Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) (17 page)

I moaned as he pushed into me, slowly and gently at first. But I tightened my thighs around his hips and urged him on. He buried his face in my neck, breathing hard with every thrust of his hips. I closed my eyes, digging my fingers into his back and let him have me. I let him have every inch of my skin. I finally gave it to him. For a minute, I could almost pretend it was Elliot. I could pretend that it was his big body on top of mine, his big cock inside of me, and his big love suffocating me in the best way. I remembered the last time we'd made love in my bed. How I'd felt so complete and wrapped up in him. How I couldn't see past him. How I couldn't imagine living without him. I let that feeling take me over and I gasped and moaned and held my lover tight, the tension building and building until it exploded.

As I came, I came with Elliot's name in my mind and Mitch's name on my lips.

I said my last goodbyes.

As I settled on top of my husband and he wrapped his arms around me and held me close, I banished Elliot from my thoughts and I buried him in my heart. I let him go.

Forward, I told myself. Move forward. And I took my own advice.

I played my role. I woke up in the morning. I got dressed. I went to work. I loved my husband. I laughed and kissed him and made love to him. We did the things we'd always done.

We never did get a dog, though.

A few months later, when everything was as close to normal as it had ever been and enough time had passed to make him almost forget the bad things, we lay together in our big bed. It was eleven o'clock on a Wednesday. The nightly news played on the TV. We were both close to sleep and Mitch lay behind me with his arm draped around my waist and his breath on my neck. I was comfortable in his embrace, not mistaking the comfort anything more than it was, but feeling loved and appreciated all the same. I was making myself happy with the present, making myself happy with what I had and not focusing on what I didn't have. The denial of my true nature was coming easier and easier with each passing day. Or so I liked to tell myself.

“Joanie,” he said in my ear, his voice deep and warm. “I want to try again.”

“You promised me a pitbull,” I whispered in response.

“I mean it,” he said. “Soon. I'm tired of waiting.”

I knew that he'd been patient with me. I knew that I'd been selfish and thought only of myself. The whole marriage had been like walking a tight-rope between his expectations and my hidden self. Trying not to plunge to my death was always the goal. And I was tired. I thought about that little boy playing in Elliot's lawn. I thought about him running around and giggling and screaming. I thought about his mother, smiling and happy and innocent, looking at him like he was her whole life. A lot of thoughts ran through my head, but then all of a sudden, it was like someone had turned the TV off. My brain went static and white noise roared in my ears. I stared ahead at the wall and before I knew it, I was opening my mouth and words were coming out.

“Yes,” I murmured. “Let's have a baby.”

Chapter Thirteen

I
'm cursed.

Things are never simple. Not for me, that is. Having a baby seemed like the easiest thing at first. When I decided I wanted to get pregnant, I thought it would be instantaneous. A male and a female fuck and the natural order of things takes over. Teenagers do it. Forty year old divorcees do it. Married and affluent women in their late twenties do it all the time. Every time I talked to my mother on the phone, she told me of another one of my old high school friends she'd seen around town. They always had a baby on their hip or a rambunctious five year old who ran circles around the local Target as their mother chatted with my mother.

I told myself that if I wanted it enough, I would be able to have it.

That was another mistake on my part.

Anything that I ever wanted, I didn't get. Mitch and I made love often enough that it was beginning to feel like a chore, but every month when my period would come, I felt something dissolving in myself a little bit more. A little bit of the wall I'd built up to maintain my sanity would crumble. I started doing yoga, convinced that my daily swimming was too strenuous. I cut out all red meat and wine, convinced I had to be healthier. I was making life harder on myself and I knew it, but I couldn't stop. I became obsessed, I can admit. The baby I had never wanted before suddenly seemed so important and I couldn't understand why. Ultimately, it didn't matter why. I wanted a baby and I would do anything to make it happen.

I finally made an appointment with a doctor to find out if the problem was mine. Mitch seemed too healthy. His cock was always hard for me. He was healthy as a goddamn horse. I somehow knew it was me. But I didn't want him to know. I didn't want him to look at me like I was any more defective. I kept it a secret because I didn't know any other way. I felt like I was coming undone at the seams. I had to know. Having a baby had become so important to me. I didn't know how to explain it then and I don't know how now. It just felt like I had a hole in my soul that needed to be filled. I wanted my belly to swell with life. I wanted to hold my child to my breast. Love would fill me, I knew it. I would love that baby more than life itself.

“You can put your clothes on the hanger in the closet,” the nurse said, pointing out the mirrored door to the left of the examining table. “You can leave your bra on, okay? There's a smock for you on the counter.” She smiled pleasantly at me and I returned a smile, despite the fact that my stomach was in knots. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” I nodded and she left me alone in the bright room, modern exam room. She closed the door behind her and I pinched my the skin of my arm until tears pricked in my eyes. This doctor was the best. I knew that. I knew I would have an answer soon, for better or worse.

I undressed quickly and put on the cotton smock they'd provided. I hopped up on the tall table, my legs swinging like I was a kid again. I pinched myself again and again, trying to force myself to think of mergers and acquisitions and all the minutia of my job. I had taken the rest of the day off, but the thought of having to go home to my big empty house after getting potentially bad news was making me nervous. I didn't have anyone to share with, no confidant. I only had myself and I wasn't always the best company. Sometimes I was destructive. Too destructive. “Mrs. Vasquez?” A bright voice cut through my thoughts. I glanced up at the doctor and sucked in a deep breath.

I wasn't ready but I had to be.

The doctor was calm, cool and efficient and I instantly felt at ease. She didn't bother with a lot of niceties. She got right down to business. She poked, pressed and prodded. She gave me an ultrasound. The exam wasn't anything out of the usual and I tried to force myself to relax. I  lay there with my feet in the stirrups and stared up at the rounded light fixture until the brightness hurt my eyes. Then I counted the ceiling tiles and tried to focus on everything else but what the doctor was doing. She made a little noise, a little noise of concern, and my attention was instantly focused on her.

“What? What is it?” I asked, digging my manicured nails into my palms.

“Just something out of the ordinary,” the doctor said, glancing up at me over the purple frames of her glasses. “Nothing to concern yourself about.” I blinked and set my head back against the vinyl of the table, but I didn't feel comfort. Instead my stomach twisted again. I pressed my palms against my flat stomach, wondering what she was feeling. I wondered what wasn't ordinary about me. I wondered what was different about me. It was hidden deep inside, but maybe she could see it. Maybe the ugliness was making its way out.

Finally, she sighed and pushed back on her wheeled stool. She patted my knee and stood. “You can sit up now, Joan,” she said. I did as she requested, pressing my knees together and setting my hands on top of them because I didn't know what else to do with them.

“What is it?” I asked, because I could see there was something bothering her. I could see it on her face. She pulled off her gloves and tossed them in the bin beside the sink. Then she took of her glasses and folded them up. She slid them in her pocket and then, finally, looked at me.

“I'm going to ask a sensitive question, but I want you to know that everything in here is privileged.” Her eyes softened and I could've sworn there was pity behind them. I didn't like that look. I didn't like it at all. “No one is going to know.”

“Of course,” I said, impatient. I knew it wasn't good. I had known it all along.

“Have you ever been raped, Joan?” she said, matter-of-factly. I let out the breath I'd been holding and it felt like my whole body deflated.

“Why,” I asked.

“Scar tissue,” she said. “You have a build up of scar tissue on your cervix and uterus. Most likely from trauma.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that getting pregnant is going to be extremely difficult.” She set her hand on the countertop. “Everything else seems to be fine. Your ovaries are fine. You're producing eggs regularly, just like you should be. This is definitely a setback, but this isn't the end of your journey. Pregnancy's not impossible but a natural pregnancy is unlikely. We could come up with a plan for you, for procedures and hormones. A surrogate might also be an option.” With every word she said, I was feeling more and more cold. It started in my chest first and spread down my legs. I knew she was just trying to make me feel better. She was trying to make me feel like their was hope. But it was artificial.

I was ruined.

He'd finally succeeded in doing what he'd started all those years ago.

He was still haunting me, no matter how much I'd tried to forget him and leave him behind. He was inside of me now, clawing his way out. He was still intent on destroying anything I could build with another man. He didn't want me to be with anyone else. He didn't want me to live. He didn't want me to have any baby that wasn't his.

I was still his slave, whether I wanted to be or not.

There was no cure for that. There was no injection or shot or diet that would change it. I was his. I always had been and I always was. There was no use pretending otherwise. There was no use denying it. There was nothing else.

Just me and him, a dead man.

That night, as my husband lay sleeping in bed, I went in the bathroom and shut the door. I didn't cry; I couldn't. Crying was pointless. It wouldn't change anything. But something had to be done to get the evil out. I had to take action or else it would consume me. I could feel him inside of me. I could hear his voice in my ear. I could feel his fingers on my neck. I pulled myself up on the stone counter beside the sink, facing away from the mirror. I found one of Mitch's replacement razors and the bottle of rubbing alcohol. I disinfected the blade and then the spot on the inside of my thigh. It was a clean spot, a smooth spot. A spot that had never been damaged before. I felt the need to ruin it, to slice it open. To make a new scar, a new reminder.

And so I did.

Chapter Fourteen

S
o that's it. That's my story.

Three years, two dead men, one wedding, and no baby.

For someone who's not even thirty yet, I'm tired. I can't sleep at night. I lay awake and stare at the windows, looking for an exit. I have a big house to get lost in but I spend time driving around the city. I love my car, but it's a one-sided affair. When I'm home, I feel like a robot. I smile on command, laugh on command, fuck on command. My body gains a new scar every other day, but the pain and the blood doesn't bring me any closer to enlightenment. It doesn't bring me any closer to ending it, either. The time came for more drastic action.

It took me a long time, but I've finally come looking for him.

It's colder than I imagined it would be, maybe because I couldn't have imagined cold this pervasive. I'm chilled all the way down to the marrow of my bones. I haven't been this cold ever in my life. But I don't stop. I make my way across the rocky cliff toward the overlook, taking my time so I don't trip on the jagged stones with my heeled boots. The sea stretches out in front of me, darkening to black at the edges of the horizon. It's so vast I can barely comprehend it. I can see the fishing ships, so far out that they're only little black figures, no bigger than a fingernail. Theres a thin railing that runs the length of the cliff and I grab ahold of it, clutching it like a lifeline.

This is where Elliot spent his last days.

This little town in Alaska, on the edge of the world and in the middle of nowhere, was where he'd lived. I'd driven past the shitty apartment building where he'd lived. It was rented out to someone else now, another man who worked on the ships, so I didn't even get to go inside and see where he'd slept and showered and eaten. This is all I get. The vast sea where he died is all that's left of him. It's the only grave I have to visit.

I have no doubt that he hated it here. The thought gives me some comfort as I stare down below at frothy waves crashing against the rocks. I came here to be with him but the joke is on him, really. He would've hated to be stuck here. He was a southern boy from the top of his head to the tip of his boots. He lived and breathed the dry heat. He hated Seattle and I know for a fact he hated this piece of shit town, with its two bars and one main road. The work on the fishing boat was probably the only thing that kept him sane. His idle hands were most definitely devil's play things. It was better for him to keep his mind focused on work.

No one in town seems to know him, beyond his picture. They don't know who his friends were or if he was fucking somebody or whether or not he liked football or hockey. The only thing they could tell was that he preferred Miller lite over Coors, and I could've told them that. He was smart about it, I'll grant him that. He kept to himself and didn't make trouble. He'd evaded capture for so long, it was almost commendable. I don't think either of us thought he would make it that long. I was starry-eyed and foolish when it came to him, but I wasn't a complete idiot. I knew it was going to end badly, I just didn't want to accept it because I was too obsessed with him.

I'm still obsessed.

The waves below are so loud I can barely focus on anything else. It's like they're calling me. It's not until that moment that I realize what I really came here for. The wind whips my hair around and it's almost like I can hear him whisper to me. The voice taunts me. It urges me forward. The salt-rusted metal rail isn't a deterrent. There's nothing stopping me. I could climb over it easily and walk to the edge. I could jump and let the wind would carry me to him and then my body would break on the rocks below. At least then it would all be over. The universe is angry with me for disturbing the flow of things. It's punishing me. He's punishing me. I know I've made mistakes and fucked up and I know that Elliot deserved what he got, but that doesn't make it easier. I want to know what I deserve. I want to hear him say it. I want to know how much more I have to suffer.

Jump, the voice whispers again.

The bastard is insistent.

*****

“How was the trip?” he asked, not even bothering to glance up from his iPad. His bare feet are propped up on the coffee table in the living room. There's a dirty plate beside his crossed ankles and a half-empty coffee cup. He looks comfortable.

“Lovely,” I say, not bothering to stop on my way up to the bedroom. No kiss hello. No hug. Not even a look exchanged.

I tell myself I'll be better tomorrow.

Turns out I've just gotten better at lying to myself.