Elastic Heart

Almost instantly my phone buzzed and I didn’t want to look. I had expected at least a five-minute window to prepare for a reply. Huck was supposed to exist in the ephemeral, swirly-world of Secrets. Now I had his number and he had mine. I felt as if the exchange of our numbers augured something I didn’t want to discover.

“I think I’m getting to know you,” he replied.

“Ha! You wish.” I sent it before I could think.

“Why didn’t you call, Dandelion? Afraid of my voice?” I set the phone down at his reply, deciding to watch Tony instead of responding to Huck. When I glanced up, though, Tony was already inside. I took one last look at the message on my phone and deleted it. Maybe I was afraid.

When I got home, Law was waiting outside my apartment.

“What do you want?” I growled, not in the mood for pleasantries. After “visiting” To

ny, I had gotten stuck in traffic. I’d turned the radio on to listen to some mind-numbing pop music, but the stupid DJs were talking. They were doing some moronic segment and guess who was the star? Me.

It was a “where are they now” type feature, and they were trying to speculate about where I was. It was little more than cheap jokes and gags at my expense. I didn’t think they ever mentioned what I might be doing. My finger was poised to change the channel, but I kept waiting for one of them to say something nice. It had happened months ago and yet people still thought badly of me. By the time I got home, my heart hurt.

I shoved Law aside and plunged my key into the lock, ready to drown my sorrows in ice cream and alcohol.

“I haven’t heard from you in nearly a week,” Law said to my back. “Is everything all right?”

“We aren’t friends, Law. You don’t need to check on me and I don’t need to tell you how I’m doing.” I turned the key and entered my apartment. As Raskolnikov woke up from his daily hibernation to jump on my legs, I attempted to close the door. Law slammed his arm between the door and my wall, stopping me.

I stepped back, arms folded, with Raskol jumping all over me. Law stepped inside and knocked my door back against the wall. I watched with slight concern as my doorknob made a dent in the wall. What’s another mark in my life? Raskol, upon seeing Law, changed direction and ran over to him. Traitor.

Glaring at Law, I spat, “What the fuck do you want?”

“You’re right, Nami, we aren’t friends,” Law said as he picked up a now enamored Raskol. “I think we moved past that when we nearly fucked.”

A laugh twisted into a scoff in my throat. “Nearly fucked? Have you lost your mind?” When he didn’t respond, I leaned back against my wall, shaking my head. “Listen, Law, we didn’t almost do anything. I had a slight case of insanity that you were present for. That’s it.” Also you saved my life. And you made me feel like a human again. Yea, that had been nice, but I wasn’t about to give him any more ground.

Law gently lowered Raskol, much to the dog’s dismay, before regarding me. “Really? Granted you did leave pretty fucking quick, but what was all that ‘Just kiss me, Law,’ shit?”

I grimaced at the memories he was dredging up. I opened my mouth to argue and fight back, but nothing came out. The radio hosts had drained all my fight. I couldn’t battle anymore that day. I just wanted to sleep and be numb. The next day I had to continue Operation Make Morris Pay, which still didn’t have a good name. Right then I just needed a little TLC, which came in the form of either ice cream, alcohol, or weed.

I shrugged. “You’re right.”

“And let’s not forget the night I saved you—wait what?” Law quirked his head, as if he hadn’t heard me.

“I said you’re right. I came on to you. I’m a whore. Can you go now?” My eyes settled on a nearly empty mason jar. I remembered the night Law had forced me to go to The Bell Jar. I’d thought him to be terrible. It would have been easier that way. Easier than this…whatever this was.

Now my eyes burned with unshed tears. Maybe if I could muster them up he would leave. Tears tended to make people uncomfortable. I doubted I could really cry, though. The feeling like my eyes were on fire was a feeling I’d had since the rape. I would never cry, but I would always feel their scorching presence beneath my lids.

“Nami that’s not what I was trying to say…” Law reached out to me as if trying to grasp something. I nearly laughed because it was so apropos. If only he knew that there was nothing to hold.

“Please just go Law. I’ve had a long day”—long couple of months, more like—“and I need to sleep.”

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” Law said, the determination in his voice like metal.

“Fine,” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Stay. It’s not like I have a say in my life.” A long, pregnant paused followed my words. I acted as if Law wasn’t even in my house and went about my business. I went into my room, changed into my pajamas, and charged my vaporizer. I grabbed a pint of ice cream while the vaporizer charged and turned on the TV. When the vape was charged, I took a long puff and waited for the weed to settle my thoughts.

The telltale red color of Netflix burst across the screen. Just as I was about to get comfortable, Law said, “If you need anything, here’s my number.”

I heard him write something down and then felt him set the paper on the arm of the couch. Then the front door opened and closed. When I was sure he wasn’t returning, I reached for the piece of paper; without glancing at the number, I ripped it apart and threw it in the trash.

It smelled like damp soil and I could hear the drip drip drip of water. The tunnel disappeared into the inky black just a few steps in. Turning around, I looked back at the starry hillside from which I’d come. I was abandoning the full moon and gray hilly garden for unknown. For darkness. For most certain despair.

I knew what was on the other side of the blackness and it wasn’t pleasant. Its name was Becca Riley and she was merciless. Taking a deep breath, I tried to assuage my fears. It was now or never, literally; I wouldn’t have another opportunity like this for a year. I pulled my phone out and turned on the flashlight, plunging into the void. With my phone on, the blackness transformed into a white and gray oblong.

Folded up in my back pocket were the blueprints. I took them out, the sound of creasing paper echoing in the blackness. Shining the light on my makeshift map, I tried to get my bearings. It was a long walk from the hillside to Becca Riley’s home. If I followed the highlighted route, I would get there in about thirty minutes. There was supposed to be an old servant’s entrance in the cellar I could enter through. I prayed it was still there and not boarded up, or worse, cemented.