Resist (Songs of Submission #6) (12 page)

I looked at her linen slacks and button-down white shirt again. Maybe she’d just gotten back from somewhere, or maybe she and Jonathan were partners in their sleep habits, hanging out until all hours and waking up after what most people would consider a nap. Maybe they used to stay up all night giggling and sharing stories, all dressed to the nines, not a hair out of place.

I had to shake myself out of my thoughts. “I’m sorry to come so late, but it seemed like everything was conspiring against us meeting.”

“‘Everything’ being Jonathan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No.” Her question had been so direct and her tone so kind, yet condescending that I started to understand why Jonathan didn’t want me near her.

An older woman in a black dress came out with a tea tray and left silently. Jessica poured tea into two white cups that were so plain, they must have cost a fortune.

“I understand why you don’t want to ask him. He can be intimidating.”

I didn’t answer. I still didn’t know if I was playing rabbit-in-the-woods or qualified-to-kink, so I just poured myself tea. “I’m sorry I was rude to you when I saw you last.”

She waved it away. “I understand. I came on too strong. I assumed you were naturally curious.”

I consciously, and with great effort, let the insult slide. I’d asked for it, considering I hadn’t asked him the details of blocking me from seeing her and I had aggressively avoided Jonathan-bashing at Frontage. “This is a very nice house. The view must be incredible in the daytime.”

“It is. You can see all the way to the horizon. It’s cooler too, with the breeze coming in.”

“Have you lived here long?”

She smiled a little, and I wondered if she could see that I was feeling her out. “Erik and I moved here after I left Jonathan. It was far away from him. That was the best thing about it.”

“And Erik? Is he still here? It’s a big house to live in alone.”

“Moved on.” Turning the line of questioning over to her life was obviously not on her agenda because she changed the subject back to me. “So, why the change of heart? You wanted nothing to do with anything I had to say.”

It was time to pick what and who I was going to be. “When he got arrested, I got… Well you used the word curious. I felt like there were things I needed to know, and you were trying to tell them to me, but I wouldn’t let you.”

“And you figured you’d get them out of me so you could go back and tell him?”

I held my breath. I’d failed somehow, because she jumped on my motivations so quickly. I must have looked like a deer in headlights and turned shades of pink, even in the dark corner. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” My voice crackled like a piece of paper being thrown in the trash.

“You’re going to tell him everything I said. And he’ll rebut me. Like my wrist, which I’m sure he denied breaking during sex. And beating me in his backyard. What did he tell you about that? Did he tell you I told everyone he wanted to rape me and hurt me? But he didn’t, of course, says
he
? Do you have any other source of information?”

I didn’t, but I said nothing.

“My lawyer says you found surveillance devices in your house, and he’s saying it was me. Is that what he told you? That I did it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not the one with the sick fantasies. Why would I do that?”

How could I answer? How could I say, “So you could try to prove he was an abuser. To shame him. To get him declared incompetent.” I wouldn’t tip Jonathan’s hand. I gazed down at my palms in my lap and tried to think of some rebuttal that made sense, but I had nothing.

She took my silence as permission to continue, her words measured and careful. “Every piece of information you have comes from him. Let me tell you something. He has control fantasies. If cameras were in your house, you have no farther to look than the man next to you. If a woman says he broke her wrist because he was holding them behind her back during sex, believe her.”

“You said you were joking.”

“I shouldn’t have told you when you were working. That was the joke. It wasn’t funny, but I don’t lie. Jonathan does. You know that, right? You know he lies.”

I took a deep breath. How could I admit that without betraying him? To sit there and say I believed everything he’d ever said would earn me nothing but her laughter. I felt cornered, hateful. Jonathan was right. I shouldn’t have come.

“His father ruined my family. Did he tell you that? He killed Daddy. Broke his heart with some sneaky business deal. I didn’t know when I met Jonathan. I had been protected. Daddy never even told me he’d lost nearly everything until I introduced them, and by then, it was too late. I loved him, and I fought for him. Just like you’re doing. His whole family ruins people.” Jessica leaned forward and put her hand over mine. “I know he didn’t tell you about Rachel either. What he did to her.”

My eyes shot to hers. My breathing picked up. “What?”

“You have bruises on your neck,” she said.

I impulsively touched the bend where shoulder and neck met, as if to hide them or make sure they were still there. “What did he do?”

“He killed her.”

He killed her. Had I known that, somewhere deep in my gut? Had I been avoiding it? Lying to myself, as I often did? Or were there more lies on top of those?

I felt trapped. Months ago, I’d been flying, my own buzz filling my ears, with a destination in mind but a path not mapped. I had a job and friends and hope. One night, I spilled a drink. I touched a man’s hand, and I let him kiss me on the hood of his car. Some time after, I don’t know when, I fell into a web of lies and deceit. The harder I struggled, the more trapped I became. But who was the spider? Was it Jonathan? Or Jessica? And how could I get out of their fucking web?

I glanced around, feeling the wetness in my eyes. God, one blink and I’d be a mess. I sniffed and took a napkin from the tray. I saw the manila envelope she’d brought out sitting on the low table. On top of it, face down, sat her phone.

“I’m scared,” I said. She squeezed my hand. “He is rough. He...” I trailed off.

“Go on.”

“He calls me names, and...” I put my hands to my neck and looked into the distance.

“Does he choke you?”

“He calls me whore. Did he say those things to you?”

“Well, no.”

I started to get up “Never mind.”

She took my hand and squeezed it, pushing me back down. “It was just different for me. For me it was bitch and slut. Humiliating women is part of his sickness.”

I looked away. I needed to keep the pain on my face. I touched my neck again and whispered, very low, “He hurts me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessica said, “I can’t hear you?”

I looked back at her, finding the tears of a minute ago were still available. I blinked them out, and they dropped like stars.

“Does he choke you, Monica?”

I nodded.

“He does? He chokes you?”

I shook my head. She looked confused. I cleared my throat and eyed my bag. “I think I should go.”

“He choked me,” she said. “I had bruises just like yours. I thought I was going to die. That’s the turn-on for these men. Watching your pain and fear.”

“These? Bruises like these?” I said, touching my neck.

“Yes.”

“I fell down a hill.”

“You don’t have to lie to protect him. I’ve been in your shoes.”

I squeezed her hand. Her French manicure was perfect on all of her fingers but the right thumb, which was cracked. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Sure.” She craned her neck to see in the house. “She’s gone to bed. God. Couldn’t wait another half an hour.” She slid the manila envelope from under her phone and handed it to me. “This is for you. There’s nothing in there Jonathan doesn’t know, and it’s everything he won’t tell you. I know everything, and that scares him.” She patted my head as if I was a terrier. “Do you want ice?”

“Yes, please.”

She squeezed my hand one last time and got up, closing the door behind her.

The temptation to open the envelope was intense, but I had very little time. I hugged it to my chest, unopened, and snatched Jessica’s phone. I slipped through the sliding glass doors and out the front. The phone was recording a voice memo. I shut it down as soon as I hit the street. If she tried to chase me, she’d be looking for my car. I still walked behind hedges and in the darkest parts of the street until I got to the Jag. I sped away as fast as the car and common sense allowed.

On the drive home, I considered that I’d done something really stupid. I didn’t know which stupid thing I’d done. A string of things had seemed right at the time and could still be right. The phone, which wasn’t getting signal and would be untrackable until it was turned on again, frowned at me like a hostage. I could turn it on and quickly put it into airplane mode. I could pop the SIM card. I could hear everything if I really wanted to.

“Fuck off,” I said to the black rectangle on the passenger seat. “You’re full of shit.”

I giggled at my double entendre that recognized the recording of Jonathan’s spanking was inside. Then I laughed because my brain emptied of everything but the one thing that mattered. I trusted him. He hadn’t earned it and he certainly had pushed my limits, but deep in my heart, I didn’t need to hear the recording. I believed him. I always had.

When I realized I was going ninety-five, I pulled over. I rubbed the tears from my eyes, got my breathing to a normal rate, and turned on the overhead light. Once I got back, I wouldn’t be able to open the envelope because Jonathan would be there. Whatever was in there needed to be read furtively, in the dark of night, alone. It would be evil and ugly, written with the silk of a spider’s web.

Chapter 23.

My feet dragged up the steps, boots clopping on the wood. I was fucking tired. I should never stay up late the night before any meeting, but especially not
that
meeting. I was going to crawl under the sheets with Jonathan, curl up next to his beautiful, warm body, and sleep.

Except he was sitting on the porch. He did not look happy.

His jacket was slung over the back of the porch swing. He wore his pants, fastened, his shirt, unbuttoned thrice, and his shoes. The shoes bothered me. He could walk away any second. He held out his hand. I dropped his car keys in it.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you,” he said, “but don’t do that again.”

“Do what? Steal the car? Or drug you?”

“See my ex-wife.”

“That’s the one thing I won’t apologize for.”

I put the envelope and phone next to him then leaned on the porch railing. He didn’t even look at them but kept his eyes on mine and his foot braced on the table in front of him. We regarded each other in silence for a second.

“Have you put the starter back in my car?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll get over there later.”

“Lil will take you.”

“I’ll take the bus,” I said.

“No, you won’t.”

“Go to hell, Jonathan.”

“
I
should go to hell? I? Me? I should go to hell?”

“Yes, you. You have felony charges against you, and you spend all your time finding ways to keep me from helping you. What was your plan for dealing with her? You gonna just let her blackmail you because you have the money lying around?”

“No, Monica, I had a plan. But I spent all my time making sure you didn’t fuck it up.”

I sat back on the railing and crossed my arms, locking my feet against the vertical rails so I didn’t fall over. “You could have just told me.”

“I don’t tell people things like that. It’s not my way.”

I rocked back on my feet. The railing had held for a hundred years and would hold for a hundred more, but Jonathan didn’t know that. He stiffened when it looked like I’d fall.

“Did I fuck it up?” I asked.

“No. You just fucked
me
up. I couldn’t think. I knew all the things Jessica would say to you, and I thought she would drive you away. Whatever you needed to hear, and I thought the worst, she’d say it. Then this time, you’d be gone for good.”

If touching him would have been appropriate, I would have stroked his cheek and kissed his mouth. I would have held his hands, warning them against the late November chill. I would have whispered my love in his ear in the cadence of his laughter. But we had too much of the last two days between us to make any of that meaningful.

“I am very sorry about the sleeping pills,” I said. “I didn’t think until after that you need your self-control, and I took it away. That was wrong and a breach of trust. I’m sorry.” When he didn’t answer, I continued. “I may steal your car again, though.”

“Take it.” He waved his hand as though he was giving me the last bite of dessert. “Can you tell me what she said?”

“Apparently, you killed your first love. She made it out like cold-blooded murder.”

The anger drained from his face, replaced by the flatness of fear.