exist.

“Nami, wait!” Law called after me. I nearly stopped, turned around, and ran back to him. His arms offered the only comfort I’d known in months and I wanted to feel that. Lifting my foot to continue on my way was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It felt like gravity was conspiring against me.

When I reached the stairway, I pushed the heavy metal door open and let it clang shut behind me. Then I fell to the floor and cried.

Tears hadn’t stained many pillows since my rape. I kept them locked tight inside of me. It had been the same way after my parents died. It was as if crying acknowledged their death. To me, crying was acknowledging the pain and giving credence to the event.

Now I lay on the couch, not even giving a fuck that it reminded me of Law. Everything reminded me of Law. Everything reminded me of Morris. There was no running from reminders when the people who had planted the memories walked around in broad daylight, proud of their ruination.

Staring at the ceiling, tears flowed freely from my lids. I was broken. Congratulations, Mitch Morris, you broke me. Congratulations, Nick Law, you stomped on the broken pieces. Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson’s “Winter Song” played quietly in the background, the melancholy tune and lyrics a match to my soul.

Some days I wished I believed in God. I figured if I believed in God then I could ascribe some kind of purpose to the pain. I could believe that there was some person out there watching me and thinking “Yep, this is all for a reason.” Without God, I didn’t have that safety. I didn’t have that security. I had to navigate the waters on my own.

And it totally sucked.

I imagined the people who had faith could relinquish some of the pain. On days when it became too unbearable, they could say “God has a plan for me” and the pain would lessen. I couldn’t do that. I had to lie on my couch and stare at the ceiling, knowing that beyond the chipped plaster there was nothing watching me.

And that totally sucked.

I had tried to believe in God, I really, really did. When Christianity didn’t work out, I tried to be Jewish. I went through all the Judeo-Christian religions: Catholicism, Protestantism, Judaism, and even Islam. When none of them felt right, I read the Bible. Because maybe the Bible held all the secrets that the pastors and priests and imams just couldn’t grasp.

Did you know there’s a section of the Bible where a rape victim gets cut up into twelve pieces and sent to the twelve tribes of Jerusalem? That was the punishment for the
rapist
, to cut up the victim. Yeah, well, suffice it to say, after that story I couldn’t keep reading the Bible.

After the Bible failed, I tried other religions. Wicca, Buddhism, and the like. Nothing stuck. I just didn’t feel that moment that people feel. That “a ha” moment where they
know
someone is out there. When you talk to a person of faith there’s a resolute and unwavering dedication that can only come from some kind of certainty. I never got that. Not with Christianity and not with Satanism.

So now I lay on my bed and stared at the uneven grooves in my ceiling, wondering what could possibly be the purpose for a person like me.

I drove home from my weekly trip to Tony’s feeling queasy. The tears had stopped but I still tasted them on my lips, a salty reminder of how far I’d sunk. Law had been texting me non-stop. On more than one occasion I readied my finger to block him, but then stopped. So my phone sat in a cup holder, buzzing like a wasp.

Now, I stared at a green light, knowing I needed to drive. Cars were honking and I was causing a traffic jam. I couldn’t bear to go home, though. It was so empty. Raskol wasn’t there to greet me. I couldn’t afford heat so it almost felt colder inside than it did outside. I hadn’t gone to work in weeks. Paychecks had stopped coming because they don’t pay you if you don’t work; go figure. My house was not a home, it was a prison. I was locked inside with my thoughts. I was trapped with my demons. I was jailed with my memories.

“What the fuck are you doing?” someone yelled out their window as they zoomed past me. I was still stopped at the light.

“Bitch!” another yelled, their middle finger jutting out. Just as the light was about to turn red, I zoomed through. I quickly pulled into the parking lot of a yogurt shop, about to hyperventilate. Even though I was parked, my car was still on. I knew it was bad for the environment, but I couldn’t focus on anything.

My phone was buzzing, a reminder of the betrayal that was still fresh like a knife in my side. I had always suspected Law…but I would have been lying if I’d said I hadn’t started developing feelings despite that. My head fell on the steering wheel as the weight of everything became too much to bear.

A knock sounded at my window and I jumped, turning to see who it was. My heart fluttered, the traitorous thing, as I thought it could be Law. Even though his knife was still firmly in my back, I wanted to see him. How pathetic was I?

My eyes widened in surprise when I saw who it was. Turning off my car, I opened the door and stepped out.

“What are you? Some kind of stalker now?” Effie laughed. I stared at her, unsure what to say in response. It was pure coincidence that we were at the same yogurt shop. Salt Lake City was often called “Small Lake City” for a reason. She knew that. We’d joked about it. I didn’t owe her anything, much less a reason for why I was parked at a public yogurt shop

“What happened to you, Effie?” I asked. “Don’t you remember us?” This was the girl that on the day my parents died had held me until I stopped crying. Now she was looking at me as if I were shit on her shoe.

Effie folded her arms. “I remember how crazy you were and I’m glad I got away before you did something to me.” She took a step back as if I was going to pounce or something. With one arm I rubbed my shoulder, trying to comfort myself. It was as if my sister was saying these things to me and, yeah, it hurt.

I wished it didn’t. I wished I was strong enough to just get in my car and flip her the bird. I wasn’t; I just didn’t understand how she could do this complete 180 on me. We had been so close. How could she possibly believe what was said about me?

I had no words left, nothing to argue. I had run out of steam months ago when the paparazzi had hounded me night and day. I was sick of explaining myself, sick of defending the fact that
I was raped
. The fact that I had to defend myself to Effie, who was basically my family, made me nauseated.

On top of that, I was dealing with yet another betrayal. I looked from Effie and up to the gray cloudy sky. A bit of blue sky briefly peaked through before it was smothered by a cloud. I sighed and shook my head before turning back to my car.

“Go back to your miserable little life, Nami,” Effie said to my back. I spun around, furious. I didn’t care if we used to be sisters; she had crossed the line. I stopped and turned to face her. She had a smug smile on her face, the kind she usually reserved for men who bought her drinks. I looked at her yogurt and back at her smug face. Without another thought I shoved her yogurt in her face.

She screamed, “You fucking freak!”

“And you’re a judgmental, spineless bitch. I’m glad we both know who we are.”

Wiping the yogurt off her face, Effie sneered. “I don’t know how we were ever friends.” I watched her, with her streaky, yogurt-covered face. Done up in the latest fashion, she wore black riding boots and black designer jeans with a flowing peach top. Her hair was inky black, cut into a sharp bob. On her right arm was a big, black Marc Jacobs bag, and in her left hand she had the rest of the yogurt. I knew she wouldn’t have eaten it anyway. Strike that, she would have eaten the top of it.

Later she would go to the gym and work out for a good two hours. On her way home she would text her friends about going out that night, then complain later about how she
always
had to be the one to set up plans. Everyone would meet up at some bar and she would kiss her current boyfriend on the cheek then proceed to flirt with anyone in sight. Afterward, when everyone had gone home, she would text. And text. And text until passing out with her phone on her chest. Then she would wake up and do it all over again.

“Me either,” I said. I turned around and hopped in my car before Effie could say anything more.

I gripped my steering wheel, stuck at another light. This time it was red, but I feared for when it turned green. My phone continued to buzz like an angry insect and it was starting to wear on my willpower. As it buzzed another time, I reached for it, ready to chuck it out my window. The words caught my eye, though: “It’s Jameson. I’m sorry but I can’t report your story.”

I looked at the text, emotions swirling in my gut. Who could I trust? Law had given me Jameson’s info, and it was clear that Law was working for Morris. I slammed my hands against the steering wheel in frustration, a small scream escaping my mouth.

As the light turned green, I did an illegal turn. I ignored the honking and drove toward The Time’s office. I didn’t like the idea of loose ends, and Jameson was a very loose end. He had my name and knew I had a story. Though he didn’t know exactly what my story was, he was tied to Law. I still wasn’t sure what Law’s endgame was. Plus, what was stopping Jameson from leaking my info to Morris, or worse, starting another media shit storm about me?

Answer: nothing.

As I rode the elevator up, I ran my fingers through my hair fretfully. I had dealt with this for nearly a year, but apparently had learned nothing. I was still the same naive girl as before, trusting men I shouldn’t have been trusting. When was I going to learn that the only person in the world who had my back was me? I was my castle, my keeper, and my sovereign. It was a lonely existence, but it was better than constantly being fucked over.

The elevator dinged open and I made my way down the banal hallway. I walked past foggy office windows with boring names, looking for the boring name that held all my information. I passed through the large, square room of cubicles, and no one paid me any mind. I was grateful for that. Only months ago those vultures would have pounced on me, trying to rip at my flesh for a hint of a story.

I rounded a corner and I neared my destination. I was about to knock Jameson’s door, when muffled voices stopped me. I could faintly hear the sounds of a disagreement coming through the wood. I lowered my hand and pressed my ear against the door.

“The fuck man?”

I stumbled back, stunned. Law was on the other side of the door, and he was yelling at Jameson. Up to that point, I hadn’t thought Law knew Jameson, mostly because Law
said
he didn’t know Jameson. Then again, Law had said a lot of things to me, a lot of things that had turned out to be lies. So why was I surprised?

I used to think a person could only handle so many shocks. That there was a certain allotment of twists and turns a person got in their life. Like, once a person found out their biological father wasn’t the man who raised them, that was it. No more shocks for that person for the rest of their life. I knew better now. After all the twists and turns and general shittery of the past year, I knew life didn’t allocate anything. Life just happened.

I put my ear back on the door, sucking it up.

“Do you see the shit she’s tied up in?” I recognized that voice as belonging to Jameson.

“Yeah. It’s good,” Law responded. “It’s Watergate good.”

“I don’t want Watergate!” Jameson yelled. “I’m in the same ward as Morris. He’s a nice guy!” I nearly rolled my eyes at that revelation. Jameson admitted that he and Morris went to the same church. Pulitzer Prize-winning or not, he was just like every other reporter before him, blinded by the glow that was Senator Mitch Morris.

I didn’t have it in me to care, to be outraged, to be disgusted. I was normalized by it. He was just another reporter who saw me as a whore and Morris as the good guy. There was nothing surprising about that, and I would have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t expecting it. My fingers rested lightly on the wood, ready to tear myself away from yet another disappointment, when Law’s thundering voice pulled me back in.