Elastic Heart (29 page)
Authors: Mary Catherine Gebhard
When Law raised me up in the ropes, I felt like I was flying.
I let out a sigh and said, “God I would love to talk about anything else right now. Lets talk about genocide.”
“Nami…” Law yanked on one of the knots and I trembled. “I want to know that your mind is clear. There can’t be any secrets between us, remember?”
I sighed. “I let Morris go the day I decided he didn’t have any more power over me. I don’t need to watch him go to jail to know he’s out of my life.” I had helped with the case, of course. After Becca Riley’s suicide note, more women came forward. An astonishing twenty-four women had tales to tell of their own rapes by Morris’s hand. It was sickening. I made it clear to the prosecuting attorney that I would give my testimony but my help ended there.
It wasn’t about spite, it was about moving on. I’d given almost a year of my life to Morris and I wasn’t about to give up more. I recorded my account of the rape so they could admit it into evidence and alerted them of the rape kit that had been abandoned in evidence.
The attorney tried to apologize, more to cover her ass than out of real contrition. It was clear I had a huge civil suit on my hands. I could take the state for a lot of money for the way they had handled my case. I didn’t, though. Like I said, I didn’t want to give up any more of my life to Morris. I had moved on.
“It probably doesn’t hurt knowing he’s getting life no matter what,” Law whispered, running his fingers lightly along the ropes. The sensation was like an amplified caress.
“Yeah. That doesn’t hurt.” I sighed the words, utterly losing focus. Up in the air, it was hard enough to think, much less carry a conversation. Law tugged on the ropes, his actions a purposeful movement to elicit an erotic response. Each knot hit a pressure point designed to drive me wild. When Law tugged another knot, I whimpered, completely forgetting what we’d been talking about.
“I suppose it’s time we get started, Dandelion,” Law murmured, straining the rope so hard I saw stars.
Afterward we cuddled in bed with the news on. Different news channels each reported on the same thing: Morris. His sentencing was over and the judge had ruled that Morris would get life without parole. I turned off the TV and craned my neck to Law. If it was possible, I’d grown to love him more over the year.
We wouldn’t be in Utah much longer. Law had gotten a job with a nonprofit in DC that worked to eliminate sex trafficking in the US and abroad. I’d also gotten a job and now we were both moving to the capital of the nation the next week.
After months of what felt like sleepwalking through my life, barely managing to finish my degree in peace and conflict studies online, it had all clicked together. Law had shown me the job and I’d applied, interviewed, and been accepted. I was going to work in a rape recovery center. Hopefully my terrible experience would help someone. That was the plan, at least.
Mostly everything about my Utah life was ending. The only tie I had there was Tony, who I made sure to text, email, and Skype whenever I could. Even my tie to Raskol was no longer in Utah. Raskol would follow me wherever I went, and Law had solidified that in silver. Dangling delicately from my neck was a canine-shaped locket Law had given me months ago. It was the closest I would ever get to a dog again.
Law and I had visited the humane society a few times, but it felt like I was trying to replace a child. I’d discovered that the most I could do to allay my guilt and remorse was donate to various dog charities. Yet even that was like taking an umbrella to a stormy sea. I’d grown to accept that nothing would calm the sorrow I felt.
I had decided not to call Effie months before. I’d deleted her voicemail and blocked her number. She was part of my old life, the life I was moving on from. She had chosen not to be a part of my new life when she’d abandoned me and left me to the wolves.
I wrote her numerous letters that I never sent. Each letter was the same variation of the previous one. I called her out for being a horrid friend and person. I told her she should be ashamed of herself. I told her she was terrible.
In the end, it wasn’t worth it. To ascribe so much worth to a person who doesn’t value you is toxic. I had learned that from Morris. It was better to forget Effie and move on than to try and capture the elusive concept of closure.
Hopefully I would make new friends in DC. Maybe my new friendships wouldn’t be exactly like mine and Effie's had been, but then what I’d had with Effie hadn’t actually been what I’d thought it was. A true sister doesn’t abandon you. A true sister believes you no matter what.
“How do you feel?” Law asked, pulling me close.
“I guess I should feel something, right?” I asked, resting my chin on his pectorals. “I mean I’ve been working for exactly this, to see that bastard’s name dragged through the mud as it rightly should be.”
“But you don’t?” Law rubbed my arm. I was grateful for that gesture because even though the lofted apartment was warm, I felt cold.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he can’t hurt anyone else, but it’s almost as if I don’t care any more. This past year with you has been the happiest I’ve ever been. It’s been the bright spot in my murky waters. I just…” I trailed off, uncertain.
“You’re not required to feel anything for him, good or bad.” I nodded at Law, liking the way that sounded. I’d had numerous requests for interviews. People finally wanted to hear my story. Still, I’d turned them all down. The only person who seemed to understand
why
I was turning them down was Law.
Instead of calling me a liar, a slut, and a whore now, everyone was guessing about my state of mind. I was no longer a whore, I was a hero. I was a different kind of tabloid fodder.
The same people who had hated me loved me now. They wanted inside my head. They wanted to call me brave to my face. To the naked eye it seemed like I’d gotten what I’d been fighting for, but I knew better, and so did Law. It was just a different type of public lynching. They wanted to string me up and call me martyr.
I wasn’t a martyr. I’d swum in the black ooze. I’d done terrible things. I wasn’t ignoring their calls because I was mad or sad or utterly post traumatic. I was ignoring their calls because I’d moved on and wasn’t about to glorify Morris with so much as a whisper, much less a segment on 60 Minutes.
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “Now that I’m all enlightened and shit?”
“We could become monks,” Law suggested.
“We could…” I smiled, pretending to consider it.
“Or we could become preachers,” Law offered.
“That’s also a possibility.” I furrowed my brow, as if really thinking about it.
“Or,” Law continued. “We could finish packing and go fuck each other’s brains out until we can’t get out of bed.”
“That”—I pointed at him—“that is an idea I can get on board with.”
“Well, that’s the last of it. We are officially done packing,” Law said, closing the lid on his suitcase. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me in for a kiss. A year of his kisses and I still hadn’t tired of them. He opened me up, body and soul.
Breathless, I pulled back and gestured to the huge pile of clothing we’d yet to pack. “What about that stuff over there?”
“All right,” Law whispered, taking my ear between his teeth. “You caught me.” Law grinned and spun me around so I was flat against his chest. Bending down so his head was to my neck, he placed lingering kisses on the tip of my collarbone. He ghosted a trail of kisses to the top of my chest and I gripped his forearms, his lips making me fold into myself.
“It’s getting too quiet in here.” Law sucked along my skin, pushing my shirt aside to get at my bare shoulder. “The sound of you screaming my name is noticeably missing.” Law tugged the back of my neck and forced me to look at him. His honey eyes shone with lust, but he searched mine. Law never took what I didn’t offer.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Law stated. Only hours ago we’d made love and I still felt the echoes of our sex. My legs were weak, my arms were sore, and between my thighs I still felt him inside me.
“You are, are you?” I teased. I reached out and kissed him. Unlike our previous kiss, this one was forceful. It was needy. It was hot. We’d shared tongues and lips many times that year. I’d pecked him on the cheek. I’d kissed him goodnight. Our kisses had become our language, and the kiss we shared now was electric, the fire between us casting shadows.
We were searching for each other. We were renewing the bond we’d built. We were tasting for the lost souls we’d found together.
I broke apart just long enough to whisper, “Tie me up, Law.” Law smiled against my lips before separating to go get the rope.
When Law met me, I was beyond death. I walked the world and saw only ash and ruin. My body didn’t belong to me; it belonged to Morris. I saw it as a tool for his destruction. I didn’t believe in love; I worked in fear and hate. I let myself believe that because I hated, I was free. That was the opposite of the truth, though.
I was caged.
I was locked in with my demons. Law changed that, because Law made me love him. When you love someone, you have to exorcise your demons. When you’re alone, you can be swallowed up by them. Law forced me to exorcise my demons
Before Law, even before Morris, I’d been searching for clarity. I’d yearned for a love so true I could lose myself in it and not fear getting lost. I’d stared longingly at pictures of women tied up and feared that I would never have such trust in another. After Morris, I was convinced it was impossible.
Now I knew nothing was impossible, even love.
THE END
Thank you for reading
Elastic Heart.
Normally I attach a preview of one of my upcoming books, but I’m so thrilled to bring a preview of another amazing author’s book. Here is
Summer’s Ev
e by M.C. Cerny! Enjoy!
M.C. Cerny fell in love with books after experiencing her first real ugly cry reading Where The Red Fern Grows. Her debut romantic suspense novel, Flashpoint, was written in a series of post-it-note ramblings that would likely make her idol Tom Clancy and her mother blush. She is a post graduate of NYU, and calls rural NJ home with her menagerie of human and feline fur-babies. When M.C. is not writing, you’ll find her lurking in Starbucks, running stupid marathons, singing Disney show tunes, and searching out the perfect shade of pink nail polish.
You can buy Summer Ever After
here
.
You can find M.C. Cerny here:
Today seems like a good day to make some shitty choices. Those would be my dad’s words, not mine. But choices need to be made all the same. Rolling over in the plush bed, I let my body sink into the downy mattress as I stare at the ceiling, watching the light bounce off the hanging crystal light fixture. My mind wanders as rainbows playfully dance against the pale walls darting back and forth like the fast paced L.A. traffic. I think about the choices ahead and how un-carefree I’ve become.
Stagnant.
My skin tightens and zings from the coolness of the air conditioner as I brush the four hundred thread count sheets off my chest and down my stomach. Scrunching my eyes firmly shut against the daylight, I groan into the empty room. I’m alone.
To drown out everything—sound, light, whatever—I wrap the fluffy pillow over my head. My foot kicks out adjusting my cramped legs and my focus shifts to the feel of the soft sheets skimming further down my body. The roaring outside my head is the sound of the ocean hurtling water and rocks on the soft sand just beyond my little rented cottage. Damn pillow doesn’t completely block it out like I want–no, need it too, but I mind it less today. The exhaustion from making the long drive is actually better this morning, but just slightly and for damn sure I don’t miss the downtown traffic.
