One Week Three Hearts: (3 page)

The brief hesitation almost stopped Rose from dragging the one video file from its containing folder to the empty one displayed side by side on the screen. The contract didn't specifically state she had to share anything intimate with Matt, but the nagging compulsion to comply with his request propelled the pointer across the screen.

A progress bar popped up on the screen once the upload initiated. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she forgot to eat lunch. Dizziness gripped her as she stood up and headed to the kitchen. There wasn't a need to stick around watching that empty bar fill up with the upload's status.

Hmm, I should take that early pregnancy detection kit out from the linen closet. Considering all those times with Jason the last few weeks, I need to remember to test for a miracle in a day or two so I can move on and schedule an appointment at the fertility clinic.

SUMMER

Red spots. Jason.

Blurry shadows from her lashes framed Rose's vision. Her eyelids weighed ten pounds as she struggled to find clarity. Edges seemed fuzzy and clouded, as if someone spread fine cotton batting around her pupils. A figure stood with its back to her; Rose couldn't tell who it was. Dull pain spread from the side of her head, dwarfing a strange emptiness growing deep within.
 

The figure facing a window concerned her more than the pain. It shook while softly rocking back and forth from toe to heel. Blurry lines of light leaked through the closed shades.

This is a dream. Close your eyes, open them, and try again.

He choked back sobs with a fist held to his mouth. Weak sunlight fought to enter the room through the blinds and made bright lines on Jason's face. His messy hair, unshaven face wincing in pain, the constant rocking back and forth as if to comfort himself…

This wasn't the first time Rose witnessed her husband in so much pain. It was at his mother's funeral. His chest heaved as he furtively looked around the funeral home to see if his father would dare show up. Not like Jason would recognize him, but she saw him momentarily unbury that fear and anger through his grief as he gripped her hand.

A loud sob from Jason brought her back to her unfamiliar surroundings.

Something or someone hurt my husband.

Her lips felt glued together by some unknown adhesive.

Jason.

He didn't turn around.

Jason, look at me. Tell me what's wrong.

Jason.

Jason.

"Jason," she whispered.

MATT

"It's ungodly the fuck in the morning, so this better be important," Matt said to whoever called him. His head still pounded from that last round of drinks with the know-nothings in Operations, he could barely find the speakerphone icon on his mobile phone. "Hello?"

"It's Jason," the hoarse voice said. "Sorry to wake you up, but I knew any email or text wouldn't get to you for a few hours, and this is important. Are you there? Matt, can you hear me?"

So groggy and my brain feels like cottage cheese.

 
"Yeah."

"Matt. It's gone. The baby. She panicked and slipped in the bathroom after. Hit her head. I'm in the hospital with her. She is okay."

He sat up straight in bed and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. "What?"

"She miscarried." Jason sounded like he was in a bathroom, and he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Oh God. Please, no. NO! What did you do? Fuck. No. Please, no.

"Is she okay? Is Rose okay?" He tried to keep his voice down, but the phone kept staring at him with its unfeeling call timer and a picture of Jason smiling and wearing sunglasses that didn't quite match his face's shape. Every ounce of inner strength collected within himself in order not to throw it across the room and smash it against the sterile wall.

Jason's frustration with him traveled over the Pacific and oozed through the speakerphone. "She is okay. I'm in the hospital with her. She slipped in the bathroom after realizing what happened. They just want to keep her here the night for observation."

I heard you the first time.

"Keep me posted," Matt said before mashing his index finger against the touchscreen's portion where END surrounded itself in red. After carefully placing the phone back on the nightstand, he brought his knees to his chest and crossed his arms around them. There wasn't a television, painting, or any object to focus on. The blank wall was all he had.
 

One full minute passed before he released and extended his right arm fully to grip the top sheet covering him. He pulled it to the top of his knees, then repeated the same motion with his left arm. Soon the entire sheet was on his knees, and he buried his face into the pile to muffle the agony.

A second scream didn't quite match the volume of the first one.

Hyperventilating, his vision blurred from tears that refused to expel from his eyes. Matt threw the sheet off and managed to place his feet on the floor. Rising bile collected at the base of his throat. He didn't want to throw up anywhere near the bed. The kitchen was probably the closest, and his bare feet made a thumping noise as he ran across the barely furnished corporate studio apartment.

I don't feel better at all.

After rinsing his mouth out and cleaning up the mess in the sink, he calmly went back to the bed without turning on any lights. He didn't want to see his reflection in the window. Tinnitus stung his ears. Matt found the phone on the nightstand, and hit the music app icon. The opening chords of "
Professional Griefers
" echoed through the emptiness, and he set it to repeat after making sure he set the phone's speaker volume level to maximum.

"Thank you, Joel Zimmerman." His throat felt scraped raw, and his didn't recognize the croaky voice coming from his own mouth.

Rose.

Matt carried the phone back into the kitchen, propped it up on the counter next to the sink, and proceeded to liberate every single plate in the upper cabinets. One by one, he threw them to the kitchen floor with as much force as he could muster. The shattering porcelain fused with the pumping beat, and drove him to continue the task. Grief and frustration gnawed at him from all angles as he started on the bowls.

The drinking glasses followed.

It wasn't over until all the coffee mugs were destroyed.

Still panting from the exertion, he grabbed a loose napkin from the counter to wipe his nose. Observing the results of his destruction, his improved visual clarity went unnoticed.

The glass and porcelain shards coating the entire kitchen floor presented a problem. Three walls enclosed the small kitchen. Five feet separated him from exiting the room. He contemplated spending significant time pulling remnants out of his feet.

That kitchen wall is the fucking worst design decision ever made. Whoever thought it was a good idea to completely ignore all that open space beyond that wall needs a daily enema to drain the shit from their brain.

"Look at the awful mess I made." Matt rummaged through cabinets for something to use as a makeshift broom.

FALL

MONDAY

The closed bedroom door barely dulled Jason's exasperated voice. "Damn it, Rose. Don't you see what's going on? Take a good, hard look around here — and at yourself."

Rose stared at the doorknob. Jason didn't even bother to turn it this time. The daily scene started up the minute he arrived home from his new job at the same company that employed Matt. The dishes in the sink usually set him off followed by a tirade about how Rose didn't go pick up the mail, her sleeping hours completely reversed from a normal schedule, that she should really take a shower, and it usually went downhill from there.

Neither you nor Matt can possibly understand what I had to go through the past few months.

Anything involving Matt seemed overly complicated; Rose's new bleak existence lacked a defined place for him. Indulging a craving for simplicity and solitude, she abandoned him in a small mental crevice while she pondered which past misdeed led to deserving such heart-wrenching failure. The constant state of self-examination always circled back to her betrayal with Matt.

Buried under old sheets in the closet, the camcorder sat in its box. The first video lacked a sequel; Matt didn't insist on another one after Rose revealed she was pregnant. All his communication channels were progressively uninstalled by not instantly launching any messaging programs. Her phone languished in her handbag without a recharge, and emails remained unread. The messages and chirping tones eventually ceased, and Matt dwindled away to a hushed whispered conversation with Jason she didn't want to overhear.

Jason tried another familiar refrain. "You heard the doctor — the good news is that you can get pregnant! How many times do I have to say it?"

Say it all you want. I don't care. The pain is as fresh as it was months ago. Just let me be. I only want to get some sleep.

The last few months seemed like one giant blur. A constant reprise of bleak daily activities added to her numbness, and Rose inadvertently slept through them. Cheerful sounds from neighbors herding their small children in and out of cars illuminated her stark emptiness. Mundane tasks required too much energy; any physical action felt heavy and clunky. A former coworker's baby shower invitation went unanswered except for sending a last minute gift from the registry with a vague excuse for non-attendance.

Everything Jason said took several attempts to register. His inquiries originated from behind a thick fog, repeating himself until Rose responded with stunted acknowledgments without lifting her empty eyes to meet his demanding gaze. They led two separate lives culminating in half-eaten meals shared in silence disturbed only by clinking silverware or a plate pushed angrily across the kitchen table. Dimly aware of his scaling frustration, each passing day brought more numbness to her behavior's affect on their surroundings. The dark early morning hours gave her respite from it all, and after a few fruitless attempts to draw her out, Jason eventually relented to her silence as she withered away in the computer screen's glow.

On the days her mind lashed out and laid the blame at Jason's feet, she used the one weapon she possessed against him.

She withdrew.

Jason's renewed effort contained an insistence to check her email for some last minute travel arrangements Matt made. Something about a week in Hawaii; she was supposed to meet Matt in Kona tomorrow, and Jason would join them at the end of the week. The bizarre request and its urgent nature temporarily snapped her out of the haze catered to by the unmade bed.

"If you love me, truly love me, then you'll go to him. I can't continue watching you destroy yourself every day like this." His palm thudded hollow on the locked bedroom door, and the carpeted floorboard groaned under his retreating footsteps.

Tomorrow.

Rose reached for her tablet on the nightstand and located the email Jason mentioned. One carry on suitcase. No bathing suit. One pair of flip flops. Skirts and dresses only. No yoga pants. No oversized shirts. Matt's brief packing list went on to describe the allowed and forbidden items.

What the…?

After reading through the perplexing list a few more times before flinging the tablet onto the mattress, Rose headed to the bathroom. The intention behind the list dawned on her when she inadvertently glanced at the mirror to find a barely recognizable reflection.

Matt wanted her to surrender control to him; there wasn't a need for Rose to figure out how this relationship would work — he would take care of it. He didn't want her spending hours figuring out what to bring or second guessing anything. He didn't want her to think.

The pleading from her husband confirmed his permission for Rose to make the journey alone; this denied any remorseful sense of infidelity. A new contradiction surfaced: the person at the center of her guilt might be the one to remove it all. The mirror reflected her chest rapidly expanding and contracting above the cluttered counter. The confessor transforming into her punisher was a prospect too tempting to ignore; that one night was only a glimpse into Matt's stored arsenal.

Beyond the lure of Matt's particular brand of punishment, Rose hoped the trip could distract her attention away from the other box hidden in the closet — the one containing misguided early purchases of baby things. The small gender-neutral items she couldn't resist purchasing online or even grocery shopping: pacifiers, celery green bibs, and burp cloths. The condo transformed a prison of imagined memories and abandoned plans: they'd place baby gates over there, counting electrical outlets to cover, who'd arrange to donate the guest room's furniture. Shadows shrouded each detail as the days grew shorter.

The bathmat missing from beneath her feet reminded her of how she slipped on that fateful day. Jason silently removed it after she tried to outrun the inevitable. They stifled the condo into a bleak claustrophobic tomb, and now she wanted to get away. Matt opened a door to escape.

A forgotten sense of determination propelled Rose to rip the elastic band from her partially matted ponytail, and turn on the shower.

TUESDAY

"You're supposed to open that box now," the limousine driver said. The darkened, soundproof glass partition separating the driver and the rest of the limo interior slowly rolled up until it clicked at the roofline. The limo lurched forward, and she almost fell off the seat.

Rose looked around and saw a small white box tied with a wide robin's egg blue ribbon on one of the seats lining the sides. She had to lean forward in order to grab it. The loose knot was easy to untie, and she discarded it quickly. Lifting off the box's top revealed a small white envelope nestled in thin tissue colored to match the ribbon.

A plain white card read:

PUT THIS ON NOW.

WEAR IT UNTIL I SEE YOU.

Rose pulled out a g-string made of a series of medium sized pearl-like beads and elasticized wide blue ribbon from the tissue paper. There weren't any metal adjustment sliders on the sides in order for someone to tighten the contraption. Instead, the tight elastic didn't give too much when she tried to stretch the fabric with both hands. It would barely fit around the top of her hips.