Elastic Heart

My eyes widened in surprise when I saw who it was. Turning off my car, I opened the door and stepped out.

“What are you? Some kind of stalker now?” Effie laughed. I stared at her, unsure what to say in response. It was pure coincidence that we were at the same yogurt shop. Salt Lake City was often called “Small Lake City” for a reason. She knew that. We’d joked about it. I didn’t owe her anything, much less a reason for why I was parked at a public yogurt shop

“What happened to you, Effie?” I asked. “Don’t you remember us?” This was the girl that on the day my parents died had held me until I stopped crying. Now she was looking at me as if I were shit on her shoe.

Effie folded her arms. “I remember how crazy you were and I’m glad I got away before you did something to me.” She took a step back as if I was going to pounce or something. With one arm I rubbed my shoulder, trying to comfort myself. It was as if my sister was saying these things to me and, yeah, it hurt.

I wished it didn’t. I wished I was strong enough to just get in my car and flip her the bird. I wasn’t; I just didn’t understand how she could do this complete 180 on me. We had been so close. How could she possibly believe what was said about me?

I had no words left, nothing to argue. I had run out of steam months ago when the paparazzi had hounded me night and day. I was sick of explaining myself, sick of defending the fact that I was raped. The fact that I had to defend myself to Effie, who was basically my family, made me nauseated.

On top of that, I was dealing with yet another betrayal. I looked from Effie and up to the gray cloudy sky. A bit of blue sky briefly peaked through before it was smothered by a cloud. I sighed and shook my head before turning back to my car.

“Go back to your miserable little life, Nami,” Effie said to my back. I spun around, furious. I didn’t care if we used to be sisters; she had crossed the line. I stopped and turned to face her. She had a smug smile on her face, the kind she usually reserved for men who bought her drinks. I looked at her yogurt and back at her smug face. Without another thought I shoved her yogurt in her face.

She screamed, “You fucking freak!”

“And you’re a judgmental, spineless bitch. I’m glad we both know who we are.”

Wiping the yogurt off her face, Effie sneered. “I don’t know how we were ever friends.” I watched her, with her streaky, yogurt-covered face. Done up in the latest fashion, she wore black riding boots and black designer jeans with a flowing peach top. Her hair was inky black, cut into a sharp bob. On her right arm was a big, black Marc Jacobs bag, and in her left hand she had the rest of the yogurt. I knew she wouldn’t have eaten it anyway. Strike that, she would have eaten the top of it.

Later she would go to the gym and work out for a good two hours. On her way home she would text her friends about going out that night, then complain later about how she always had to be the one to set up plans. Everyone would meet up at some bar and she would kiss her current boyfriend on the cheek then proceed to flirt with anyone in sight. Afterward, when everyone had gone home, she would text. And text. And text until passing out with her phone on her chest. Then she would wake up and do it all over again.

“Me either,” I said. I turned around and hopped in my car before Effie could say anything more.

I gripped my steering wheel, stuck at another light. This time it was red, but I feared for when it turned green. My phone continued to buzz like an angry insect and it was starting to wear on my willpower. As it buzzed another time, I reached for it, ready to chuck it out my window. The words caught my eye, though: “It’s Jameson. I’m sorry but I can’t report your story.”

I looked at the text, emotions swirling in my gut. Who could I trust? Law had given me Jameson’s info, and it was clear that Law was working for Morris. I slammed my hands against the steering wheel in frustration, a small scream escaping my mouth.

As the light turned green, I did an illegal turn. I ignored the honking and drove toward The Time’s office. I didn’t like the idea of loose ends, and Jameson was a very loose end. He had my name and knew I had a story. Though he didn’t know exactly what my story was, he was tied to Law. I still wasn’t sure what Law’s endgame was. Plus, what was stopping Jameson from leaking my info to Morris, or worse, starting another media shit storm about me?

Answer: nothing.

As I rode the elevator up, I ran my fingers through my hair fretfully. I had dealt with this for nearly a year, but apparently had learned nothing. I was still the same naive girl as before, trusting men I shouldn’t have been trusting. When was I going to learn that the only person in the world who had my back was me? I was my castle, my keeper, and my sovereign. It was a lonely existence, but it was better than constantly being fucked over.

The elevator dinged open and I made my way down the banal hallway. I walked past foggy office windows with boring names, looking for the boring name that held all my information. I passed through the large, square room of cubicles, and no one paid me any mind. I was grateful for that. Only months ago those vultures would have pounced on me, trying to rip at my flesh for a hint of a story.

I rounded a corner and I neared my destination. I was about to knock Jameson’s door, when muffled voices stopped me. I could faintly hear the sounds of a disagreement coming through the wood. I lowered my hand and pressed my ear against the door.

“The fuck man?”

I stumbled back, stunned. Law was on the other side of the door, and he was yelling at Jameson. Up to that point, I hadn’t thought Law knew Jameson, mostly because Law said he didn’t know Jameson. Then again, Law had said a lot of things to me, a lot of things that had turned out to be lies. So why was I surprised?

I used to think a person could only handle so many shocks. That there was a certain allotment of twists and turns a person got in their life. Like, once a person found out their biological father wasn’t the man who raised them, that was it. No more shocks for that person for the rest of their life. I knew better now. After all the twists and turns and general shittery of the past year, I knew life didn’t allocate anything. Life just happened.

I put my ear back on the door, sucking it up.

“Do you see the shit she’s tied up in?” I recognized that voice as belonging to Jameson.

“Yeah. It’s good,” Law responded. “It’s Watergate good.”

“I don’t want Watergate!” Jameson yelled. “I’m in the same ward as Morris. He’s a nice guy!” I nearly rolled my eyes at that revelation. Jameson admitted that he and Morris went to the same church. Pulitzer Prize-winning or not, he was just like every other reporter before him, blinded by the glow that was Senator Mitch Morris.

I didn’t have it in me to care, to be outraged, to be disgusted. I was normalized by it. He was just another reporter who saw me as a whore and Morris as the good guy. There was nothing surprising about that, and I would have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t expecting it. My fingers rested lightly on the wood, ready to tear myself away from yet another disappointment, when Law’s thundering voice pulled me back in.

“When I sent her to you I thought you had balls. What happened to the Jameson I knew? The one reporting on human traffickers and political lies and actually doing shit? What happened to my best friend?”

I pulled back from the door, genuinely shocked. Jameson was Law’s best friend? What the hell did that mean? My heart was beating fast again, and if I didn’t get it under control I was going to have a panic attack. It sounded like Law was helping me, like he wanted Jameson to run my story. I shook my head at that; I knew better now than to take things at face value. When I got raped, everyone decided to lie.