Elastic Heart (10 page)

Memories of that night came crashing over me, like when I was a teenager swimming in the ocean and I went too far out. The waves crushed me and dragged me so far under I scraped my skin against the coral. I was saved by a lifeguard.

Before the lifeguard got to me, I remembered thinking how I was going to die. I couldn’t get above the water because the waves kept crashing and crashing. Any time I tried to break through, another would crash on top of me and swirl me in its deathly grip. Then something grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

My eyes stung with saltwater and my throat felt like the membrane had been scraped away. I could barely see through all the sand and salt in my eyes. Now, as I kept my knife to Morris’s throat, that same feeling of hopelessness commingled with bitter relief fell over me.

He had known exactly who I was when he’d pushed me to the ground. He’d told me I was a “good little intern” who was getting her reward. I’d begged and screamed for him to stop, but he’d only laughed. He’d laughed at my tears and laughed as he stuffed one of my socks into my mouth. Thanks to him, I didn’t have any socks in my house. My feet were continually cold.

Though he said nothing to me, I could see it in his eyes now. He had that same laughter he’d had the night he’d raped me. It was a smug, cocksure glint that told me he felt safe even with a knife to his throat. Morris had grown to believe himself infallible. No matter how hard I pressed the knife to his throat, he wouldn’t talk to me. That would have been admitting he’d lost some of his power.

“I’m not here to kill you,” I stated, releasing the knife’s hold on his neck just a little bit, hoping that might loosen his tongue. And I wasn’t—there to kill him that is. After the combustion with Law, my sanity and demeanor were edging on precarious, but I wasn’t planning on
killing
him.

I’d seen him with that girl and had snapped. After watching
Morris that night in the manufacturing district, it had been eating me up inside. What was I doing, after all? What was my purpose with all of this surveillance if not to make sure he couldn’t hurt any more?

When I’d left Law for the office, sure I was planning something reckless. Framing someone wasn’t exactly baking cookies, but
murder?
No. I wasn’t planning that. I looked back at Morris, expecting fear, but what I got was ease and…was he laughing? He was! The fucker was laughing at me.

I slapped him across the face, keeping the knife steady.

I felt my fists curling and my control slipping. I didn’t have my gun with me, for which I was actually grateful. Being so close to Beezelbub, I wasn’t sure of my grasp on control. Just having the knife was making me drunk with power. I could end his life so easily. I could rid the world of a rotten, festering wound that was slowly killing it.

Everyone would sleep better at night, even if they didn’t know why.

“Nami! Nami DeGrace!”

Paparazzi.

I dropped the knife, snapping my head to the paparazzi as the blade hit the ground with a sickening clang.
I’d thought I was done with them, or at least that they were done with me. They’d stopped camping outside my apartment a little over four months ago. The only reminder that they’d been there was their empty soda cans and burger wrappers like tumbleweeds on my lawn. I’d changed my email and phone number, so that gave me the illusion that they no longer cared. I had disappeared to a new apartment and I’d thought they’d disappeared with me.

Dammit, I hated being wrong.

“Nami why are you here? Are you trying to win back Senator Morris?”

Bile filled my stomach and tried to exit my throat. I couldn’t see the reporter past the bright white of the flash. I’d been caught, but not as an attempted murderer. They’d “caught” me trying to entice Senator Morris. Honestly, I’d have preferred to be a murderer. It was much better than the alternative. I’d rather be known as the girl who tried to kill the devil than the one who tried to love him.

I turned to leave when something—or someone, rather, stopped me in my tracks. “You used to be such a good little intern. Perhaps you need to be…reminded.” I spun around to see Morris, a smile on his face that might as well have been dripping with my blood. My fists clenched as I contemplated my next move. Bulbs flashed, cautioning me that whatever I chose would be witnessed and recorded forever.

Gritting my teeth, I flew past the paparazzi, knocking Morris and the cameramen to the side. Their indignation was short-lived as I heard more questions hurtled at me. I ran down the street, not looking back. My knife was still nestled at Morris’s feet. Without a doubt, he’d won this round. When I turned another street and the paparazzi were no longer heard, tears filled my eyes.

I barely cried in months, but the realization that Morris might
always
win was too much. I was climbing Everest without oxygen. I used to think the worst thing that could happen was death. Now I knew better.

I walked through the nearly empty streets of Salt Lake City, feeling completely hopeless, useless, and powerless. I used to like how nighttime in Salt Lake was quiet. Now I just felt lonely. The sky was a starless void; clouds tumbled over one another like tumorous black masses.

I didn’t want to go home. Home meant I’d failed. Home meant Morris got to keep being Morris.

I couldn’t go to Law’s.

So I ambled around during the witching hour. I must have been adrift in my mind because I didn’t notice the sound of danger. By the time I did, it was too late.

“Give me all your money.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I spun around to face the joke. Three men dressed in black with ski masks held knives to me. Was this really happening? I looked around to see if anyone would help, but it was just me on the street—not like anyone would offer aid, anyway.

I couldn’t muster any other emotion besides indignation. I had literally just come from the devil’s den, and now this?

“What is this?” I asked, eyeing the men and their knives. Of course I hadn’t brought my gun. Of course this would be happening to me. I was Nami DeGrace, bad luck magnet.

“Knock your purse to us.” I held my backpack tightly at their request. It didn’t contain much, not even any money. It only held my USB and what few files I thought might be useful in framing Morris. It was all I had made of this pointless night. It was
everything
.

“Who sent you?” I asked suspiciously. Was it possible Morris had sent some of his goons? Did he know what I’d taken?

“Look, bitch,” one of them said. “Knock the purse over or we gut you, simple.” The man looked to his left and right, shaking the knife slightly.

“It’s not a purse,” I explained desperately. “It doesn’t have any money in it.”

“We’ll decide that.”

“No.” I clutched my bag tighter and inched backward. Glancing back, I could see I had about a yard before the street opened up to another busier street. I wasn’t sure I could outrun them, but it was my only shot. If I made it to the street I could scream bloody murder and hopefully someone would hear me. If I stayed, I was as good as dead. I took off at a sprint.

“Fuck!” one of them yelled out. I could see my freedom. The street approached me. I reached a hand out toward it, but liberty was yanked away. One of them grabbed my shirt and pulled me back. I fell to the concrete, my head landing with a sickening crack. All three towered over me, peering at me with disdain.

“Shoulda just given us the damn purse,” one of them said.

“It’s not a purse.” I still clutched the bag, my arms feeling limp. I didn’t know when the first blow landed, just as I didn’t know when the last blow ended. It was a symphony of hits, punches, and shots. My ribs crunched and my organs crumpled. I tasted blood. 

I stared up at the moon. It was red, looking like blood had dripped all over it. It was apt that it was called the blood moon. Was it coincidence or fate that I would bleed out on the night of the blood moon? Probably neither, just my own stupidity. As I stared at the starless, cloud-covered night sky, I realized something: I was without.

Without purpose.

Without reason.

Without a soul, even.

I’d been mugged and the first thing to come into my head was “It must be Morris.” Even then, I still believed it could be him. Morris had become my god. He was omnipotent and omnipresent. Months later, he was still inside me.

I rolled over to my side and vomited. I vomited the day, which consisted mostly of a muffin I’d had for breakfast and water. On the crumbly, dirty sidewalk, I returned whatever was in my stomach, and probably a bit more. My hurling turned to dry heaves. I was too mangled to move, too shattered to stir. I had to lie there as my expulsion leached its way across the pavement and toward me, weaving its way into my hair and skin.

I had officially hit rock bottom. I viewed my freedom, the alleyway opening, sideways. In the opening, a shadow of a man appeared. Inwardly I groaned. Was this horrible night not over? Had another demon appeared to finish me off?

The moon above was growing bigger, like it was coming for me. I felt like I was joining the sky. The clouds parted, showing the full, red face of the moon. Copper-colored, like blood after it had dried. Or maybe I was just seeing the blood that had spilled from my own head.

Slowly the shadow advanced. I gasped when I finally saw who it was. “Law?”

Law picked me up and carried me down the street. I coughed, blood seeping down my chin. My vision started to swirl. I felt lightheaded, drugged, and dreamy. I wasn’t sure if I was talking or thinking, but the sentiment was the same. “I think you might’ve been one of the good guys…”

I felt warm, despite the freezing air around me. The edges around my eyes were growing fuzzy and black. Everything was either all black or blackening. I could only feel, feel as Law’s warmth disappeared when he lay me down in what I assumed was a car.

“Nami?” Law asked, his voice betraying concern. “Nami hang in there.” I knew I should probably be fighting the warm feeling that was engulfing me. I knew that, but part of me was so sick of fighting. It would be so easy to give in. When the car started and I felt the engine rumble against my skin, I was so ready to float away, to let go of everything, even if that meant letting go of me.

“Nami what the fuck happened?” I barely registered his voice.

“Were you one of the good guys, Law?” I murmured, sinking farther into the warmth of the car.

“Stay. With. Me.” Law’s voice sounded as if he was everywhere. “Nami, god dammit, stay with me.” The fuzziness kept growing, like a vignette closing in on me. Thoughts no longer had meaning, everything just
was
. Soon everything was completely black.

“Rise and shine, beautiful.” Law’s face was the first thing I saw. Chiseled-five-o’clock shadow-covered-chin. Hazel eyes, like the color of good whiskey, glared in scrutiny. Tight, drawn lips that curved in a smile when he saw me wake up.

I blinked as if trying to reboot my system. At first, everything felt foreign. The warmth on my skin, the velvety smooth feeling of the blankets, it was all wrong. I was used to scratchy and cold. Where was I? I blinked some more, trying to gauge where I was.

In a bed, that much was sure. Instead of feeling terrified, though, I felt safe. I almost wanted to curl up in the warm sheets and die. I would never admit it, but the bed smelled like Law. Rich and spicy and masculine, it made me want to roll around in the blankets.

The room was decorated in golds and pale blues and the carpet was plush. Ornate drapes were drawn over a large window, so I wasn’t sure what time it was or how much I’d slept. As I took in the rest of the scenery, it became clear I was in Law’s hotel bedroom.

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sit up. Everything hurt, and I mean
everything
. My toenails throbbed. My kneecaps twinged. My stomach roiled. Even my teeth ached. I could barely move my head to look around. Even my eyeballs hurt. “The last thing I remember…”

“Was me saving you?” Law supplied.

“I didn’t need to be saved,” I ground out. “I had everything under control.”

“Sure you did.” Law picked me up without asking and carried me like I weighed nothing. I let my arm hang loosely, grasping feebly at the covers that had briefly cocooned me from the world.

“What are you doing?” I protested weakly as Law carried me from the bedroom to an adjoining bath.

“Giving you a bath,” he replied. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” 

“You are not giving me a bath,” I growled, twisting in his hold—
Ow… Should not have done that.
Unfazed, Law carried me into the bathroom. It was steamy and smelled delicious, like him. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to give in at that moment. A warm bath sounded like heaven.

“Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” Law grinned. I geared up for a fight, but deflated. What was the point? I’d been raped. I’d been mugged. Clearly the universe was trying to tell me something. “Nami DeGrace,” it said, “You were not meant to be here.”

“Whatever,” I replied. “Do whatever you want.” I felt his hand on my cheek and flinched involuntarily. He pulled it back. My stupid, useless heart revolted. Somewhere in the black mass it wanted his warmth.