Elastic Heart (4 page)

Sitting next to the garbage, it smelled like that compost pile. When the neighbor kids and I used to hang out under the tree, that pile of garbage was always next to us. A small price to pay for having our own private hangout.

Watching
him
, nostalgic memories of being a carefree child wafted inside my brain alongside the image of him.

More dichotomous shit I had to deal with.

Why couldn’t
he
just be a wife-beater? Then, at least, I wouldn’t have to wonder…wonder if it was just me that was the problem. If he could be so kind to his wife and the entire freaking state loved him, then
was
there something wrong with me?

Had I somehow brought this on myself?

I dropped my gaze from the window but had little time for self-pity. Loose cement crunched beneath feet, alerting me to a presence behind me. I gripped the cracked lens of my camera, keeping my focus on the small fractures. I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to face the fact that I’d been caught.

“What are you doing here?”

I couldn’t focus on the voice of the person behind me. I was too inside my own head. My nerves were shot and I didn’t know what I was doing any more. I didn’t know right from wrong. I had been so certain everything was black and white but, dammit, it was gray.

Swallowing, I let my grip slip from the cheap camera I’d bought from a secondhand store. Months ago when I’d started this mission, I’d only had a few dollars to my name, a name that had been completely razed by
him
. I’d walked into the pawn shop and picked up the camera from the final sale bin. It had served me well on this mission. I glanced back at the lens, the tiny fissures in the glass looking like broken ice. Now, I wasn’t sure if it was the mission I should be on.

“I…” My tongue tripped over itself as I searched for an excuse. Eventually I was going to have to turn around and face my fate, but for now I was still facing
his
window.
He
and his wife were gone and I stared into the dark, empty kitchen. I’d been following
him
for two months, and in those months I’d learned nothing save that he took bribes and cared for his wife.

Perhaps the police had been right in turning me away.

Is it rape if the person deserves it?

I turned around slowly, ready to face my fate.

It was Coffee Shop Fucker. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or utterly frightened it wasn’t a cop. The guy was showing up
everywhere
.

“I…” I still couldn’t think of an adequate excuse for why I was in a rich neighborhood, dressed in black, hiding behind a dumpster.

I went on the offense.

“Why are
you
here?” I countered.

I swore the man grinned, but it was gone so fast I couldn’t be sure. “I have business in the area.”

“Oh.” I liked that explanation, so I stole it. “So do I.”

He leaned forward a bit. “You do?”

I shrugged, leaning back. “I do.”

“What kind of business?” Coffee Shop Fucker asked.

I folded my arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

CSF raised an eyebrow. “It’s confidential.”

I shrugged, averting my eyes. “As is mine.”

“How convenient.” I ripped my gaze back to his because I swore I heard him laugh. Still, when I looked, there was nothing. He eyed me with cool calculation, not a hint of humor in his hard features. I shook my head, sick of feeling insane for the night—for the rest of my life—and glared. I was done with the conversation.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I pushed past him, but he grabbed my elbow. My body tightened and my lungs filled with ice. When strangers on the street bumped into me, my entire body reacted with carnal instinct, fear, and aggression, and that was just a bump on the street. Imagine what happened when someone actually
grabbed
me.

I was torn between pulling my gun out and shooting his fucking face off or crawling into the fetal position. It was possible he suspected the war going on inside me, because his next words were: “What are you gonna do, punch me in the face again?”

“Possibly,” I snarled. “I haven’t decided.”

He let go of my arm. “Tell you what, I won’t call neighborhood security and tell them you’re lurking about if you go out with me right now.”

I scoffed. “Are you threatening me?” Literally the last place on Earth I wanted to go was with some strange man. Fool me once—no, wait, fool me once, you’re
still
a rapist and terrible person. Fool me twice and I just have really, really shitty luck.

“No, I’m trying to date you.” I nearly choked on my tongue. Dates were flowers and chocolates and Nora Ephron, not
this.

“The answer is and will always be a resounding no.” My mother was always a great packer. She had packing down. Need to pack a fur coat, a regular coat, three weeks worth of clothing, and a freaking bookcase into one overnight bag? She had you covered. Why had that thought popped into my head? Because at that moment I wished my mom was alive, just so she could have helped me pack a little bit more hate into my words.

He shrugged. “All right, well why don’t I just go up to this guy’s house and ask him about your ‘business’?”

I gulped. “Fine. Do it.” I was sincerely hoping he was bluffing, but as CSF made his way toward
his
stairs, I screeched. “Fine, fine! I’ll go with you. Jesus!” If going with him meant avoiding one nuclear situation so I at least had a few minutes to disarm the next, then fine. Seriously, what were my other options?

Call the police? Alert the media?

HA!

I knew I had put myself in this situation, I
knew
it. I should have been at home, behaving like a good little rape victim and ignoring my rapist. I should have been moving on. I shouldn’t have been stalking him.

Well what the fuck ever.

The only solution I saw was to go with Coffee Shop Fucker, preferably to someplace well populated and well lit, and figure out how to get myself out of the new mess. I walked past CSF, intending to make my way to a more well lit street, when I heard his gravely, cocksure voice float to me from behind. 

“My name isn’t Jesus. Close, but it’s actually Nick Law.”

I stopped mid-stride, barely able to control my indignation. Turning back to him, I scoffed.

“What?” CSF—or Law, apparently—leaned back against
his
concrete steps. The lights were off in
his
house now, but I knew better than to think he was asleep.
He
was now in his study, his wife was asleep, and CSF and I were standing out in broad fucking night waiting to be caught.

Still, I had to comment.

“Your name is Law? As in, follow and obey the
?
Uphold and honor the?”

Law grinned. “I guess you could look at it that way.”

I folded my arms across my chest. Enigmatic, enraging, and probably rotten like
him’s
name was Law?

I loved it.

I glared at Law and continued down the road, yelling over my shoulder, “I hate it.”

Law took me to a 24-hour pub that sold southern classics like chicken and waffles with the drinks in mason jars. I’d heard of the place before, but I’d thought it had closed up shop. It was actually quite delicious, but I wasn’t going to give Law anything, even something as small as choosing a good restaurant.

When we left
his
house, I tried to lose Law. I didn’t try running, because that would have been too obvious. I told Law I knew of a “really good place, right around the corner”. He seemed suspicious, but let me lead nonetheless. My plan was to take him to the convenience store and lose him in the aisles, disappearing out back.

It was like he fucking knew what I was thinking. When we arrived at the store he said, “This is the great place?” I told him I needed to use the bathroom first. When I went to the back, sidestepping the restroom for the back exit, he was waiting for me outside. Leaning so lackadaisically against the dirty concrete wall, it was as if he’d been reading a book.

“Can we go now?” he asked, bored. Snow had started falling, the white flakes landing on Law as if in agreement with God himself. I ignored how beautiful the flakes looked resting on Law’s thick lashes, instead opting to glare.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said.

“Look, I’m hungry, you’re hungry, and I actually
do
know of a good place only a couple of blocks downtown.” My fists curled, ready to fight, when Law said, “Yeah, yeah. You have a gun and I should be scared.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the neon lit door at my back. I jerked my hand back.

“If I go with you will you leave me alone from now on?” I attempted to wager.

He seemed to mull that over. “If you decide that you want me to leave you alone, sure.”

I laughed. “Like I would decide anything else.” Law reached for my hand again and I folded my arms. “Tell me where we’re going.”

“The Bell Jar.”

I narrowed my eyes at his response. “That closed.” My bullshit meter was perking up. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was beginning to
trust
Law, but I was beginning to think he didn’t outright want to do me harm. The minute he said we were going to The Bell Jar, though, that changed.

The Bell Jar was closed. Why would he be taking me somewhere closed?

Law sighed and the movement drew my eyes to his chest. He was wearing a wool pea coat, the buttons straining against his hard mass. “No, it’s not. It closed for two months and it reopened with new management. I’m beginning to think you aren’t worth this much trouble.”

I pounced on that. “Good! You should go with that. I’m not worth this much trouble.”

“I said beginning to. Come on now, let’s go before all the good beer is drunk.” Law skipped off down the street. I watched him walk, his tall form almost cheerful. He was definitely an enigma. One minute intense and brooding, the next skipping down the deserted downtown streets of Salt Lake City.

Part of me wished he would slip on the newly fallen snow and die.

The other part…well, I was ignoring the other part.

I didn’t trust him, but he was starting to captivate me. Law was getting inside my head, making me want to understand him. I shook that off. There was only room for one man inside my head, and
he
held that spot.

Unfortunately.

“So whose house were you spying on?” Law asked, taking a gulp of beer from his mason jar.

“I’m surprised you’re pretending you don’t know,” I mumbled, poking at my chicken and waffles sans chicken. Law, after all, was working with
him.
Even though I was only eating with Law so he wouldn’t immediately give me up to
him
, I still felt like I was walking a dangerous and fraying tightrope.

Was Law playing with me like a cat does a mouse?

“What was that?” Law asked, wiping beer from his mouth. I watched, fascinated, as his hand scratched across his five o’clock shadow. Law seemed so carefree, drinking beer, enjoying chicken and waffles. His hazel eyes gleamed as he talked to me.

Did he not walk the tightrope? Did he not think about
him?

I stabbed my waffles. “I said can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. Are you in school or working?”

I thought about that. I had been in school before the incident with scholarships paying for everything. Now I was working just so I could pay the bills. I didn’t want Law to know anything real about me, so I decided to start lying.

“School,” I mumbled, spearing mashed potatoes with my fork just to watch the perforation.

“What are you studying?” he asked, taking another gulp of his beer.

“I’m leaning toward peace and conflict studies.” Back before the incident, I had been studying peace and conflict. I had fancied that I would change the world and make it a better place.

Now I knew the world would never be a better place, because the people who were making the changes were evil, terrible people. I took a chug of my whiskey cocktail and shrugged. The drink was delicious. It tasted like fruit and sugar and syrup, and the alcohol hit just the right spot.

Law took another sip of his water and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“Are you amused by something?” I asked caustically.

“Yes,” Law said, his smile broadening. I glared, taking another swig of whiskey. It was entirely unladylike, but whatever. I didn’t want to be there anyway. I would have preferred the seventh layer of hell to this.

“I do find the idea of a pedestrian bashing, gun-toting woman such as yourself studying peace and conflict amusing.” I scowled, feeling vile and venomous. I had always hated the idea of violence, a pacifist by nature. Call me a constitution hater, but I thought guns should be banned. That was, until the attack. I still didn’t like guns. Every time I reached for mine, I felt such conflict. Wasn’t now the time I should really stand for my beliefs? It’s easy to say “Put your guns away!” when you don’t feel threatened, but now that I felt threatened, I tossed my ideals aside and reached for my gun.
I don’t know. Fuck
. I took another sip of my cocktail in an attempt to allay the troublesome thoughts.

“What about you?” I asked, attempting to change the subject. “What do you do?” I knew it was futile. Law was a liar just like
him
. Whatever he told me was only to serve whatever new sick plan they had for me.

I hated this. I hated that I had felt some semblance of power for two months but yet again
he
was taking it away from me.

I didn’t want to be at dinner, but
he
and his henchman had forced me there.

He
was taking control of my life once again.

I gulped the last of my drink, hoping the liquid would stave off the tears brimming beneath my lids. 

“You should eat something,” Law stated.

“Fuck yourself,” I replied, and ordered another drink.

Law paid the tab. I didn’t even reach for it. Are you kidding me? I was practically a hostage. It wasn’t a date. I wasn’t going to foot the bill on my own kidnapping. When we left and Law opened the door for me, I grunted. His manners were like a lifejacket on the Titanic. Just like I would rather die quickly than float for a few hours before freezing to death, I would have rather had Law cut to the chase than sprinkle manners on top of his bullshit.