Every Breath You Take (22 page)

“Of course, Joey. You’re absolutely right.”

He frowned, clearly taken aback by her new docile stance. The hint of a smile crept over his lips. “You agreein’ with me?”

She allowed him to spoon a scoop of oatmeal into her mouth and nodded. “I’ve had some time to think things over,” she swallowed. “And I wanted to apologize for being so difficult, for the comb, the pictures, and well . . . everything. I just didn’t understand or . . . appreciate, everything you’ve done for me. I’m sorry, Joey. Can you forgive me?”

She almost choked on the words right along with that slimy oatmeal.

Gain his trust.

He looked down into the bowl of oatmeal, stirring it as though doing so would keep the smile off his face. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. “Damn, Nat. You don’t know what it means to hear you say that. Of course I forgive you, girl.”

“I was also wondering, Joey, you know the sheets are getting a little dirty. Would you be able to give me a new set?”

“Oh, sure, sure, of course. Yeah, I got another set out there, I’ll bring ’em in.”

“And the bathroom? It’s starting to get a little . . . grimy in there. I can clean it if you just give me the stuff.”

“Uh uh. That’s okay, I’ll do that. It’s no trouble.”

Natalie shifted a bit in the bed. Of course he wouldn’t want her having access to any kind of cleaning products. The first chance she got, she’d throw them in his face, grab that phone, and bolt. She took a deep breath, trying not to tip her hand. “You know, Joey, I was also thinking maybe you could show me the rest of the house. I mean since I’ll be living here now. I should know where everything is, right?”

He smiled as he sidled over to her and held up a heaping spoonful of oatmeal to her lips. “We could do that.”

The oatmeal rumbled in her stomach and hot, sticky nausea began its rush to the surface. Natalie took a few deep breaths to try and clamp it down.

“Well . . . how about now?”

“Sure, sure, we could do that. Actually, I had something else I wanted us to do today.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“We need to put your pictures back up. Yeah. You know I heard you say once it was weird when people don’t have pictures up in their house, you know of like friends and family? That’s why I put all those pictures up. Make you feel at home.”

She cringed inside. How did he know that? When had he heard her say that? She bit her lip and smiled. She couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t think about anything except getting him to let his guard down. “That was very thoughtful of you, Joey. You really do think of everything.”

He mixed the oatmeal again. “I do, don’t I?”

“So, how about the house tour, huh? I’ve been thinking about it all night, and I’m really eager to see it.”

“Well, all right,” he said as he dropped the bowl onto the plastic tray and grabbed her arm. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He pulled at her like a little boy showing his mother all of his A+ schoolwork plastered on the walls of the classroom. He punched some numbers into the phone to open the door, and she tried to edge her eyes in that direction to see what they were, but the angle was bad and all she caught was glare.

She winced once they passed through the metal door. Much like the bedroom, the living room was a shrine to her. Everywhere she looked there were pictures of her. Some were duplicates of the ones in the bedroom, others were new. Natalie gulped, wanting to run away from this, from him.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.

They continued their trip through the house, Joey blathering on about his special decorative touches as she tried to get the lay of the land. For someone who prided himself so much on detail, the house was ugly. There was a blue velour couch and small wooden coffee table. A TV took up almost the entire wall opposite the couch, with multiple rows of multicolored DVDs neatly lined up on the shelves on either side of the monstrous black screen. There was a picture window next to the front door, but it was covered in a heavy blue velvet curtain, blocking out any light. She suspected it, too, was blacked out like the windows in the bedroom.

He kept his hand locked around hers as he yammered on about how hard he worked to make this their home. She had to tune him out as she let her eyes sweep the room for exits. The front door. Was there a back door? Maybe in the kitchen. The phone. She saw him shove it back into the jeans pocket farthest away from her. She’d have to create some sort of distraction to give her time to dig into his pocket and get it. Then what? How could she keep him subdued long enough to get a call out? Would it be possible to lock him in the bedroom? Natalie’s brain throbbed as he stood her in front of the dining room table, pictures of her scattered across the surface. The pictures were cut. Scissors. Where were the scissors? His hands were digging into her shoulders.

“You know, Nat, I forgot to ask, you get enough to eat? You want something else?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine, Joey, thank you. Why don’t we keep going? Show me the rest of the house?”

“Okay, sure, yeah,” he said, smiling.

He led her to the doorway of his bedroom, which was on the other side of the kitchen. She had to keep from outwardly cringing at its sad, solitary state. The life-size photos of her were in place, of course, and the only furniture was a twin bed in the center of the room and an oak dresser. She scanned the top for a pile of keys, the scissors, even, but it was bare except for some scattered change. The window next to the bed was draped in the same heavy velvet as the rest of the house. A hulking treadmill rested in one lone corner.

“Um, so how many rooms are there altogether?” Natalie asked.

“Three bedrooms, dining, living, kitchen, and two bathrooms, so eight.”

“Sounds like a nice-sized house. Where’s the other bedroom?”

Joey shook his head. “Oh, I can’t show you that one. It’s a mess. Just stuff I haven’t gotten around to yet.”

He let go of her hand, and she had to stop herself from wiping it on the back of her dress. He walked through the room and sat on the bed, which groaned under his weight.

“You know there isn’t anyone around here for miles and miles. So even if you screamed until you couldn’t scream no more, no one would hear you. Besides, this entire house is soundproofed. Just in case you had any ideas. And, as I’m sure you’ve already figured out, the windows are shatterproof. And even if by some miracle you did manage to break a window, there are sheets of steel across all of them.” He stopped and smiled at her. “So, if you haven’t already, you just have to accept that there is nothing you can do to leave.”

She gulped, unnerved by his calm, casual demeanor. The chill of his words. The finality.

“I already told you, Joey, I understand. This is where I live now. With you.”

He smiled as he stood up to come over and caress her cheek. The oatmeal churned in her stomach, the bile refusing to stay dormant. His face softened as he continued to stroke her face. He leaned down to kiss her. Her body wouldn’t allow it; her hand flew to her mouth, and she went running in the direction of his bathroom. She barely made it before breakfast came back up in the toilet bowl.

“What’s wrong, Nat?”

She gripped the sides of the toilet bowl, sweat, vomit, and snot clinging to her chin. “I don’t know. . .” she said, dry heaving, feeling another crest poking its way to the surface. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Joey didn’t say anything, just continued standing behind her. The wave broke and she vomited again, wincing at the droplets of water and bits of oatmeal splashing back on her. She coughed and leaned back on the floor, holding her chest and trying to catch her breath.

She heard him run out and managed to take a quick glance around. No mirror. No razor resting on the counter. Not even nail clippers.

“Damn,” she whispered.

He came back in with a cup of juice, which she took in measured sips, not wanting to rock the boat. He sat on the edge of the tub watching her.

“Maybe the flu, huh?”

“Maybe,” she said as she flushed the toilet, her eyes focused on the volumes of waste swirling down the drain, wishing she could go with it.

“Whatever it is, you know I’ll take care of you.”

“So, I noticed there was a huge television in the living room. Maybe we could watch some TV? Whatever you’d like.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I got a lot of movies. You remember how much I like movies?”

She remembered all too well how much Joey liked movies, the same asinine Freddy-on-Elm-Street-killed-Michael-Meyers movies that her cousins liked to watch. He was always dragging her to the dollar cinema for either those or some shoot-’em-up, martial arts flick heavy on trite one-liners and paper-thin plots, never once asking her if there was something she might like to see.

“Hey, did you ever see that movie
Bodyguard
with Whitney Houston?” She snapped back to him talking, trying to feign interest.

“
The Bodyguard
?”

“Yeah, I have it on DVD. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I didn’t realize you liked movies like that,” she said. “Romantic movies, I mean.”

“Aww, yeah, when I was in the hospital, you know, they don’t let you watch a lot of, like, the stuff you really want to watch, right? So you have to watch what they want you to watch, and, you know, some of them movies ain’t half bad. Besides . . . gave me a lot of ideas.”

Gain his trust.

She plastered on a smile, unnerved yet again by his leer. “Sounds great. Let’s watch it.”

He smiled and pulled her up off the floor and started to yank her into the living room.

“Wait, Joey. Can I at least wash my face?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, okay,” he said, grabbing a clean towel out of the drawer. She tried to see if there was anything tucked inside. Nothing. Natalie felt herself tense up but still let him watch her run a wet washcloth over her face and take handfuls of water to swish away the film of vomit from her teeth. The minute she draped the towel over the sink, he grabbed her hand and all but skipped into the living room to load the DVD player. Natalie lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, her body stiff and on alert.

She glanced around the room, casting her eyes down yet again at the pocket bulging with the square outline of the cell phone. How long would she have to stay on the line for a 911 call to be traced?

Her heart knocked against her chest. He smiled as he came over to join her on the couch and slid his arm around her shoulder. She flinched.

“Nat? You all right?

“Oh, yeah. I’m just still a little jumpy from being sick.”

“Sure, I understand,” he said, squeezing her shoulder, letting his knee graze against hers. “Don’t you worry, though, Nat. I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

“Oh, I know you will. I know you will. You know, Joey, you haven’t told me how your parents are.”

He shrugged. “Back in Braxton. That’s about it.”

“Your mother . . . she was always so nice to me. Maybe I could talk to her sometime, you know? I’d like to know how she’s doing.”

“Oh, yeah, I had to give them up, you know, for the greater good and all. It was a choice between them and you, and, well, you know I’d choose you.”

Natalie clenched her jaw. Maybe she could try that again some other time. Better not to push it for the time being. She smiled instead. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

“Just telling the truth,” he said as he cocked his head to look at her then frowned.

“What is it, Joey?”

He smiled a little as he looked her up and down. “Looks like I’m fattening you up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re gaining weight. Getting some meat on your bones. I mean, living on yogurt and TV dinners. . .” he shook his head. “That’s not good for you. See? I told you I’d take care of you.”

“Oh, yes, Joey,” she forced a smile. “You’re so good for me.”

He settled in to watch the movie, his arm clamped across her shoulder, pulling her toward him. Her heart clanged inside her chest like a busted bell.

She had to step up her efforts.

She had to free herself before he discovered she was pregnant.

They never told anybody she was pregnant.

They were still in the throes of celebrating their engagement, dreaming about their wedding, when she realized how tired she’d been. When she threw up at work one afternoon, she knew. A day later and with five pregnancy tests criss-crossing one another in her bathroom sink, the pink lines, blue lines, plus signs—all the unmistakable sign for “Natalie, you’re pregnant, girl”—staring up at her, she had her confirmation.

She wasn’t sure why, but she’d been embarrassed to tell Jason. They’d talked about having kids in general, someday-in-the-future terms, not already-knocked-up-when-we-just-barely-got-engaged terms. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he blamed her for that
ONE
pill she missed that
ONE
day?

But he’d been thrilled when she, sheepish and unable to look him in the eye, stuck one of those positive pregnancy tests into the pocket of his jeans that night. Over-the-moon thrilled. His tears soaked her neck as he swallowed her into a fierce embrace. Their bedtime ritual of her reading to him from a classic book she loved and one he either never read or couldn’t remember was put aside in favor of his rubbing her stomach all night, alternating between talking to “the little peanut” (his term, though she begged him to come up with something else because of her allergy—they settled on “the little almond”) and lobbing potential names to each other. She couldn’t stop the sporadic flow of tears and laughter when the next night, he brought home a silver heart charm engraved with “Mom” to add to her bracelet and a miniature snow globe with a red heart inside—the first thing they’d put in the nursery.

They would keep the news to themselves. She had another month before her first doctor’s appointment. It would be their little secret.

Without even realizing it, Natalie had started to hold her stomach, something she supposed pregnant women did all the time. Was it to make sure the baby wouldn’t fall out? A motherly instinct? Whatever it was, she was happy and excited to do it. Her little almond.