Dirty Law

“So, what’s the staring about?” Law asked.

“Deciding whether I should kick you out or make you coffee.” I strolled by the couch, my fingers dancing along the edge of the worn fabric.

“And?” Law tilted his head to peer up at me.

“You’re not getting kicked out.” I went into my kitchen and called over my shoulder, “But you’re not getting coffee either.” In response I heard the telltale creak of old springs, letting me know Law had stood up. As I went about my morning routine, making black coffee that I would drink on my shitty fold-out chairs, Law watched. He didn’t say a word as the coffee filtered and dripped. His mouth never opened when I made myself a cup and poured the rest down the drain, just in case he got any ideas about making himself a cup.

When I sat down, I kicked the other chair out as a gesture for him to sit.

“So,” Law said, his eyes watchful.

I sipped my disgusting coffee, deciding to cut to the chase. “We have to be one hundred percent honest with each other. If you lie to me one more time, I’m done. No more showing up bloody, looking for redemption. No more gentle phrases. Done.”

Law smiled crookedly. “Does that mean you’ll give us a chance?”

“It means…” I looked back outside at the gray sky. Snow covered the ground, but it was old snow. The air was too cold for the snow to melt, but not wet enough for new snow to fall. The world looked dirty and gray, and I felt like that was fitting. Because the world was dirty and gray. Full of rapists. And liars. And people who’d been broken by the grayness, turned into shells of their former selves.

“It means,” I said, turning back to Law. “It means I’m not saying no, but I’m not saying yes either.”

Sometime later, after I’d finished my coffee, we still sat at the table. The sun had risen higher, making the world a brighter gray. It was the weekend, which meant families were out together. Weekends weren’t any different to me than weekdays. Every day was marked by loneliness.

“What are you thinking?” Law asked.

“Nothing.” I waved my hand flippantly.

“I thought we had to be honest with each other?” I glared at Law’s rhetorical question. When I’d set the ultimatum, I’d been referring to him. Of course he was right, though. I’d said we had to be one hundred percent honest with each other, and I wasn’t exempt.

“I’m lonely, okay?” I spat. “It’s almost Christmas and I’m fucking lonely. It’s b

een a bitter year and I’m throwing myself a pity party.” I looked away from Law. Not wanting to see the outside, filled with holiday joy and families, I made myself stare at a stain on the floor.

“Have you heard the theory of multiple universes, Nami?” Law’s question broke my meditation. I turned and stared blankly at him, not sure where he was going with his train of thought.

“There’s a theory that states there are multiple universes just like ours,” Law continued. “Each universe is exactly the same. So, if the theory holds true, there are millions of Laws out there having this exact same conversation.”

“So?” I asked, still not sure what he was getting at.

“So, Nami, there are millions of Namis experiencing the same pain as you. There are millions of Namis going through your exact situation. You are never alone.” I didn’t know how to respond, so naturally I looked away. In truth, it was probably the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to me.

Twenty

It had only been a few days since Law had shown up bloody and begging for redemption, but it felt like forever ago. Time was weird like that. When you didn’t sleep, the days stretched on and on, almost feeling like they never ended. My relationship with Law was lost somewhere in that time. We hadn’t defined it, but we hadn’t destroyed it either.

Since then, he hadn’t texted or called. My phone stayed silent, dead like a brick in my pocket. I remembered wanting the buzzing to stop and now that it had, I was at a loss. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was impossible to deny: I missed Law. I tried lying to myself, I tried constructing a fence of denial, but each time I reached for my phone to check the time, the pang in my gut reminded me of the truth. I missed Law.

I missed his texts. I missed his obstinate force. I missed his stubborn will. I missed him. I could have easily picked up the phone and called him…

I shook my head and stuck my key in the lock. That morning I’d left to go steal some heat from a grocery store. I’d left to get warm but I’d also left to forget. Once upon a time I’d run from my old apartment because it was riddled with memories. I’d seen Morris everywhere I went. While avoiding hypothermia at the grocery store, though, I realized something: I saw Law everywhere.

I saw Law in my apartment. I saw Law on my couch. I felt him against my skin. I heard him in the wind. The yearning I had for him was so visceral that I almost wished for Morris again. It was so much easier to hate. Hate was fuel but love was fire, and it was slowly burning me up inside out. I kicked the door open, ready to drown myself in some whiskey, but the sight I saw stunned me to the spot.

Flowers. Flowers everywhere. I put a hand to my mouth, shocked. Dandelions covered my couch and chair. The golden crowns were like small suns in my apartment. They made my dismal, dingy living room shine. There were so many of them that they smothered the floor and made it invisible.

It was beautiful.

After months of psychological torture and abuse, though, my first instinct was to run. I saw the display and assumed it meant something terrible.

I reached behind my back and gripped the doorknob, ready to sprint out of my apartment and ready to flee, when I noticed a card lying on the couch. My hand still held the knob but sweat now made it slippery. What if this was some kind of trick? What if Morris was sending me a message?