Elastic Heart - Mary Catherine Gebhard

Elastic Heart This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Copyright © 2016 by Mary Catherine Gebhard Cover Design by Natsumi Designs

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book. First Edition: February 2016 Library of Congress Cataloging-inPublication Data Elastic Heart – 1st ed ISBN-13: 978-0692625569

A Trendlettrs Publication Salt Lake City, UT www.MaryGebhard.com

Prologue Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19

Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Epilogue Summer Ever After Excerpt About the Author Acknowledgements Books by Mary Catherine Gebhard

Dedicated to my Grandma Dort, your strength, and your unwavering support.

“Where to go for a rape kit.” I input the phrase into

my

smartphone’s browser and the words pull me out of my shock, but only temporarily. Nausea overwhelms me and reminds me that if I’m going to get through this, I need the brief respite the adrenaline is giving me. When he leaves and I’m certain he isn’t coming back, I dress. After staring at my wall for only God knows how long, I decide to get a rape kit. But where do I get that done? It’s not exactly common knowledge. My first thought is a police station…but after what just happened, the idea of a cold, steely station filled with scrutiny isn’t very welcoming. Plus, I’m not sure if I want to press charges. I vaguely remember that one can go

to the hospital and get it done (one too many Law & Order: SVU episodes), but the prospect of walking up to the hospital kiosk and saying “Hey, I just got raped, which hallway should I go down?” isn’t much better than the police. So here I am, searching the internet on my phone in my car in the Salt Lake City summer heat, hoping for guidance from Google. The first couple hits are definitions of rape kits, and then there are a few political pieces about their effectiveness. This is almost worse than the rape itself. Almost. “Fuck!” I throw my phone at the

window. Nothing. No help. If I had wanted a glimpse into my bleak future I would have searched for “the likelihood that this kit’s gonna do a goddamn thing”. The more I sit with the black leather of my car seat burning into my skin, the more I want to run back into my apartment and take a scalding hot shower. It sucks so hard that I have to do this. If I don’t, he could do it again, right? At least that’s what everyone will tell me if they find out. If they find out. They’ll say much worse things if they find out. “Fuck it.” I pull out into traffic and am greeted by horns and cursing. “Right back at ya, buddy,” I mutter,

flipping the cars off. Still not sure where I’m going, I drive in the general direction of the police station and the hospital. The hospital emergency room isn’t that busy. I count seven people, maybe, and of those seven, four appear to be accompanying the injured. There is no one in line at the check-in. That’s unfortunate. I was hoping for a line. A line meant I had longer to think about my decision. “Do you need help?” A young blonde woman calls to me from behind the check-in counter. She looks perky. Like she actually likes her job. Likes her

life, even. How lucky for her. “Um…” I shift nervously from foot to foot. Do I need help? Yes. Do I want help? Not particularly. I want to go home, curl into a ball, and quash this day from my memory until it surfaces in my relationships and sabotages my happiness. That sounds… Nice. “Are you lost?” She peers at me, slightly bored, slightly concerned, and overly friendly. “No,” I answer. She stares back at me, mildly confused. No, I’m not lost, but I’m not walking toward her either. We both stare at each other, lost in some kind of polite limbo where neither of us

will address the elephant in the room: me. She probably thinks I’m one of those people who get things stuck in their butt, too embarrassed to approach. If only… If only I had something stuck in my butt. With caution, I approach the small open window that lets me see into the small room where she sits. She’s eyeing me warily now. Probably thinks I have a weapon. Probably thinks I’m crazy. I wish I was crazy. “I…” I lean forward on the counter, whispering. This is so dumb. I have nothing to be ashamed of. He should be ashamed. “I—oh god! What the hell?” I

jump back. My arm is covered in blood from where I’d set it down on the counter. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry!” The blonde immediately jumps out of her seat and runs for what I assume is antiseptic. “Uh… It’s okay,” I say, watching the blonde scrub the counter. Really, what’s more foreign fluid on me today? Ha ha. Ha. I think I’ve died inside. “Come, come inside and wash off. I’m so sorry, we had a homeless man come in today and he bled everywhere. I thought I got it all!” “Oh, that’s…” I don’t finish my

sentence, because really, what am I going to say? Not only is it blood, it’s the blood of a vagrant? Call me discriminatory, call me an ass, but I’ve already got enough potential new diseases to worry about without the blood of Salt Lake City’s homeless population on me. “The sink is right there, obviously.” The blonde chuckles nervously. “And here is the soap. Use as much as you like.” I turn on the water, about to wash my hands, when I realize what I’m doing. I’m here for a rape kit. I’d purposely not washed myself, no matter how much I wanted to, because I could have evidence on me. Shit.

“Um, miss?” I say, trying to get the blonde’s attention. “Yes? Is something wrong?” She looks up from her cleaning. “I’m not sure if I should wash my hands…” “Oh?” “I’m here for a rape kit.” “Oh.” Her face falls, looking from me, to the blood, to the water, and then back to me. “Oh yes, I see. Yes, that wouldn’t be wise.” Ugh, I hate this already. She comes over to me and turns off the water, careful not to touch me. I feel dirty. She studies me, as though I’m a gift of furniture and she’s unsure where to place me. “Come with me.” I nod. Everything

is happening so fast. Just a minute ago we were at DEFCON level: blood, and now I’m back to reality. The check-in nurse hands me off to another perky blonde who takes me to an examining room. The walls are painted a pale lavender. I feel awkward. I don’t know where to sit. She tells me to take a seat on the examination table. Her voice is like sugar on top of a sundae. The examination table crinkles beneath me. I shift some more. “Do you have any allergies to

medications?” My mind is so far gone that I don’t hear her. “Miss, do you have any allergies to medications?” “Oh… Uh…” I shift again, the paper now torn beneath me. “Yes, I’m allergic to penicillin.” The people in the magazines smile at me. I hate them and their wrinkly teeth. “Ok. And do you have a history of heart disease?” “And I’m allergic to certain anesthesia,” I cut in, still staring at the glossy faces on the magazines. “Though I can’t remember which. Not that it matters…”

“It’s always good to know.” The blonde smiles sweetly. “Any history of heart disease?” There’s a large poster on the door of what appears to be some kind of vascular system. I can see the veins inside the outline of the cartoon body. I’m not sure what it’s trying to teach me. About diabetes? About cancer? About the futility of our mortal life? Who cares. “Miss?” I move my eyes away from the educational poster and back to the nurse. I feel like dirty glass. “Do you have a history of heart disease?” Christ. Why does it matter? I’m not

here for hypertension. I stare at her blankly for a few moments. Talking hurts. Everything hurts. I feel like I’ve been thrown through a woodchipper and put back together with tape. “None that I’m aware of,” I eventually say. As the blonde rattles off something about how it’s good I don’t have heart disease, I remember that my great uncle died of a heart attack. It’s too late to say anything though, as she’s moved on to her next question. Does it really matter? I’m here for a fucking rape kit, not a check-up. I look back at the chipper, halfexposed, cartoon poster man. If he can be happy all chopped up and on display, I guess I can be…

“Do you want us to call the police?” “I don’t know.” “Have you used the restroom?” “Um…” “After the assault, sweetheart.” “Yes.” Is that important? Have I already fucked up? Ugh, I hate this so much. It’s like taking a test I could never be prepared for. This is almost worse than the rape. Almost. “Are these the clothes you were wearing when you were assaulted?” “I…” I look down at the dirty clothes I grabbed out of my hamper. “I… No, I changed.”

“Do you have the clothes?” “No…” I lower my eyes. “He took them.” The nurse nods knowingly and purses her lips. “Well, these may still have some evidence on them. We’ll collect them anyway.” I swallow. “Collect them?” “Yes. I’ll have you stand over this paper mat and disrobe. During the examination you’ll wear a paper gown. Afterwards we’ll give you some clothing to go home in.” “Home.” I say the word blandly. I do not want to go home. I want to curl up somewhere, yeah, but not home. Home isn’t really “home” any more.

He has been there. “Or I can give you a list of shelters, if you need them.” I nod at her. I’m not safe from him anywhere, so it doesn’t really matter. The next hours pass in a blur of acquiescence. She asks me to turn to my side; I do. She asks me to open my mouth; I do. She asks me to spread my legs; I do. When it’s all over, I feel numb and violated again. “Would you like anything, Nami? Water or soda?” I shake my head, eyes blank. “I’m going to ask you one last time: do you want me to call the police?” The clothes she gave me were nice enough, fresh scrubs that fit all right. To me they

felt cold and foreign. They were anathema to my skin, like the way he had felt inside me. All of this—from checking in to spreading my legs—had been one giant reminder of the event. A big, neon sign that blared I, NAMI DEGRACE, WAS RAPED. I look at the nurse, my voice clear for the first time all night as I answer her question: “Yes.” I spend so long talking to the police that when I wake the next morning it feels like a dream. Did I really tell them everything? I shake my head, feeling hungover despite having had no liquor. God. The way that one policeman looked at me, it was as if I drenched his

firstborn in acid. I wanted to scream at him that I wasn’t lying, that it was the truth, but then I would have looked crazy. After all, he hadn’t actually called me a liar. He was just very…cold. Aloof. Hateful. He told me the police would “look into the matter”. When I asked him about my rape kit, they said it could sometimes take months to process. “Months?” My face went ashen. I couldn’t handle this for months. “But I told you who it was. Can’t you bring him in and test it?” “Well, frankly, Miss…” The officer glanced down at his pad impassively. “Miss…DeGrace,”—he said my name

like the mere word on his tongue was tainted—“the evidence isn’t all that compelling.” My heart fell into my stomach. It was exactly what I feared. There was nothing wrong with the evidence. The evidence was clear as day on my body and in the kit and in my memory. It was him. I remembered his graying blond hair. I remembered his mean blue eyes as they smiled at me. They acted like everything was fine the entire time. I would have preferred anything to the way he looked at me. I would have preferred hate. I would have preferred contempt. Anything, because the way he

looked at me made me question it all. It was as though he felt it was all okay. As if he felt it was deserved. The way he acted was as if what he was doing to my body was completely within his right. He was jovial when he left. He was completely deaf to my cries. “It would probably be best if you dropped the accusation. Nothing will come of it, after all, save some bad press.” “Bad press for him, you mean,” I added, immediately regretting it. In lieu of a response, the officers merely glared. “Well, we have your statement, and we’ll let you know.” Sure you will, I wanted to say, but I knew better.

At least, I thought I did.

SIX MONTHS LATER

The milk fell to the floor in a steaming hot mess. “Excuse me,” I murmured, my voice disappearing down my throat. “Miss, your drink!” I didn’t hear the rest. I had to get away. I hurriedly threw cash on the counter, not caring if it was too much. I had to get away. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like my ribs were trying to join with my lungs while my heart simultaneously tried to escape out of my mouth. Here. He was here. Ordering a coffee like nothing had happened. And people were excited! They were excited to see him! If I hadn’t been so damned post-traumatic I would have been

furious. I had tried so hard to find one place where he wouldn’t visit. I did my research. I found a little apartment miles away from him and miles away from my old place. I barely left the apartment. I had my groceries delivered. I walked my dog in my backyard. But then one day… One day, I saw a small coffee shop down the road. I thought I would be safe. I gripped the brick wall and dryheaved. Why couldn’t he just leave me the fuck alone? Tears burned my eyes in betrayal. Bile charred the back of my throat. “Are you all right?” “Jesus!” I yelled, flinching. I

glanced warily at the sound of the voice. I recognized him as one of the patrons from inside. Before, I wouldn’t have noticed the guy at all. I had never noticed anyone before, unless they actively talked to me. Now, however, I noticed everything. I noticed a leaf falling from a tree, I noticed a car going a little too fast, and I noticed every single patron in the coffee shop. He was eyeing me, his dark sunglasses reflecting the street behind me. They were tilted downward, gaze pointed like I was a bomb about to detonate. I shook myself from the wall and tried to stand straight. “Yes… I’m fine, thank you.” I spoke curtly. I had no reason to be mad at this man, it wasn’t him after all, but I

was mad at the world right now. This patron just so happened to live in the world. Too bad for him. The man squared his shoulders, the glasses shielding his eyes once more. He folded his arms and looked at me. Excuse me? I glared my thoughts. You can leave now, strange man. He didn’t make any move to go and towered over me. My belly clenched. I’d been towered over before. He had towered over me. I glanced nervously around. It would not happen again. The street behind me was relatively busy, but behind him was deserted. Just a dumpster and an empty building. I weighed my options. Looking tough

wouldn’t do shit. If I let him know I was on to him, I would lose precious getaway time. Oh fuck it. I kneed him square in the groin and ran fast, not bothering to see if the blow landed; I thought it did based on the curse he gave. I was at the street before my apartment before I could catch my breath. Where to go? I couldn’t run back to the coffee shop, not with him there. I felt a hand on my shoulder. “What the hell!” I screamed and turned around. The guy I’d just kneed now gripped my shoulder. Everything blurred into a colorful vignette as my mind shrieked in terror: It’s happening! It’s happening again! I had to fight and win this time.

Adrenaline burned through me like fire; cars on the street slowed down, trees stopped swaying. I punched him in the face as hard as I could—fuck, my hand! It worked though; he let go of me. Without looking back, I ran toward safety. I sobbed uncontrollably the minute I passed the threshold of my home. Raskolnikov, my part-terrier, parteverything-else rescue pup bounded toward me, his face a ridiculous grin. I couldn’t help but be comforted as he pawed at my shins. I picked him up, happy when he licked my face. “You’re the only good thing in this world, Raskol,” I said, hugging him

tight. I let Raskol down and opened the back door for him while I went to make tea. I was in a ground floor apartment, so he was able to play in a small fenced-in backyard. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Raskol. Raskol bounced around in the snow before turning on his back to roll around. He always had to get every inch of his body covered in dirt. I laughed, shut the screen door, and went to the kitchen. As I placed a kettle on the stove, there was a knock on my door. Not aggressive like the delivery man, and not soft like Doris, the landlady. It was somewhere in between. I frowned, wiping tear stains from my cheek. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

Still reeling from the encounter with him and the man in the alley, I picked up my newly acquired .22 and opened the door. “Woah there!” The visitor immediately stepped back. It was the man from the coffee shop. The bastard had followed me home. Well, I had my gun and all my tears were shed, so bring it on, fucker! “Who the hell are you?” I asked, raising my .22 slightly. Did he send you? I wanted to ask. The man narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side slightly. “Usually ladies buy me dinner before they beat me up.” I tightened my hold on the .22. It still seemed too small, but the

guy at the gun store had basically insisted that if I was starting out, it was the one for me. I didn’t know a thing about guns, so I’d listened and bought it. I still didn’t feel right owning one, but it was better than the alternative. Already I was seeing its value: I had a nice barrier between me and the new asshole. “I think it’s best you leave. Now.” I straightened my aim. It felt like a billion marbles had been let loose inside me, but hoped I was keeping it cool on the outside. The man eyed the gun and returned his gaze to me. All sharp edges and muscles, he was handsome—if you’re into assholes, that is.

“I’d like to take you out,” he said. “Are you insane?” I nearly dropped the gun at the unexpectedness of his request, but held firm. Was it possible that I’d mentally snapped after seeing him? None of this was happening and I was actually living out my life in a mental ward. He seemed to genuinely mull my question over before answering, “A little bit…maybe.” I leveled my gun. “Well the answer is: No. Fucking. Way.” He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by my cannon aimed at his nose. That bothered me. I mean, it was my only leverage. He smiled a wry half-smile that, if I had been any other girl in any other

situation, might have made me melt. I wasn’t any other girl, though. “My finger is slipping,” I warned. “It would be a shame to mar that pretty head with a bullet.” “You think I’m pretty?” Folding his arms across his broad chest, he leaned against my doorframe. “I think my trigger finger is getting tired,” I spat. He kicked off the door. “All right, I’ll leave for now, Miss…?” I shook my head, aim still steady. “None of your fucking business.” He nodded, mulling over my response. “Sounds French.” “It’s not.” What was this guy’s deal? Get the fuck out already. I gripped

my gun for emphasis and he winked and turned around. I waited until he had disappeared down the street to slam the door. My heart was racing. Sweat prickled the back of my neck. The stranger was all I could think about. He was ridiculously handsome, but he was more than that. He was intimidating. Like a movie star gone rogue. I didn’t know if I was afraid of him or utterly beguiled. In the end, I went with completely disgusted. The tea kettle sounded, its highpitched whinny bringing me out of my fugue state. I ran into the kitchen and pulled it off the stove. As I finished pouring the hot liquid into my cup, I remembered Raskol was still outside. I

walked back into the room and opened the screen door. Lying on his side and completely tuckered out, Raskol didn’t even lift his head when I opened the screen door. “Some guard dog you are,” I muttered before turning back to get my tea. After the coffee shop douche left, I spent most of my afternoon and evening dry heaving, sobbing, and throwing things against the wall. When 10 pm rolled around, I threw on my makeup— war paint against the cruel world—and went to work as if I was a normal human being. Inside I was crumbling like ancient ruins.

I crawled back into my apartment at the butt crack of dawn and had been in bed—well, on couch—ever since. I will stay on the couch forever. Couch is my new home. I will live and die in fluffy pillow perfection. When they come to retrieve my body they will say… Well, I don’t know what they’ll say. And who cares. Because I’ll be dead. I’ll have died among my people: the pillows. It was around two in the afternoon, the only reason I knew that being the paper delivery. And seriously, who still gets a paper delivered? I had tried over and over again to cancel, but no luck. I didn’t give a shit what the paper said. I knew it was all lies, and I got my lies the way all millennials do: the internet.

With my head firmly planted on the pillow, I breathed in dust mites and stale shampoo. I really needed to wash my fucking sheets. And hair. And body. Okay, I needed to wash everything. To my left, Raskol had taken up half of the pillow, his snoring a clear sign he was also okay with the plan to spend the rest of our lives there on Planet Couch. Despite my dirty sheets, Couch felt like a safe place. On the rectangular safe haven, I felt like I was buoyed against the world. A raft just floating away from all the bullshit. I sighed, turning over to face the ceiling. Despite how wonderful a notion it was to just stay on Couch forever, I knew it was impossible. Mainly because

I had to pee. That gnawing urge in my lower gut reminded me that the world kept revolving, and I had to revolve with it. Even if I really didn’t fucking want to.

I got into the habit of following him. Maybe that meant something inside

me had cracked and I was insane now, or maybe that meant I was the sanest one in the city. After all, I was the only one who saw him for what he was: rotten, dirty, and utterly corrupt. Still, I couldn’t help but remember the saying “If everyone’s insane, then you’re the mad one.” Shrugging it off, I followed him as he walked into a relatively low-key restaurant. I noted it was odd because he always ate at higher class establishments. I didn’t take too much time to ruminate on the fact, though, because at least it meant I could follow him inside. When he ate at high-end places, it meant my tail stopped at the door. Most

days I looked like a wet rag, wrung and hung out to dry. Fancy restaurants only let rags hang in the back with other rags. I slid in the door, took a seat facing his back, and thanked my waitress for the menu. The glass of water she gave me was slightly dirty; a faded lipstick stain kissed the glass. I ordered a basket of fries so she would leave me alone for a bit and settled in, my face obscured by the drink menu. “Well I can’t see why I would support that.” His nasally voice drifted to my ears. I perked up, trying to hear more. “A lot of my constituents have cancer or friends and family with cancer, and that drug would help them. Unless you have something that would make me

change my mind…” It was no secret that politicians took bribes, but hearing the conversation occur so casually over cheap food and dirty dishes was nauseating. “We have our reasons for needing the drug stopped.” The voice that spoke next stopped my heart. My menu nearly slipped from my grasp as my palms grew sweaty. It couldn’t be…could it? I looked over my menu to see the owner of the voice. It was him—the other him —the guy from the coffee shop, the one who had asked me out. I knew it, I just knew the guy was an asshole. Clearly the fucker had asked me out because he worked for him. Clearly he wasn’t done with me.

I wanted to vomit, but I swallowed the bile and kept listening. “Our company is willing to offer you full financial support for your next campaign,” the coffee shop fucker continued. “We’ll even help you create a small cancer charity walk to show you care.” Senator Morris took a slow sip of his drink. “All for my support against the bill?” The man from the coffee shop smiled. He was attractive, his smile all Colgate and his sharp jaw lined with the hint of a five o’clock shadow. His eyes were a warm golden hazel, inviting almost. I knew better… The house in Hansel and Gretel was inviting, too.

“Well for such a big donation from us,” Coffee Shop Fucker went on. “We would of course expect you to garner support from your friends in the Senate and House.” Senator Morris lowered his drink, a small smile on his thin lips. “Of course.” I listened to the rest of their conversation, but after they finished discussing the cancer drug it was nothing but small talk and flattery. I followed him to his car and waited until he went inside his home. He would kiss his wife and two daughters, take off his tie, brush his teeth, then read the news in his study until about one in the morning. That was

his nightly routine. He never watched porn. He never masturbated. He never had sex with his wife (I was beginning to think his daughters had appeared by immaculate conception). He never did anything remotely unseemly at home. I supposed he got his jollies from strangers. From people like me. I watched his nightly routine until he crawled into bed at one-thirty, and then I went home. I’d moved after he had attacked me. My old apartment never felt the same. My bed wasn’t mine any more; it belonged to him. Even my shower didn’t belong to me; it belonged to the memories of how I’d tried to scrub him

off. When I moved, I thought it would get better. Even though I bought a new bed, it still felt like his bed. Even though it was a new shower, I still remembered scrubbing him off. I slept on the couch now. My appetite was one of the first things to go, one of the first things he took. So, despite having only eaten half a basket of fries hours before, I still wasn’t hungry. I lost a tremendous amount of weight in the months following the attack. I looked sickly for those months, not that anyone noticed. There was no one to notice. My parents were dead and any “friends” I’d had disappeared when they found out. Even my “best” friend Effie

disappeared. We’d been as close as sisters, but she completely abandoned me when the news got ahold of the story. Her desertion still cut. I let myself wallow in the shame and misery, contemplating death by starvation for a good two months, before finally giving myself a kick in the ass. I didn’t exactly bounce back, though. I crawled back. After everything that happened, to get back to a sense of normalcy was like climbing from the bottom of a snakefilled ravine. I clung to slippery rocks, I kicked the venomous snakes trying to bite at my heels, and eventually I pulled myself up and over the edge. When all was said and done I

wasn’t the same Nami. I was changed. I thought back on the previous months as I opened my refrigerator and pulled out a bag of “meatless” meat for tacos. That was another thing that changed: I became a vegetarian. BH— before him—I was a ravenous carnivore. I ate steak and burgers and hotdogs like they were going out of style. Now I couldn’t stand the sight of them. I wasn’t not really sure why. At a certain point, though, I stopped questioning the changes that happened to me and just accepted them. The stove sounded just as Raskol’s feet pitter-pattered across the linoleum. I glanced down to see his furry face, ready for any offering that might fall into

his mouth. I reached into the skillet and picked out the only cooked piece, dropping it into his hungry maw. At least all the shit and fuckery had brought me Raskol. I turned on my computer as I shoved a taco into my mouth. I wasn’t hungry and eating actually made me nauseated, but if I didn’t fuel up, I would be worthless and then he couldn’t pay. The red meatless meat slid down my chin, but mess didn’t bother me much any more. Raskol inched closer, tongue out, as if I wouldn’t notice the fact that he’d gone from sitting on the edge of the couch to licking my chin. I shoved him away and wiped it off hastily, the red

smearing against the back of my hand. My slightly sticky finger moved against the track pad, looking for the USB icon. I recorded everything I did when following him. The police wouldn’t help me so I figured I had to help myself. It had been about six months since the incident and that meant I’d had about six months to stew. To ruminate. To contemplate how I’d been violated not once but multiple times. By him. By the police. By the media. By everyone: people who were supposed to protect me from the dregs of society. Dregs like him. I guess you could say I was a little

bit mad. My plan was an ever-evolving thing. It wasn’t as though I had practice in these things, in revenge. When I first crawled out of the dark hole he had placed me in, I was filled with almost too many emotions to process: anger, shame, humiliation, sadness, anger again. Despair. How had this happened? How had he gotten away with it? There were so many different things I wanted to do to him. I envisioned hot pokers. I imagined ancient torture techniques (even looked up a few). Scaphism didn’t sound too bad an end for him. To be honest, I still wasn’t entirely

sure what my plan was. It had started out as me wanting to gather my own evidence, to be able to prove without a doubt what he had done to me. The police wouldn’t be able to turn me away. Then it metamorphosed. As I followed him, I began building a sick obsession. I wanted to know him. I wanted to understand the way he ticked. Each day I hid under the cloak of shadows, watching him go about his daily life, I peeled away another layer. What was I after? I still wasn’t sure. Maybe a reason for why he did what he did. Maybe to understand why he chose me and why he ruined my life. Still, as I

kept going, nothing became clearer. If anything, it got murkier, and that just emboldened my obsession. It had been two months since I’d started my convoluted journey. Two months since I’d started following and evidencing everything he did. I had gone through one external hard drive already and my second was nearly full. As I uploaded the day’s work, my mind drifted back to Coffee Shop Fucker. I thought I’d been stealthy the past two months. I thought he didn’t know I was following him. Was it possible he knew? Why else would that man have followed me and asked me out? If I hadn’t beaten him up or pulled a gun on

him, what would he have done to me? Perhaps he had told the guy I was an easy target. He probably thought I was the same girl he’d violated six months ago and so his lapdog wasn’t expecting a fight. I shuddered just as the computer dinged, indicating that my file was finished uploading. It snapped me out of my spiraling train of thought. I didn’t want to confront the idea that I hadn’t been predator these past few months, but instead had been prey.

Crouched down amidst the trash and forgotten things, I wanted to scream.

I didn’t like what I was seeing. It didn’t fit in my perfectly constructed view of him. There I was, standing outside his home collecting evidence on his violation of me, and instead of acting how he should have been—you know, like a raping monster—he was carefully tending to his wife’s wound. After his wife cut her finger while cooking, he came to dress her wound. He came to care for her. He even kissed her tenderly on the forehead while applying antiseptic to the bleeding finger. My stomach roiled. Who was this man? A person capable of completely annihilating someone like me without any hesitation, yet, at the same time, capable of tenderness and

compassion for another. What did that even mean? I put down my camera for a moment, steadying myself against the garbage. It smelled like rotting vegetables. Growing up, I’d had a compost pile in my backyard under a big pine tree. I would play under that tree; there was room enough for lawn chairs and mattresses the neighbor kids and I collected off the streets during spring cleaning. The pine tree was that big. You walked under it and it was like a teepee of needles overhead. At least, that’s what it felt like as a child. Sitting next to the garbage, it smelled like that compost pile. When the neighbor kids and I used to hang out

under the tree, that pile of garbage was always next to us. A small price to pay for having our own private hangout. Watching him, nostalgic memories of being a carefree child wafted inside my brain alongside the image of him. More dichotomous shit I had to deal with. Why couldn’t he just be a wifebeater? Then, at least, I wouldn’t have to wonder…wonder if it was just me that was the problem. If he could be so kind to his wife and the entire freaking state loved him, then was there something wrong with me? Had I somehow brought this on myself? I dropped my gaze from the

window but had little time for self-pity. Loose cement crunched beneath feet, alerting me to a presence behind me. I gripped the cracked lens of my camera, keeping my focus on the small fractures. I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to face the fact that I’d been caught. “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t focus on the voice of the person behind me. I was too inside my own head. My nerves were shot and I didn’t know what I was doing any more. I didn’t know right from wrong. I had been so certain everything was black and white but, dammit, it was gray. Swallowing, I let my grip slip from the cheap camera I’d bought from a

secondhand store. Months ago when I’d started this mission, I’d only had a few dollars to my name, a name that had been completely razed by him. I’d walked into the pawn shop and picked up the camera from the final sale bin. It had served me well on this mission. I glanced back at the lens, the tiny fissures in the glass looking like broken ice. Now, I wasn’t sure if it was the mission I should be on. “I…” My tongue tripped over itself as I searched for an excuse. Eventually I was going to have to turn around and face my fate, but for now I was still facing his window. He and his wife were gone and I stared into the dark, empty kitchen. I’d been following him

for two months, and in those months I’d learned nothing save that he took bribes and cared for his wife. Perhaps the police had been right in turning me away. Is it rape if the person deserves it? I turned around slowly, ready to face my fate. It was Coffee Shop Fucker. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or utterly frightened it wasn’t a cop. The guy was showing up everywhere. “I…” I still couldn’t think of an adequate excuse for why I was in a rich neighborhood, dressed in black, hiding behind a dumpster. I went on the offense. “Why are you here?” I countered.

I swore the man grinned, but it was gone so fast I couldn’t be sure. “I have business in the area.” “Oh.” I liked that explanation, so I stole it. “So do I.” He leaned forward a bit. “You do?” I shrugged, leaning back. “I do.” “What kind of business?” Coffee Shop Fucker asked. I folded my arms. “I could ask you the same thing.” CSF raised an eyebrow. “It’s confidential.” I shrugged, averting my eyes. “As is mine.” “How convenient.” I ripped my gaze back to his because I swore I heard him laugh. Still, when I looked, there

was nothing. He eyed me with cool calculation, not a hint of humor in his hard features. I shook my head, sick of feeling insane for the night—for the rest of my life—and glared. I was done with the conversation. “If you’ll excuse me.” I pushed past him, but he grabbed my elbow. My body tightened and my lungs filled with ice. When strangers on the street bumped into me, my entire body reacted with carnal instinct, fear, and aggression, and that was just a bump on the street. Imagine what happened when someone actually grabbed me. I was torn between pulling my gun out and shooting his fucking face off or crawling into the fetal position. It was

possible he suspected the war going on inside me, because his next words were: “What are you gonna do, punch me in the face again?” “Possibly,” I snarled. “I haven’t decided.” He let go of my arm. “Tell you what, I won’t call neighborhood security and tell them you’re lurking about if you go out with me right now.” I scoffed. “Are you threatening me?” Literally the last place on Earth I wanted to go was with some strange man. Fool me once—no, wait, fool me once, you’re still a rapist and terrible person. Fool me twice and I just have really, really shitty luck. “No, I’m trying to date you.” I

nearly choked on my tongue. Dates were flowers and chocolates and Nora Ephron, not this. “The answer is and will always be a resounding no.” My mother was always a great packer. She had packing down. Need to pack a fur coat, a regular coat, three weeks worth of clothing, and a freaking bookcase into one overnight bag? She had you covered. Why had that thought popped into my head? Because at that moment I wished my mom was alive, just so she could have helped me pack a little bit more hate into my words. He shrugged. “All right, well why don’t I just go up to this guy’s house and ask him about your ‘business’?”

I gulped. “Fine. Do it.” I was sincerely hoping he was bluffing, but as CSF made his way toward his stairs, I screeched. “Fine, fine! I’ll go with you. Jesus!” If going with him meant avoiding one nuclear situation so I at least had a few minutes to disarm the next, then fine. Seriously, what were my other options? Call the police? Alert the media? HA! I knew I had put myself in this situation, I knew it. I should have been at home, behaving like a good little rape victim and ignoring my rapist. I should have been moving on. I shouldn’t have been stalking him. Well what the fuck ever. The only solution I saw was to go

with Coffee Shop Fucker, preferably to someplace well populated and well lit, and figure out how to get myself out of the new mess. I walked past CSF, intending to make my way to a more well lit street, when I heard his gravely, cocksure voice float to me from behind. “My name isn’t Jesus. Close, but it’s actually Nick Law.” I stopped mid-stride, barely able to control my indignation. Turning back to him, I scoffed. “What?” CSF—or Law, apparently —leaned back against his concrete steps. The lights were off in his house now, but I knew better than to think he was asleep. He was now in his study, his wife was asleep, and CSF and I were

standing out in broad fucking night waiting to be caught. Still, I had to comment. “Your name is Law? As in, follow and obey the? Uphold and honor the?” Law grinned. “I guess you could look at it that way.” I folded my arms across my chest. Enigmatic, enraging, and probably rotten like him’s name was Law? I loved it. I glared at Law and continued down the road, yelling over my shoulder, “I hate it.” Law took me to a 24-hour pub that sold southern classics like chicken and waffles with the drinks in mason jars.

I’d heard of the place before, but I’d thought it had closed up shop. It was actually quite delicious, but I wasn’t going to give Law anything, even something as small as choosing a good restaurant. When we left his house, I tried to lose Law. I didn’t try running, because that would have been too obvious. I told Law I knew of a “really good place, right around the corner”. He seemed suspicious, but let me lead nonetheless. My plan was to take him to the convenience store and lose him in the aisles, disappearing out back. It was like he fucking knew what I was thinking. When we arrived at the store he said, “This is the great place?” I

told him I needed to use the bathroom first. When I went to the back, sidestepping the restroom for the back exit, he was waiting for me outside. Leaning so lackadaisically against the dirty concrete wall, it was as if he’d been reading a book. “Can we go now?” he asked, bored. Snow had started falling, the white flakes landing on Law as if in agreement with God himself. I ignored how beautiful the flakes looked resting on Law’s thick lashes, instead opting to glare. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said. “Look, I’m hungry, you’re hungry, and I actually do know of a good place

only a couple of blocks downtown.” My fists curled, ready to fight, when Law said, “Yeah, yeah. You have a gun and I should be scared.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the neon lit door at my back. I jerked my hand back. “If I go with you will you leave me alone from now on?” I attempted to wager. He seemed to mull that over. “If you decide that you want me to leave you alone, sure.” I laughed. “Like I would decide anything else.” Law reached for my hand again and I folded my arms. “Tell me where we’re going.” “The Bell Jar.” I narrowed my eyes at his response.

“That closed.” My bullshit meter was perking up. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was beginning to trust Law, but I was beginning to think he didn’t outright want to do me harm. The minute he said we were going to The Bell Jar, though, that changed. The Bell Jar was closed. Why would he be taking me somewhere closed? Law sighed and the movement drew my eyes to his chest. He was wearing a wool pea coat, the buttons straining against his hard mass. “No, it’s not. It closed for two months and it reopened with new management. I’m beginning to think you aren’t worth this much trouble.”

I pounced on that. “Good! You should go with that. I’m not worth this much trouble.” “I said beginning to. Come on now, let’s go before all the good beer is drunk.” Law skipped off down the street. I watched him walk, his tall form almost cheerful. He was definitely an enigma. One minute intense and brooding, the next skipping down the deserted downtown streets of Salt Lake City. Part of me wished he would slip on the newly fallen snow and die. The other part…well, I was ignoring the other part. I didn’t trust him, but he was starting to captivate me. Law was getting inside my head, making me want to

understand him. I shook that off. There was only room for one man inside my head, and he held that spot. Unfortunately. “So whose house were you spying on?” Law asked, taking a gulp of beer from his mason jar. “I’m surprised you’re pretending you don’t know,” I mumbled, poking at my chicken and waffles sans chicken. Law, after all, was working with him. Even though I was only eating with Law so he wouldn’t immediately give me up to him, I still felt like I was walking a dangerous and fraying tightrope. Was Law playing with me like a cat does a mouse? “What was that?” Law asked,

wiping beer from his mouth. I watched, fascinated, as his hand scratched across his five o’clock shadow. Law seemed so carefree, drinking beer, enjoying chicken and waffles. His hazel eyes gleamed as he talked to me. Did he not walk the tightrope? Did he not think about him? I stabbed my waffles. “I said can we talk about something else?” “Sure. Are you in school or working?” I thought about that. I had been in school before the incident with scholarships paying for everything. Now I was working just so I could pay the bills. I didn’t want Law to know anything real about me, so I decided to

start lying. “School,” I mumbled, spearing mashed potatoes with my fork just to watch the perforation. “What are you studying?” he asked, taking another gulp of his beer. “I’m leaning toward peace and conflict studies.” Back before the incident, I had been studying peace and conflict. I had fancied that I would change the world and make it a better place. Now I knew the world would never be a better place, because the people who were making the changes were evil, terrible people. I took a chug of my whiskey cocktail and shrugged. The drink was delicious. It tasted like fruit

and sugar and syrup, and the alcohol hit just the right spot. Law took another sip of his water and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Are you amused by something?” I asked caustically. “Yes,” Law said, his smile broadening. I glared, taking another swig of whiskey. It was entirely unladylike, but whatever. I didn’t want to be there anyway. I would have preferred the seventh layer of hell to this. “I do find the idea of a pedestrian bashing, gun-toting woman such as yourself studying peace and conflict amusing.” I scowled, feeling vile and venomous. I had always hated the idea

of violence, a pacifist by nature. Call me a constitution hater, but I thought guns should be banned. That was, until the attack. I still didn’t like guns. Every time I reached for mine, I felt such conflict. Wasn’t now the time I should really stand for my beliefs? It’s easy to say “Put your guns away!” when you don’t feel threatened, but now that I felt threatened, I tossed my ideals aside and reached for my gun. I don’t know. Fuck. I took another sip of my cocktail in an attempt to allay the troublesome thoughts. “What about you?” I asked, attempting to change the subject. “What do you do?” I knew it was futile. Law was a liar just like him. Whatever he

told me was only to serve whatever new sick plan they had for me. I hated this. I hated that I had felt some semblance of power for two months but yet again he was taking it away from me. I didn’t want to be at dinner, but he and his henchman had forced me there. He was taking control of my life once again. I gulped the last of my drink, hoping the liquid would stave off the tears brimming beneath my lids. “You should eat something,” Law stated. “Fuck yourself,” I replied, and ordered another drink.

Law paid the tab. I didn’t even reach for it. Are you kidding me? I was practically a hostage. It wasn’t a date. I wasn’t going to foot the bill on my own kidnapping. When we left and Law opened the door for me, I grunted. His manners were like a lifejacket on the Titanic. Just like I would rather die quickly than float for a few hours before freezing to death, I would have rather had Law cut to the chase than sprinkle manners on top of his bullshit. My car was actually near the restaurant; I hadn’t thought it was smart to park near his house when doing reconnaissance. So, I only needed to walk about a block and half to find my car parked along the street, but I wasn’t

about to lead Law to my getaway vehicle —cough, old Honda, cough. I looked around. It was probably about three in the morning. Since I’d started working the night shift, I was getting good at recognizing the time of night. Sort of how people learn to tell what time of day it is, I’d started to understand the night. “All right, well, you can go now,” I said, gesturing to Law. “It’s about to blizzard, anyway. You can tell by the way the nimbostratus is forming.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I worked at a meteorology lab and my grunt work was identifying clouds and cloud patterns to store in a national database to help

predict weather patterns. A toddler could do it. Law narrowed his eyes. “How do you know that?” Fuck it, it’s not like I’ll see the bastard after tonight. “I work in a meteorology lab. If I didn’t know that I’d be pretty piss poor at my job, don’cha think?” “A peace and conflict student working in a lab?” Law’s disbelief was evident. I rubbed my nose, ready to end the night. “I’m not studying peace. Or conflict.” Law took a step closer. “What?” “I’m not studying peace. Or conflict,” I repeated, folding my arms

and taking a step back as Law inched nearer. “Why would you lie?” I shrugged at his question. Did it matter? If Law stuck to his word, I wouldn’t see him after the night. I’d agreed to the dinner just to get the man off my lawn and out of my life. I honestly didn’t expect him to find out about my white lie. Chalk it up to in vino veritas, or in whiskey veritas. Law stepped even closer to me. Instinctively, I stepped back again—into a wall. I glanced hurriedly around, looking at the brick and cement walls that pinned me. How had we ended up in an alley? I supposed it wasn’t really an alley; Utah doesn’t have many “alleys”. Chalk it up to the Mormons: they may

have their problems, but they know how to keep a street clean—on the outside, at least. I swiveled my head to the right and could see some lone people walking down the street. Downtown wasn’t much of a metropolis past ten o’clock. Things started closing at ten and everything was closed by twelve. It was three in the morning so any people up now were getting ready for the day, not ending the night like Law and me. Law took another step closer and I surreptitiously reached for the gun in my purse. “I just wanted to know why you would lie.” Law took two steps back. “I don’t like lying.” There was now considerable distance between us. I

breathed, unaware that I had been holding my breath, and took my hand away from my purse. I scoffed at his words. “I’m beginning to hate that,” Law said. “What?” I asked, scoffing again. “I just find it utterly laughable that you don’t like lying.” “What the hell does that mean?” I yawned, preferring to divert the conversation rather than confront Law. “It’s getting late, and I have work tomorrow—today, I guess.” “I’ll drive you.” “Nope.” I nearly scoffed again but thought better of it. “No thanks.” “I’m not about to let you drive in

the state you’re in.” The state I’m in? I’d had two drinks and they’d since settled, thankyouverymuch. I rolled my eyes to the side and smiled acidly. “Let’s get this straight, Law: you don’t tell me what to do, what to think, what to wear, how to act, or anything else, got it? If you’re looking for some girl to boss around and make you feel like a man, you’ve picked the wrong one. Maybe you heard my story and thought I was damaged and could be groomed easily, I don’t know, but you picked the wrong target.” I coughed, feeling drained. It had taken every ounce of emotional energy I had left to make that speech. I was fearful. Fearful that I was an

easy target, that after what had happened to me, men could groom me. Part of me was beginning to think the reason Law was being so inquisitive in my life was because he had figured out who I was and thought I was an easy target. I hadn’t yet told him my name for that very reason. Still… I hoped Law wouldn’t question me or my speech, that he would just take it at face value and fuck off. Law took another step back, his face a mix of emotions. “I’m sorry.” “What?” I hadn’t expected that. “I wasn’t trying to groom you, or shit, I don’t know. I uh…think I should go.” Law rubbed a hand through his dark blond hair. I grabbed his arm. “Why did you

follow me out of the coffee shop? Why have you been following me?” His eyes snapped to mine, so fierce they were almost shining yellow. “I’ve seen that face before.” “My face?” I froze. My fears were materializing. He thought I was an easy target. I was becoming a Nami smoothie, ground up and sucked up. “One of complete terror and isolation. It’s the face a victim gets when she sees her attacker. ” I sucked in a breath, snapping out of my whirling thoughts. “How the fuck do you know that?” “My line of work is…unique,” Law replied, ever the inscrutable one. I scoffed. I was starting to believe

him; how dumb of me. “Your line of work?” He eyed me incredulously and repeated my words, almost annoyed. “Yes, my line of work.” “As a fucking political puppet?” I couldn’t help my response. I wasn’t a seasoned liar—unlike the company I kept—so it was hard to keep my tongue in check. Law craned his neck to the side, eyeing me with confusion. “What are you talking about?” I fingered my gun again, in case things were about to get ugly. “I know what you do, okay? I know who you work for and I know why you’re out with me. Stop pretending.” I pushed my

gun against my purse, so the outline was visible. “And just so you don’t get any funny ideas.” He eyed my gun, less than impressed. “What are you talking about?” “You have your reasons for needing the drug stopped,” I repeated the words Law had said to him icily. His face went ashen, just for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes on me. “What have you gotten yourself into?” Law asked. I shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.” By the time our conversation lulled, the sun was coming up, and people were

walking by. We were still in the alley. I had one hand keeping him at a distance and the other on my gun. We had gotten nowhere. I didn’t believe him one bit but then why, why, why… Why was there a sliver of hope nestled like a shard of glass inside my heart, telling me that he might be for real? Because what was all that stuff about “his line of work”? And why did he seem so confused when I called him a political puppet? In the end I came to no conclusion about Law either way. He could have been evil incarnate, or he could have just been a regular asshole—an asshole who pays the tab, opens the door for me,

and offers to drive me home. But still an asshole. An asshole I let drive me home. I told myself it was because if he was going to try and slither his way back into my life, then I was going to do it first. I was going to go black ops, rogue, whatever the name, and slither my way right back. I would understand everything about him and ruin him from the inside out. My fear, though, was that none of that was true. My fear was that I was weak, tired, and a little drunk, and that I let Law give me a ride home because my feet hurt. My fear was that I was not a rogue, that I was just plain old Nami DeGrace.

When we reached my apartment, Law tried to open my door for me. “I can open my own goddamn door,” I growled. “I was being a gentleman.” I scoffed at that, shoving the key into the lock and slamming the door open so it ricocheted against the wall. Raskolnikov, hearing the loud noise, jumped from wherever he had been laying his lazy ass and proceed to bark and hop all around us. “Raskolnikov. No,” I said, the lack of enthusiasm evident. I walked past Raskol-the-jumping-bean and placed my keys on the table. A small, nearly microscopic part of me was smiling at Raskol’s guard dog attempts. He was

tiny, but he was mighty. “Could you say something, please?” Law asked. “He’s biting my leg.” I turned around to see Raskol using Law’s pant leg as a chew toy. “Oh, bad boy, Raskolnikov. Don’t. So bad.” I shrugged and continued, “I guess he won’t listen to me. Sorry. Maybe you should go.” Law glared before bending down and picking Raskol up. Instantly Raskolnikov went from an angry chomping monster to a happy licking beast. He gave Law a furious kiss on the cheek. “I think he likes me,” Law said before setting him back on the floor. Raskol proceeded to run around the

room about fifty times. “Traitor,” I muttered as he passed me on his sixtieth lap. Turning back to Law I stated, “He’s just lulling you into complacency before he strikes.” Law raised an eyebrow. “He’s very scary. What’s his name?” “Raskolnikov. Raskol for short.” “Like rascal?” Law asked, quirking an eyebrow as Raskol zoomed by. “No, like Raskol. What the fuck did I just say?” I was getting sick of playing nice with the could-be-vile sycophant. I didn’t want to spend time deciphering his true intentions. He’d had a meal with him; that was all the proof I needed that Law was no good. Why had I nearly forgotten that? It was long past time he

left, and since Raskol had done a poor job of getting him to go, it was my turn. “I think it’s time you get the fuck out of my apartment,” I snapped. “What is your problem?” Law asked, walking farther inside. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, even after you punched me in the face and told me to fuck off!” “Yeah, apparently you can’t take a hint.” I reeled. “I know who you work for so stop pretending!” Law took another step and I shoved his chest. Like hitting an oak, it did nothing to sway him. Law eyed me and my hands, confusion marring his stupidly perfect features. “I work for myself.”

I laughed. Maybe the liquor had affected me, or maybe I was drunk on anger. I’d known I shouldn’t get drunk. It was easy to take advantage of a drunk person, but the liquor calmed my mind. It erased the memories that surfaced like dead limbs. My words were coming much easier now, too. It felt like they were slipping from my mouth like water down an iceberg. “Stop acting like you don’t know who I am!” As I backed away from him, I tripped over my couch. I fell onto the floor, Raskol’s dog bed bracing my landing. “Even if I could believe you don’t work for him—which I don’t—you know who I am!” “A crazy lady?” Law asked, taking

a step toward me. He offered his hand to help me up, but I smacked it away. A little wobbly, I stood up without his help. Counting off the names people had called me on my fingers, I spat them back at him: “Whore, slut, liar!” Law opened and closed his mouth. For a moment he wasn’t a handsome albeit dirty prick, he was a fish out of water. Eventually he asked, “Who do you think I work for?” I’d had it with him. I’d had it with the deception and games he was clearly playing. Whatever sick, twisted ending he had planned for me, I wanted it to happen now. I wasn’t prepared, but I was sure I would never be prepared. You can try as you might to prepare for

an earthquake or a tsunami, but the fact of the matter is, it’s still devastating when it hits. I opened my mouth and prepared for my earth to be rocked. “Mitch Morris!”

“As in Senator Mitch Morris?” Law asked.

My fist was clenched at my side and my other hand felt empty. My .22 was about a foot away, nestled in the purse I’d dropped angrily to the ground. I wanted to lunge for it, but that would be too obvious. Still, I felt so exposed and helpless. I’d laid all my cards on the table and now I was without any extra chips. I really didn’t know what to expect from Law. I was sure he was working for Morris. Sure that Morris had hired him to do something with me. Kill me? Maybe. At least Morris wanted me silenced, of that I was pretty certain. Still, I wasn’t sure how much Morris had told Law. Perhaps Law had no idea what Morris had done to me.

I nodded in response to Law’s question, waiting for the incredulity and hate to flow. Six months before, when the rape was still fresh and I was still naive enough to think people would believe me, I had learned the hard way that most didn’t respond well to finding out their beloved senator and prominent church leader was a rapist. Instead they chose to believe I was a whore. A slut. A liar. “Wait…” Law took a step away from me. I was used to that too. It was as if after finding out what had happened to me, I became tainted. Plagued. Like my terrible “lies” would spread to them too. “A couple of months ago there was a news story—”

“About an intern who tried to smear Morris. Called him a rapist but turned out she was an alcoholic whore? A slut. A liar. Yeah. That’s me. Nami DeGrace.” Only it wasn’t me. After the rape kit, I went to the media. They laughed in my face. I thought that would be the worst of it, but then the police reported me to Morris. I woke up the next morning to a fleet of news reporters on my lawn. I guessed I had gotten what I wanted. They reported my story, but it wasn’t mine. It was twisted, tawdry, and it annihilated me. What the police did was completely illegal of course, but who was I going to call? The police?

The news reporters wouldn’t leave. They were calling me the new Monica Lewinsky (and those were the nice reporters). Others called me whore, slut, and liar. I got hate mail. I got death threats. I couldn’t go to class. I dropped out of school. I didn’t leave my house for months. I lived off the small inheritance I had from my parent’s death until it ran out. Then I applied for nightshift jobs until someone hired me. It was simpler to work at night, under the cover of darkness where I wasn’t easily recognized. Like I was a vampire or some shit. While the lab wasn’t my own, it felt

like it. I was the only one who worked the graveyard shift. I had my own key, an entire facility to myself, and I left before anyone on the morning shift arrived. It was peaceful and uncomplicated. The only time I went out in the day was to occasionally spy on Morris. Or to get a coffee…but look how that turned out. “There are no words to describe that douche hole. Maybe cock knob.” Law paused as if thinking seriously and then said, “Perhaps Satan’s twat.” Law shook his head. “Still not right.” I coughed. “Excuse me?” Law rounded me. Despite numerous self pep talks and online rape recovery groups, I still crumbled when a tall

figure came at me. I flinched, expecting to be beat up. Law probably thought I was lying, just like everyone else, and was going to teach me a lesson. I’d received numerous letters and emails delineating what people were going to do to me…but Law just passed me and went into my kitchen. The breath I was holding released. “Where are you going?” I asked, my voice still shaking a bit. Law opened my fridge. “You got a beer?” Raskol bounded in after him, because any time someone was in the kitchen it meant something was in it for him. “Uh… I have whiskey,” I replied, hoping the confusion I felt wasn’t

obvious. Closing the fridge, Law turned his assault on my cabinets. “Even better.” Returning with a bottle of whiskey in tow and Raskol hot on his heels, Law sat down on my coffee table and took a swig. “Tell me everything.” It felt like ice had been poured over my head. I stared at Law, unblinking, for what seemed like hours. He took slow slips of my whiskey (my good whiskey), and watched me carefully. The realization of what was happening didn’t occur quickly. It came slowly, like the tide rising over the sands of my own mind. “What? No.” I raised my hands,

shaking them as I tried to regain some control. Tell him everything? The last people I had told everything to were the police, and that had backfired tremendously. I still had no reason to trust Law. The fact was I knew nothing about Law other than he worked for Morris in some capacity. I was already being an idiot letting him inside my home. And letting him drink my only good whiskey! “I can help,” Law said. I kicked my heel against the back of the couch, the pain clearing my mind. “By reporting me to Morris? Look, you can tell him I’m done, okay? I won’t do anything any more. He’s made his point.” And he had. Clearly I was in over my

head. I just wanted justice, but this wasn’t some comic book. When people like me try to get justice, people like Morris send Law. If I kept going, I would probably end up dead. Some days that felt like the best option, but most days I knew better. “What are you talking about?” Law asked, coming to sit by me. “Why would I report you to Morris?” I eyed him, feeling hate and loathing seep out of me like sweat. “Because you work for him. Don’t fuck with me.” “I don’t work for Morris.” Law looked at me as if I were speaking in tongues. He leaned forward, just enough that I could smell him. He smelled good,

if I was being honest, like wood and campfire smoke and something else… something rich that I couldn’t quite place. Trying to put space between us, I stood up and walked to the other end of the room. “That’s bullshit,” I said. “So you can go ahead and stop talking right now. I know you work for him. I saw you two together and I heard everything.” “I don’t know what you heard, Nami,” Law said, taking a step toward me. I immediately stepped backward, tripping over a pair of shoes I’d left out. I hated this, absolutely hated it. I wanted to stand tall and not let Law bully me, but goddamn I was so afraid. It was a visceral response now. I

didn’t get to make the decisions any more. I didn’t get to choose to stand tall. The minute Law stepped toward me I cowered. Fear wasn’t a choice; fear was my constant state of mind. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Law said, his voice lower and calmer, as if talking to a frightened cat. Maybe I was a frightened cat. I felt ashamed and embarrassed. “Whatever,” I said, turning my head so I didn’t have to look at him. “Anything that comes out of your mouth is a lie, so you can go ahead and stop trying.” And why was he trying? Was Morris so obsessed with me that he’d hired this actor to lull me back into a false sense of security? Well, I wouldn’t

be lulled. I would never, repeat: never, let myself be vulnerable again. Law touched my chin and I jerked it away. Taken aback by his sudden advancement, I stumbled back and fell on my ass. “What the hell do you want with me?” I screamed so loud Raskol barked. “I don’t want anything,” Law said, sounding nonplussed. “I’m just trying to explain myself.” “No need!” I said, scrambling to my feet. “I know who you are and who you work for.” “Oh yeah?” Law said, aggression starting to tinge his words. “Tell me then, Nami, tell me how you know so much about me.”

“I heard you talking to Morris. I know you work for him. I know you’re just as bad. Did he hire you to keep an eye on me? I don’t fucking care. Get the fuck out of my house before I shoot you!” I lunged for my .22 and pulled it out of my purse before Law could stop me. Law didn’t even try to stop me, though. As I aimed the cannon at his head, he merely cocked his own in slight amusement. “Have you even shot a gun before?” Law asked, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Get the fuck out of my house, Law. I won’t be raped again,” I growled, adjusting my finger on the trigger. Law’s eyes widened. I wanted to believe he

was finally taking me seriously and starting to fear my trigger finger, but I doubted it. In the short time we’d known each other, my gun had been on him multiple times and he’d never batted an eye. If I’d had to bet money on what rocked Law’s calm, almost callous demeanor, it would have been my accusation. “What?” I demanded. “Don’t act like that wasn’t the plan, Law. You’re Morris’s lapdog. He hired you either to fuck me or groom me so he could do it again.” Law’s jaw ticked, anger evident on his face. I bit my own lip, fear crawling down my spine. Was this it? Was he going to make his move? “You know nothing about me,”

Law growled, stepping forward so his chest was pressed flat against the gun. I swallowed. I kept the gun steady, pressed against the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll shoot you before I let Morris get me again.” “Good.” “W-what?” I stuttered, having not expected that reply. “Did you hear me? I said I’ll shoot you—” “Good,” Law repeated. Stepping even closer, Law pushed me flat against the wall. The muzzle was buried in his chest but I wasn’t naive enough to think I held the power in the situation. “You should shoot anyone who threatens you. Including me.” My eyes widened. I stared into his

hazel eyes, looking for a clue to the game he was playing. Nothing. He was locked tight. All humor from before had vanished. His jaw was clenched, the five o’clock shadow looking less sexy and more menacing. I swallowed. “What are you doing?” I asked, voice small. Law stepped back and I sucked in all the oxygen I hadn’t known I was missing. “I don’t work for Morris.” I scoffed. Yeah right. Law grabbed my chin and pulled my gaze to his. “I do not work for Morris.” I tried to yank my chin back but he held it firmly between his fingers. Giving up momentarily, I asked him the questions that had been plaguing me

since our first encounter. “Then why were you with him? And why are you following me?” “I work for GEM, a company that handles politicians like Morris. As for you…” Law dropped my chin, his gaze going cloudy. A few minutes passed and I wondered if he was ever going to give me his excuse. Just as I was about to call him on his bullshit, Law spoke. “I already told you why I came after you.” “Because of my face?” I laughed bitterly. “Because you’ve seen my ‘look’ before? Really? I’m supposed to believe that?” “Believe what you want, Nami,” Law replied, voice hard like granite. I turned away so I didn’t have to battle

with his intense stare. “I will. And I choose to believe you’re a liar.” I returned my gaze to his, clashing my glare with his for a good two minutes until he said, “I’ll prove you wrong.” I blinked, caught off guard. Law didn’t give me a chance to respond. He walked out of my apartment, leaving the door open as he went. I followed his trail, watching him leave in simultaneous resentment and awe. I only closed the door when I was sure he wasn’t coming back. Curled in a ball, I sat on the floor of my living room for hours after Law left. I had my red fleece blanket wrapped around me and Raskol slept

inside, oblivious to the bitter reason for the warm cocoon. I was wrecked and warped after Law, not sure what to believe or feel. I wanted to believe Law was good, not because he looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, but because I was so utterly and desperately lonely. I had no allies. No friends. No family. I wasn’t living in a cartoon so Raskol couldn’t talk back to me. It didn’t take a degree to diagnose me with depression. I was beyond depressed. I was dragged down and disconsolate. I was over the cliff and lost to the rocks. Fuck Law for making me think I

could be anything else. My laptop sat in the only corner with a working jack, the blue power light blinking lazily. I needed to research Law’s claims. The sooner I did that, the quicker I could forget Law and his gorgeous, lying face. First and foremost: the company he worked for. With Raskol safely asleep in my arms, I carried my laptop to the couch and started to dig. I searched for GEM on the internet and at first nothing came up. I was expecting GEM to have a website, the same way all companies have websites, but they didn’t, so I searched instead for GEM and politics, and that’s when an entire slew of articles hit me. Apparently GEM owned a bunch of

shady super PACS that they use to donate to and fund campaigns. GEM was just one of the names the umbrella corporation went by. It was unsettling, to say the least, when I recognized some of the other names as products I bought for hair care, food, and just general appliances. GEM owned everything from car companies to candy companies, and had been responsible for every sundry and terrible thing from oil spills to slavery in Africa. Head spinning, I closed my laptop. Law was telling the truth, at least. If he worked for GEM, he wasn’t working for Morris. He was probably just doing GEM’s dirty work and funding another

campaign. Somehow, I still didn’t feel that much better about him. Law worked for a company that condoned environmental destruction and slavery. How much better could he be? I used to have a gut feeling. That is, I could trust my gut about people. If my gut said someone was all right, then I would listen. I no longer had a gut feeling, because my gut had been utterly eviscerated after Morris. I had no idea if Law was good or bad. Working for a bad person didn’t necessarily mean you were bad. I understood that the same way I understood living in a country with a corrupt government doesn’t mean you’re corrupt. Without my gut, though, I was blind.

I shoved my laptop aside and sunk into the couch. The TV’s blank face stared back at me. I hadn’t watched TV in months. Every single aspect of my mind had been captivated by Morris. What did I like any more? Did I still like Friends? Did I still like Buffy? Pulling the blanket from the top of the couch, I clicked the TV on and waited patiently for Netflix to scroll across the screen. I selected Psych and as Sean and Gus started their antics, I didn’t laugh. I knew it was funny, I’d laughed before, but something inside me was broken. I felt like screaming. Even watching one of my favorite shows, I couldn’t forget about Morris. He’d taken so much from me. He’d

taken my future, my reputation, and now he’d taken Sean and Gus. It was time he had something taken from him.

I could feel my soul slipping away like sand through my fingers. As Mitch

Morris moved around the parking lot, the shutter clicks sounded on my camera and the sand slipped faster. I needed to catch him. I was a spider in a web and he was the fly constantly torturing me, buzzing just overhead. I was starving. He was the meal I would never eat. Morris was in the manufacturing part of Utah, just a little outside of Salt Lake City. If it had been any other person, I would have said it was odd. Odd for such a man to be out in that part of town so late at night. It wasn’t any other person, though. It was Mitch Morris, and he was always up to something. I clicked the camera again, watching his movements through the

delayed stills. He seemed perfectly calm between the gray-black shadows of the buildings and towering pallets. Questions plagued me. Who was he meeting? Why there? Morris was dressed impeccably. Wearing a long wool pea coat with fur trim over his three-piece suit and polished shoes, he looked like he was going to the symphony, not standing on loose gravel amidst dirty wooden pallets. Again I felt myself slipping, disappearing into the man that had taken a part of me. I needed to understand him. I was dressed all in black, hiding behind one of the stacks of wooden pallets. I was beginning to think that it

was not my superior stealth keeping me hidden from Morris, but instead his superior hubris. He had every cop in the city, every journalist, and pretty much every person, in his pocket. He had no one to fear because they all either feared or loved him. Why would he worry about me? “Senator.” A slightly frightened, mousy voice perked my ears. “I don’t understand why we had to meet here.” I lowered my camera slightly to get a better look and squinted, finding it hard to see in the dark. The only light on the lot was meters back: a lonely and dying street lamp. I squinted harder and saw the owner of the voice: me. Well, not me, but it looked like me

six months back. The girl was wearing a nice pencil skirt and blouse accompanied by a look of simultaneous fear and awe on her face, as if she had so much to learn still, even in the clearly terrible situation. My camera nearly dropped from my fingers as memories of the incident overcame me. “I told you, Teresa, I have to volunteer at the shelter around the corner and this was the easiest place to meet.” “Yes, but I could have given it to you in the morning…” The girl, Teresa, trailed off. She looked around warily, clearly uncertain of the situation. I understood that too well. Morris was a great man, right? He was a senator and church figure; she had no reason to

distrust him. Still, why were they in such a precarious situation? “I’m a very busy man, Teresa. If you’d rather work for someone else…” “No!” Teresa apparently snapped to her senses. “I love working with you. It’s a great opportunity, thank you.” “I could give you the papers in the morning. You didn’t have to come to my apartment.” “I’m a very busy man, Nami. If you’d rather work for someone else…” “No!” I said, letting Morris inside my door. “I have the papers right—” Fear crept into my belly and adrenaline coursed through my veins as a hand fell on my shoulder. In the brief moments that I’d been reliving the

incident, Teresa and Morris had disappeared. The camera dropped from my hands and fell to the gravel. I had zero time to contemplate the damage that might have been done, because there was someone there with me. I spun around, expecting the worst. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. Standing a few feet away from me, his body outlined by what little light existed in the grim lot, was Law. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or on guard. “Making sure you don’t do something stupid,” he growled. “You have no fucking clue who I am, Law.” I seethed. “Or what I’m

doing.” “I know you’ve been following the senator for months now. I know you want revenge.” Law stepped closer, forcing my back against the snow-covered wooden pallets. “I know that if you keep doing this it will end badly for you.” I was terrified. I hadn’t let anyone, much less a man, so close to me since the incident. Still, I didn’t want my fear to betray me. I settled my breathing and kicked up against the pallets, forcing Law to stumble back. “And how do you know that?” I spat. Law quirked a brow. “I’m observant.” I scoffed. Observant? What the fuck

did that mean? “So what, I’m supposed to trust you?” I shoved him, making him stumble back a few more feet. “I don’t know a thing about you, except this: you’re untrustworthy and you’re dangerous.” “I am dangerous, Nami, but not to you. I can help you.” There was a sincerity in Law’s eyes that I wasn’t sure I should acknowledge. Instead, I disregarded him. Now that I knew I wasn’t in any danger, awareness replaced the adrenaline that had previously held my body captive. The first thing on my mind: what happened to Morris and Teresa? I immediately thought the worst. Ignoring Law and whatever shit he was trying to sell me as

diamonds, I scanned the lot. Morris’s car was gone. Teresa was nowhere to be seen. It was as if they’d vanished. An icky, cold feeling settled in my gut. Had Morris just taken another victim? If so, all I’d done was snap pictures with my fucking camera. Camera! I bent down and grabbed it, brushing snow off the already cracked lens. “Have you been listening to a word I’m saying?” Law sniped. “No,” I said as I examined the lens for more cracks. “I already told you, I don’t trust you. If you keep showing up, you’ll be sorry.” I didn’t exactly have any way to back up my threat, but I

hoped he wouldn’t call my bluff. I snapped a picture of Law, this time with flash, and made sure to get right up in his face. As the bright bulb flared I heard him swear. I used the small window of confusion to run—and hopefully vanish—away from him. I was at my car, fumbling with my key, when Law showed up. “Did you really think that was going to work? Take a picture and I would be too stunned to follow?” No. Yes. I don’t know. I’d hoped it would. I shrugged and ignored him, getting my key out and sticking it into the lock. I drove an old Honda. It was a bit beat up, but it was

cheap to fix and it got me from point A to point B consistently. As an added bonus, it blended in nicely. Law leaned against the door as I jimmied the lock open. “You need my help more than you think if those are the kind of getaway moves you have stored up.” “I don’t need help.” I ripped the door open, causing Law to stumble back. Once inside I slammed the door in his face and pressed lock. As I prepared to put the key in the ignition, there was a light rapping on the window. I turned, my face sour, and saw Law staring inside, his hazel eyes almost puppy-like. “What?” I growled. “Will you give me a ride home?”

His voice was muffled through the car, but I could tell he was sincere. “Are you fucking joking?” With Law, I couldn’t be sure. Shaking his head, he explained, “I took the bus.” I let my hand fall from the keys, prepared for yet another argument with Law. It seemed like all I was doing now was following Morris and arguing with this new, paradoxical man. When would my life become mine again? Probably never. “You did not,” I protested, still locked safely in my car. He opened his mouth to explain but I cut him off. “The buses don’t run this late. Stop lying to me.” The last public transit system

usually left around eleven, though it was hard to gauge because public transit in Utah was a joke. Occasionally transit stopped running, just because. I watched his face carefully. Law still had that five o’clock shadow around his sharp jaw, and I wondered if he had that because he thought it looked cool, or because he was too busy to shave. From the little I knew about him, I decided it could go either way. “You caught me.” Law grinned. “I just want to talk to you. I’ll even show you where I’m staying.” I gripped the keys again, getting ready to drive off. “I couldn’t care less about where you’re staying. I couldn’t care less about anything concerning you,

really.” I turned my car on, deciding that if I ran over his foot, it would be a bonus. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” Law’s voice sounded over the roar of my maybe-in-need-of-an-oilchange engine. I paused, still keeping the car running. I didn’t think Law wanted to hurt me. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have done it by now. Clearly he knew how to track me down. His question appeared to be a simple yes or no answer, but it wasn’t. I hadn’t thought Senator Morris was going to rape me, and look how that turned out. I used to think I understood people’s motives. I used to think it was easy to

know good from bad. Now I had no fucking clue. I had no idea who wanted to hurt me. I had thought I knew who was my friend and who was my enemy; now everything was utterly murky. The old me would have looked at Law and said drool-worthy, kind of weird guy, but totally harmless. Then again, the old me had looked at Mitch Morris and said kind of handsome dad-figure who is giving you a great recommendation for when you get out of college. And. Look. How. That. Turned. Out. I shook my head at Law and drove off.

7:15 Morris gets his coffee. 8:30 Morris meets with advisors. 9:30-11:30

Morris either works from office or meets with volunteers. 12:00-1:00 Morris takes lunch. Morris, unlike most politicians, took his lunch outside the capitol. That’s when I was going to pounce. He had a favorite place to eat: a little dive down in West Valley. I sat in my car, completely oblivious to the cold, and watched the entrance, waiting for him to walk out. It was almost 12:40 and he usually finished between 12:40 and 12:50. I was all steely composure as I fixed my gaze on the doors. Nothing was going to rattle me. Gun safely nestled in my lap, I waited. As Morris emerged at exactly 12:45, I got out of my car and walked

toward him, gun to my side. Just as I was about to make myself known, someone grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me away. I opened my mouth to yell but a hand covered my lips. Despite planting my feet firmly on the snow-covered asphalt, I was dragged away. I looked up at my captor, sagging a bit when I saw Law. At least I knew the asshole. I struggled trying to get free, but Law kept me pressed tightly against him. I had to watch limply as Morris made his way out of the restaurant and to his car while Law dragged me further and further away. Morris sat himself in the driver’s seat and I reached a hand out futilely, as if I could yank him away and to my side. I kept my gaze pinned on

Morris until Law pulled me all the way around a building, completely out of sight. Nestled between two dumpsters, Law finally let loose his hold of me. “What the hell are you doing?” he whisper-yelled. “What am I doing? What are you doing?” I pushed him until there was a good foot of distance separating us. “Get off me!” “It looked like you were about to commit murder.” Law folded his arms and inspected me. “I was stopping you from making a huge mistake.” “You have no idea what I was going to do.” And he didn’t. I wasn’t going to murder Morris, even if that’s what it looked like. I was just going to

scare him. I wanted him to know, with no uncertainty, that he hadn’t ruined me. Law reached for me again. I tried to maneuver away but he was too quick. He clasped a hand around my arm and yanked my gun out of the other. He dragged me back out of the alley and to a black Range Rover. I struggled the entire way, but it was useless, like fighting against a tornado. “What are you doing?” I asked, hoping my fear wasn’t evident. “We’re going back to my place,” Law grunted, not even bothering to turn back to me. “Like hell we are!” Ignoring me, Law opened up the passenger door and pushed me inside.

“This is fucking kidnapping!” I screamed as Law shoved me inside. As I tried to open the door, Law sat inside and locked them. “Look, Nami, I’m not trying to kidnap you.” Law’s tenor was smooth and low, like he was explaining why our dinner plans had changed and not why he was fucking kidnapping me. “I just want to talk.” “So talk,” I exclaimed. “Don’t kidnap me.” Law started the car and said, “I know that tattoo on your body isn’t just art.” “You don’t know anything.” Absently I looked at the tattoo that snaked across my arm. It was one of

many I’d had done during the media circus after my rape. I had birds on my collarbone and a tree on my abdomen, but the one on my arm was by far the most significant. It was a snake shedding its skin because the scales had caught fire. I was inspired by a phoenix. With phoenixes, no matter how many times they burst into ashes, they are always reborn more beautiful. I chose a snake instead of a phoenix because it felt apropos. You know, because of the reptile in a suit currently hijacking my life. I needed to feel some kind of control. Inking my purpose gave me that control. Law was right, it wasn’t just art. It was my coat of arms, my purpose, and

my drive. It reminded me every day what I had to do. Law pulled out of the restaurant, still cool as a cucumber. I eyed my car and a brief thought entered my mind that it was the second time Law had driven me away from my car. “You’re going to drive me back here,” I mumbled. “What?” “You’re driving me back here,” I repeated, louder. “I’m not taking a bus all the way back to fucking West Valley.” The last time he’d driven me home I’d had to bus it back to my car, but at least I’d been in the same city. This time it would take at least two hours to bus it back—assuming Law’s plans for me

didn’t include murder. “Fair enough,” Law replied. Feeling a little bit better about the situation, I unfolded my arms and regarded Law. “You could have just asked me to come with you instead of, you know, dragging me across the lot and throwing me inside like a sack of potatoes.” Law eyed me from his peripheral. “You would have come if I’d asked nicely?” “Yes,” I lied. Of course I wouldn’t have come. I would have laughed in his face and driven away. Still, I didn’t appreciate being thrown in cars like cargo. “You’re such a liar,” Law laughed.

“Where are we going?” I growled. “I told you. My place.” “No, no, no.” I shook my head, feeling cold all over. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead and palms and my breathing sped up. I knew what was happening: I was afraid. I hadn’t been to a stranger’s house, let alone a male stranger’s house, since being raped. “Nami?” Law glanced at me sideways. I felt completely vulnerable. Law had taken my gun, he’d shoved me in his car, and now he was taking me to his house. For a moment I had felt… well, not safe with him, but not completely on edge, and that naivety made me want to punch myself.

“Nami? What’s going on inside your head?” I shot him a vicious glare. The minute he pulled the car over I was getting out and running. As if he knew what I was thinking, Law pulled the car over. On the freeway. In the middle of traffic. “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, glancing around at the various cars honking and flipping us off. “What are you thinking?” Law pressed. “You went from hot to cold.” “I was never hot,” I spat. “Fine,” Law conceded. “You went from lukewarm to icy.” “I don’t trust you,” I stated, biting out each word. “So don’t think you can get one over on me.” Law undid his

seatbelt and leaned forward. I pressed my back against the window, refusing to give up an inch of my space. He smelled good again, like that rich, spicy scent mixed with campfire. “Nami listen to me.” Even though I was trying not to look at him, Law’s voice held a low, rich quality like melted chocolate and alcohol. If I wasn’t careful, it would get me drunk. I pressed myself farther against the window, hoping the bitter cold seeping through would keep me sane. “It’s hard to listen when you’re threatening me,” I snarled. “When you’re violating my personal space and dragging me off to places I did not consent to go.”

Abruptly Law returned to his seat. He banged the steering wheel so hard there was a honk and cursed, “Dammit!” There was no time to comment on his outburst, because Law started the engine and whipped back into traffic. I watched, entranced, as he maneuvered the Range Rover. He illegally crossed lanes until reaching the exit and then turned off the freeway. More honks followed. Once clear of the freeway, Law flipped the car around and drove in the direction of the restaurant. In less than five minutes we were pulling back into the parking lot. Law slowed the car down and idled in front of my Honda. “What are you doing?” I asked,

squinting suspiciously at him. Taking a deep breath, I realized I’d been clutching the leather door handle and slowly released my grip. “Get out.” His words were barely above a whisper. “What?” I looked around, not sure if he was playing a trick. “Get out! I’m not going to take you unwillingly.” I reeled at his choice of words and he noticed. “I mean—dammit, I’m going about this all wrong. All I want to show you, Nami, is that you have a friend. So get out. Go to your car. You can follow me if you want or you can drive home. I’m not going to force you into anything.” Slowly I unlatched the car door,

keeping my eyes trained on Law. I couldn’t figure him out. He had more heads to him than Hydra. As I got out of the car, I kept my glare focused on him. Did he really think I was going to buy this 180? He wanted to be my friend? Yeah. Right. And Morris accidentally fell into my vagina. From the safety of my car, I watched Law pull out of the parking lot. He’d idled for a good ten minutes, probably waiting for me to pull up behind him. Law’s invitation of friendship was tempting; I couldn’t deny that. I hadn’t had someone to talk with in months.

Before him, I used to think I was lonely. I’d watch chick flicks and compare myself to the protagonists with their misfortune in love. Now, I knew better. I had no one. No one cared about me. No one called. I was truly alone. “Screw it,” I muttered, putting my car into drive. Just as Law pulled into traffic, I followed. I made sure to stay far enough behind that he couldn’t see me. I wasn’t ready to commit just yet. When Law pulled into the parking lot of a nice hotel, though, it was either continue on or commit. I committed. I pulled into guest parking and followed Law into the lobby. He said

nothing as he made his way to the elevator. Maybe Law knew that if he acknowledged my presence I would dart back to my car and drive the fuck out of there. Either way, I followed him. The doors closed, shutting us inside the box. Law pressed the button for the highest floor, still pretending I wasn’t there. A weird sense of safety washed over me. It was much easier to be with Law when he didn’t acknowledge me. I stared at the crisscross marble patterns on the floor, at the intricate gold inlay, at the mirrors polished too well— at anything other than Law. The doors opened and Law exited first. I followed like the good ghost I was. Above us crystal chandeliers twinkled and the

walls were done in wooden designs. Even though I’d lived in Utah my entire life, I’d never been to this hotel. It was something I could never afford. We entered his room and I hung back, trying to stick to the shadows. I tried not to be beguiled by the plush carpet or intricate molding. I’d spent so much time in my apartment, with gray walls and cold floors, that this place looked like heaven. Still, I knew better than to expect anything other than a whited sepulcher. Law walked across the room and sat on a chair. First he removed his shoes, then he undid his tie. I watched, fascinated. As Law began to undo his shirt I exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

“I wasn’t sure how long this charade was going to last,” he said, continuing to unbutton his shirt. “Am I to acknowledge your presence now? Or should I continue to undress like you aren’t here?” “Shut up,” I mumbled, folding my arms. “You know I’m here.” “Yes, I know that. Do you?” Law stood up, his shirt half buttoned, and studied me. I pretended I didn’t notice the muscles dusted with tufts of hair now evident beneath his undone shirt, like glaring beacons of his raw power. Instead of acknowledging that, I pulled out the desk chair and glared. Shrugging my shoulders, I asked, “You have me here. Now what?”

“Now anything, Nami.” Law did up the buttons once more, and I quickly shot my attention to the floor. “What do you want to do?” “I want you to explain why the hell you’re following me,” I said, gaze still pinned on the beige carpet. It looked nice, like it had just been cleaned. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” Law sighed and I looked up to see him lie back on one of the plush, velvety wingback chairs. “I told you. I want to be your friend.” I knocked a notepad off the desk, watching it slam into the dresser. “If you’re just going to lie to me then I’m leaving. You said you’ve seen my face

before. What does that mean?” Slowly, Law rose from the chair. He watched me with careful concentration and I squirmed under his gaze. His stare transfixed me. Breathing slow and steady, I felt like some kind of hypnosis was happening. It was a carnal transmogrification of a normal stare. I felt my chest burn and my head go light. The way he watched me was almost painful. I needed to break it. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Law beat me to it. “You know I’m not lying.” I thought I did. And that terrified me. I stood up quickly, knocking over the chair I was standing in.

“I need to go.” I had to get out of there. Whatever was happening between me and Law was not good. As I turned to leave, Law grabbed me by the elbow. “Why do you need to go?” His gaze pinned me again. It was more than intense; it was brutal. I bit my lip, not sure how to respond. Suddenly I was thinking so many thoughts. So many inappropriate thoughts. I couldn’t focus. All I saw was Law. I saw his buttoned shirt, but I knew what lay beneath it. I saw his five o’clock shadow on his sharp jaw. I saw his gaze hardened to petrified wood. “You don’t want to know,” I spat. He wouldn’t want me. I was ruined. I

was used. I didn’t need his confirmation on that. Law loosened his hold on my elbow, but still held me. Leaning closer, so close I could smell the mint on his breath, Law said, “Try me.” I looked around, searching for anywhere to escape. We were in the living room section of his suite, bracketed by lavish couches and chairs. The balcony was a few feet away and for a moment I contemplated jumping off, because from my position I couldn’t reach the door. Law held me tight and now his lips were only millimeters away from mine. Law thought he was playing with fire, but he didn’t realize I was just ash. I’d already burned up and out.

There was nothing left of me. Once he tasted me, he would see. He would realize I was just ruin and embers. With determination, I closed the distance between us and kissed him. Amazing was an understatement. It was like pure animalism. For a moment I thought he reignited the fire in me. I thought he turned the ash to kindling, but then Law pulled back. Before he could reject me, I turned away. “See?” I said, trying to pull out of his grasp. He didn’t want me. No one would ever want me again. I snapped my arm free and ran past him toward the exit. “Where do you think you’re

going?” Law growled, pushing me against the door. “What are you doing?” I gasped as Law spun me around. “Kissing you back.” Before I could respond, Law’s mouth was on mine. He tasted even better than he smelled, if that was possible. I expected rough and harsh, but he was sweet. His tongue lightly grazed the seam of my lips, causing me to lean toward him. He nipped at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. I groaned. It had been so long since someone had sucked my bottom lip…since someone cared about me. I threw my arms around his neck just as Law said, “I don’t think we should do this.”

It felt like ice had been dumped into my stomach. I tried to pull my arms back so I could wrap them around myself, but Law held them to his neck. I averted my gaze. Slut. Whore. Liar. The words popped into my head unbidden. “Nami, look at me,” Law growled. “Nami this has nothing to do with you.” I refused to look at him, keeping my eyes firmly on the floor, until he said, “I’m afraid.” I scoffed. “What are you afraid of?” “Hurting you.” My eyes darted to his briefly. Was he serious? “I can handle it.” If this was how Law planned to hurt me, then it was much better than what I’d imagined. I

nipped at his lower lip, trying to show him that I really could take it. Law groaned into my mouth, his palm grasping the back of my skull. I pulled back, saying, “Plus, maybe I want to be hurt. Maybe I don’t want a nice guy. Maybe I don’t want sweet.” Maybe I didn’t deserve any of that. Law shook his head, eyes wary. “I’m a nice guy, Nami. Who said I couldn’t be sweet? I’m a perfectly sweet guy. I can worship you like you deserve. Still…” Law trailed off, burden heavy in his gaze. “Just kiss me, Law, make me forget.” Law’s face changed at my request. It was subtle, but I caught it. Like I said, I caught everything now.

Placing both hands on either side of my face, Law pulled me to him. His lips crushed against mine. His tongue waged a war to conquer mine. His breath was hot against my lips and his stubble lightly scratched against my chin. For that brief moment, everything was perfect. It was as if all life ceased the minute we came together. His tongue was in my throat. I tried to close my mouth but he was too strong. He shoved it between my teeth, the force reminding me of a dental appointment. I tasted him. It was foreign and wrong. I gasped as the memory blasted through me. Shoving off Law, I stood alone, breathing heavily.

“Nami, what is it?” Law asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?” What was wrong was that Morris was everywhere. I would never escape him. I pulled the door behind me open without a word and dashed out of the room. I heard Law calling after me, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t bear to tell him that his kiss reminded me of the rape. I sat in the bar contemplating life. I didn’t go to bars any more, but after my night with Law and my newly formed plan to take Morris down, I needed a drink. The place was an utter dive. Nestled on the wrong end of State Street, no one cared who I was; they were all way past drunk.

The lights were nearly nonexistent. A couple of hard-looking women played pool in the back. I nursed my drink at a sticky wooden table. If I was going to go through with my plan that night, I needed a dose of liquid courage. I eyed two girls in the corner. They stood out in the bar. Wearing fashionable headbands, shirts with sayings like “I woke up like this” and “Call Me Never”, and leggings, they truly seemed out of place. They didn’t appear to mind, though, as they were busy on their phones, probably posting a selfie or some shit. I didn’t do social media. After seeing hundreds of memes made about yourself, it gets old. Slut shaming is

alive and well, and I was the slut shamed humorously on all the major social media websites. Honestly, that’s wasn’t the main reason I left social media. Yeah, it was traumatic and terrible seeing my name and face plastered carelessly for a joke, as if I wasn’t a person but just a thing to laugh at, to get likes and votes. It was… eye opening, to say the least. I could handle that, though. I understood it. People didn’t view me as a person. They weren’t making fun of me, they were making fun of the joke. I moved on. What I couldn’t handle any more was the small and supposedly uplifting shit people posted on their walls.

One thing particularly stood out to me. It was a quote done up in a pretty font with a pastel background. You know the type. It read, “Your naked body should only belong to those who fall in love with your naked soul.” At first glance, it’s a beautiful and pithy saying that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. A bunch of people liked it and all they had to say was “beautiful” or “Love this.” The person who had posted it said she only hoped to teach her daughter that one thing. At first I shrugged at it then moved on. But it gnawed at me. And kept gnawing.

Really, that’s all you want to teach your daughter? All you want to teach your daughter is that her body is sacred? That she absolutely cannot fail at finding someone to honor her body? It kept festering inside me. I knew I should just unfollow the chick. She was like everyone else, not realizing how even the simplest of words can shape a person or even an entire generation. I used to think like that. I used to like those photos. And then my naked body was taken by someone who had no intention of loving anything about my soul. He didn’t even love my body. And I was the one who felt bad. That was the messed up part of the whole scenario. I was the one made to

feel bad. He did the wrongdoing but I felt bad because my body was ruined. So naturally I blew up on Facebook. I wrote a long, thought-out argument against slut shaming and how we view women in society and how it needs to change. Her response? “I just liked the words, chill out.” I deleted my account that day. Taking another swig of whiskey, I focused on the scars in the wood. Little scratches covered the table I sat at. Some were intentional, with etchings that said shit like “Linda and Joey forever,” but others weren’t. Other scars had just happened, marring the wood for life. I took another swig.

“There you are.” I didn’t stop to think how Law had found me because he seemed to have some GPS that pinpointed my exact location. I merely took the final sip of my drink and turned to face him. He looked exactly as I’d left him. Handsome. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect. Internally I screamed. “Why did you leave?” he asked. Concern etched his features, but also something else. Was it understanding? No, it couldn’t be. There was no way he could understand. I couldn’t tell him that our kiss reminded me of him. That I felt sick to my stomach and didn’t want to admit it. That I felt horrible that he had ruined such a beautiful thing. That I felt horrible

that I had let him ruin such a beautiful thing. That it was easier to run away than confront any of it. I shrugged and stood up. “Nami!” Law grabbed my arm as I made my exit from the bar. “What?” I snapped, turning to face him. Why couldn’t he realize I was utterly damaged? I was broken beyond repair. His warm hazel gaze, like melting caramel, needed to fixate on somebody else. Someone who could appreciate it. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he replied. I shrugged him off, pushing the bar doors wide open. Oh I was going to do something stupid. I was going to do something really stupid.

Back to where it all began: the campaign office. Banners hung on the

walls that said “Morris: More to Hope For” in red, white, and blue. Cardboard boxes filled with buttons and pens to giveaway were stacked haphazardly. Fingering the cool plastic surfaces of the buttons, I remembered my first day like it was yesterday. “This will be your cubicle. You share it with two other interns,” some no-name staff coordinator had said, pointing to a depressing looking box. At the time it could have been Oz’s Royal Palace, I was that enamored. The coordinator went over sexual harassment (HA!) and a few other rudimentary things before giving me my task. I was to stamp and mail flyers to campaign supporters.

The day flew by quickly. I felt like a member of the team. Becca Riley, Morris’s campaign manager and resident rattlesnake, stopped by the desk to wish me luck on my first day. I nearly fainted. Then, as if the day couldn’t get any better for naive me, Morris himself walked in. Mitch Morris was an icon. With perfectly maintained dyed blond hair, blue eyes, and an Abercrombie jaw, he was the epitome of the all-American boy. When I thought back on the time, I was sickened by myself. Sickened, because I knew if he’d just asked me to sleep with him, I would have said yes. Instead he’d decided to force it. Over the months, I’d felt myself

change. I used to be so hopeful and naive. I thought the world could be a better place. I thought we were all working toward the same goal: a better tomorrow. I was an idiot, I guess. Now, I’m was still working toward that goal, but I now know you can’t fight evil with good, you have to fight evil with evil. I walked along the empty cubicles and desks, the dark night illuminating the surfaces in gray. The lonesome office was such a stark contrast to the day. During the daylight hours the office was a mess of phone calls, yelling, and paper shuffling. Everyone had a job to do; most had multiple jobs to do. It felt like I was walking through a ghost town. I had a job to do, even now: take

down Senator Mitch Morris. Fight evil with evil. My plan was to get him indicted on some other charge, even if it was phony. If I couldn’t prove he was an evil, raping bastard, I was going to get him into jail somehow. To start, I needed access to his computer and a few aids’ computers. It was going to be a long process. I’d need access to his home, his office, and maybe even a few others’ computers. It would be worth it, though, if it got rid of Morris—at least, that’s what I was telling the gnawing in my gut. That’s what I was telling the icky sliding feeling that made me feel like I was losing myself completely. I was dressed in all black, wearing

a black shirt, black leggings, and gloves. Maybe it was cliche, but I hadn’t exactly had cat burglar training. I had taken Anthropology instead of Intro to Framing in college. I was going off whatever I had seen on TV and read in books. They taught me: wear all black and bring a knife. I left my gun in the car. Only bring what you can comfortably run with. I didn’t know where to stash my gun since I was wearing all tight clothing. Also, I was trying to be inconspicuous. I figured dressed in black with a noticeable gun bulge sort of screams “I’m up to no good.” As I looked through files on the computer, I heard a sound. I ejected my

USB and ducked down, out of sight, my breathing hitched. I hadn’t expected anyone to be at the office, and perhaps that assumption would be my undoing. I waited for what felt like hours, but when I checked my phone it had only been minutes. I decided to wait for a few more before getting up. For all I knew the sound had been in my head. As I got ready to stand I heard the sound again, this time much clearer: “No, Senator Morris!” My gut turned to ice. I knew that sound. I had made that sound. I ran to the location of the voice, no longer caring whether or not I drew attention. I ran into the alley after hearing the

sound of distress, but when I burst forth it was silent. The silence was a haunting yet brutally magnifying force. It magnified the crush of my shoes against the snow and made my breathing nearly deafening. Even though it was the dead of night, the white snow lit up the night. I could see everything. There’s something inherently eerie about night. Call it biology or call it mumbo jumbo, but my senses are always on high alert when the moon comes out. Outside in the alley, a light breeze was blowing that gave me goose bumps. The breeze carried the smell of a nearby Chinese restaurant and the night air became an amalgam of fried egg rolls and that dark earthy smell that seems to

only come on Halloween night. Lucky me, it was the middle of December and it smelled like creepy ass Halloween. I trailed my hands against the cool brick exterior, feeling the grooves and loose grains against my gloved finger. The breeze was chilly and smooth on my arm, like an unwanted lover. Even though everything appeared fine, something stuck in my gut like a twisted knife. Something still wasn’t right. Still trailing my hands on the brick, I turned the alley corner so that I was no longer on the side of the building but at its back. I peered up at the moon. It was copper colored, like blood, supposedly a rare occurrence. People called it beautiful, but I knew better. Nothing that

beautiful could come without strings. The alley was illuminated only by the moon, but the bright white snow meant I could see everything clearly. Too clearly. I saw him. Senator Mitch Morris had a girl pinned against the wall, his hand down her skirt. Her face was frozen in terror and his hand was over her mouth. No. No. No. No. The memories threatened to crash back like a tsunami destroying an island. I fell against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I could have turned back and never seen it. I could have continued with my plan and never been in the situation. I still could… The girl let out another pleading cry

and Morris shoved his hand harder against her mouth. Her eyes watered in pain. Dammit. I had to do something. I shoved my own memories back until I was completely, utterly numb. If you had pierced me with a needle I would have felt nothing. Walking slowly up to Morris, I prepared to make my move. I sidled up behind him until I was so close I could smell the sickeningly sweet aroma of his aftershave—an expensive cologne, probably. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and a raping monster with any other scent is still as evil. Morris didn’t notice me. He was too busy being a lecher. The girl he was

assaulting, however, did. Her eyes widened, threatening to pop out. I wished I could have given her some hint that I was her friend, but in order to do what I was about to do, I had to go completely numb. I couldn’t feel anything. Compassion was gone. The only weapon on my body was the knife and my knife training consisted of cutting up tomatoes. Somehow, I thought Morris would be a little more difficult than the occasional slippery tomato. I was only about a foot away from him. My gut clenched. I could leave. I could turn around and run away and he would never know. I could still get out. But I didn’t.

Because that girl was me once, and everyone had turned and run away from me. I swallowed and turned off my brain. Thoughts would only hurt. Getting ready to use my knife, I elbowed Morris in the neck. He coughed and sputtered, taken off guard. Using that to my advantage, I pressed him against the wall, knife to neck. Morris wasn’t a big man. He was maybe only an inch or two taller than my 5’7” self, but his presence was imposing. As I shoved him against the brick wall, I had to keep reminding myself that I was the one with the knife. Finally I had evidence. Finally a witness to take down Morris. I wouldn’t

need to frame him. It was one thing if one intern called him a rapist. You could call one intern a liar and a whore, but when two interns come out of the woodwork…and what if—now I was just dreaming here—but what if when me and the new girl came out, more of his victims surfaced? I was starting to get giddy. I finally fucking had the guy. I turned my head to tell the girl to call the police, my mouth already forming the words, but she was gone. I saw her bare feet disappear around the ally. My heart sank. I knew she was terrified. I’d been there before. Still, when I’d signed up for saving her, I hadn’t known I was signing up for being alone with Morris. For it all over again.

Maybe she saw me as a vigilante. Vigilantes didn’t need help, after all. I mean, when was the last time a citizen stuck around to help a superhero? Check: never. I wasn’t a vigilante though. I was terrified. Literally quaking in my boots. I had a knife up to my demon, the thing that had haunted me for months. Now what? “My name is Nami DeGrace. I was your intern.” I gripped the knife’s handle, trying to be tough. If any crack in my foundation was exposed, Morris would use that to gut me open. Instinctively I shoved the knife harder against his throat. A small slice

of satisfaction hit me when a tiny bit of red blood popped out, like sprigs of Christmas holly decorating his neck. His eyes widened, but to his credit he still acted calm. I wasn’t sure if that was bravery or idiocy. Probably a little bit of both. I nearly pressed the knife harder when he didn’t speak. I had said my name and told him who I was, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Could he really have forgotten me? Could he have forgotten what he had done to me? Memories of that night came crashing over me, like when I was a teenager swimming in the ocean and I went too far out. The waves crushed me and dragged me so far under I scraped

my skin against the coral. I was saved by a lifeguard. Before the lifeguard got to me, I remembered thinking how I was going to die. I couldn’t get above the water because the waves kept crashing and crashing. Any time I tried to break through, another would crash on top of me and swirl me in its deathly grip. Then something grabbed my arm and pulled me up. My eyes stung with saltwater and my throat felt like the membrane had been scraped away. I could barely see through all the sand and salt in my eyes. Now, as I kept my knife to Morris’s throat, that same feeling of hopelessness commingled with bitter relief fell over

me. He had known exactly who I was when he’d pushed me to the ground. He’d told me I was a “good little intern” who was getting her reward. I’d begged and screamed for him to stop, but he’d only laughed. He’d laughed at my tears and laughed as he stuffed one of my socks into my mouth. Thanks to him, I didn’t have any socks in my house. My feet were continually cold. Though he said nothing to me, I could see it in his eyes now. He had that same laughter he’d had the night he’d raped me. It was a smug, cocksure glint that told me he felt safe even with a knife to his throat. Morris had grown to believe himself infallible. No matter

how hard I pressed the knife to his throat, he wouldn’t talk to me. That would have been admitting he’d lost some of his power. “I’m not here to kill you,” I stated, releasing the knife’s hold on his neck just a little bit, hoping that might loosen his tongue. And I wasn’t—there to kill him that is. After the combustion with Law, my sanity and demeanor were edging on precarious, but I wasn’t planning on killing him. I’d seen him with that girl and had snapped. After watching Morris that night in the manufacturing district, it had been eating me up inside. What was I doing, after all? What was my purpose with all of this surveillance if not to

make sure he couldn’t hurt any more? When I’d left Law for the office, sure I was planning something reckless. Framing someone wasn’t exactly baking cookies, but murder? No. I wasn’t planning that. I looked back at Morris, expecting fear, but what I got was ease and…was he laughing? He was! The fucker was laughing at me. I slapped him across the face, keeping the knife steady. I felt my fists curling and my control slipping. I didn’t have my gun with me, for which I was actually grateful. Being so close to Beezelbub, I wasn’t sure of my grasp on control. Just having the knife was making me drunk with power. I could end his life so

easily. I could rid the world of a rotten, festering wound that was slowly killing it. Everyone would sleep better at night, even if they didn’t know why. “Nami! Nami DeGrace!” Paparazzi. I dropped the knife, snapping my head to the paparazzi as the blade hit the ground with a sickening clang. I’d thought I was done with them, or at least that they were done with me. They’d stopped camping outside my apartment a little over four months ago. The only reminder that they’d been there was their empty soda cans and burger wrappers like tumbleweeds on my lawn. I’d changed my email and phone number, so

that gave me the illusion that they no longer cared. I had disappeared to a new apartment and I’d thought they’d disappeared with me. Dammit, I hated being wrong. “Nami why are you here? Are you trying to win back Senator Morris?” Bile filled my stomach and tried to exit my throat. I couldn’t see the reporter past the bright white of the flash. I’d been caught, but not as an attempted murderer. They’d “caught” me trying to entice Senator Morris. Honestly, I’d have preferred to be a murderer. It was much better than the alternative. I’d rather be known as the girl who tried to kill the devil than the one who tried to love him.

I turned to leave when something— or someone, rather, stopped me in my tracks. “You used to be such a good little intern. Perhaps you need to be… reminded.” I spun around to see Morris, a smile on his face that might as well have been dripping with my blood. My fists clenched as I contemplated my next move. Bulbs flashed, cautioning me that whatever I chose would be witnessed and recorded forever. Gritting my teeth, I flew past the paparazzi, knocking Morris and the cameramen to the side. Their indignation was short-lived as I heard more questions hurtled at me. I ran down the street, not looking back. My knife was still nestled at Morris’s feet. Without a

doubt, he’d won this round. When I turned another street and the paparazzi were no longer heard, tears filled my eyes. I barely cried in months, but the realization that Morris might always win was too much. I was climbing Everest without oxygen. I used to think the worst thing that could happen was death. Now I knew better.

I walked through the nearly empty streets of Salt Lake City, feeling

completely hopeless, useless, and powerless. I used to like how nighttime in Salt Lake was quiet. Now I just felt lonely. The sky was a starless void; clouds tumbled over one another like tumorous black masses. I didn’t want to go home. Home meant I’d failed. Home meant Morris got to keep being Morris. I couldn’t go to Law’s. So I ambled around during the witching hour. I must have been adrift in my mind because I didn’t notice the sound of danger. By the time I did, it was too late. “Give me all your money.” Are you fucking kidding me? I spun around to face the joke. Three men dressed in

black with ski masks held knives to me. Was this really happening? I looked around to see if anyone would help, but it was just me on the street—not like anyone would offer aid, anyway. I couldn’t muster any other emotion besides indignation. I had literally just come from the devil’s den, and now this? “What is this?” I asked, eyeing the men and their knives. Of course I hadn’t brought my gun. Of course this would be happening to me. I was Nami DeGrace, bad luck magnet. “Knock your purse to us.” I held my backpack tightly at their request. It didn’t contain much, not even any money. It only held my USB and what few files I

thought might be useful in framing Morris. It was all I had made of this pointless night. It was everything. “Who sent you?” I asked suspiciously. Was it possible Morris had sent some of his goons? Did he know what I’d taken? “Look, bitch,” one of them said. “Knock the purse over or we gut you, simple.” The man looked to his left and right, shaking the knife slightly. “It’s not a purse,” I explained desperately. “It doesn’t have any money in it.” “We’ll decide that.” “No.” I clutched my bag tighter and inched backward. Glancing back, I could see I had about a yard before the street

opened up to another busier street. I wasn’t sure I could outrun them, but it was my only shot. If I made it to the street I could scream bloody murder and hopefully someone would hear me. If I stayed, I was as good as dead. I took off at a sprint. “Fuck!” one of them yelled out. I could see my freedom. The street approached me. I reached a hand out toward it, but liberty was yanked away. One of them grabbed my shirt and pulled me back. I fell to the concrete, my head landing with a sickening crack. All three towered over me, peering at me with disdain. “Shoulda just given us the damn purse,” one of them said.

“It’s not a purse.” I still clutched the bag, my arms feeling limp. I didn’t know when the first blow landed, just as I didn’t know when the last blow ended. It was a symphony of hits, punches, and shots. My ribs crunched and my organs crumpled. I tasted blood. I stared up at the moon. It was red, looking like blood had dripped all over it. It was apt that it was called the blood moon. Was it coincidence or fate that I would bleed out on the night of the blood moon? Probably neither, just my own stupidity. As I stared at the starless, cloud-covered night sky, I realized something: I was without. Without purpose. Without reason.

Without a soul, even. I’d been mugged and the first thing to come into my head was “It must be Morris.” Even then, I still believed it could be him. Morris had become my god. He was omnipotent and omnipresent. Months later, he was still inside me. I rolled over to my side and vomited. I vomited the day, which consisted mostly of a muffin I’d had for breakfast and water. On the crumbly, dirty sidewalk, I returned whatever was in my stomach, and probably a bit more. My hurling turned to dry heaves. I was too mangled to move, too shattered to stir. I had to lie there as my expulsion leached its way across the pavement and

toward me, weaving its way into my hair and skin. I had officially hit rock bottom. I viewed my freedom, the alleyway opening, sideways. In the opening, a shadow of a man appeared. Inwardly I groaned. Was this horrible night not over? Had another demon appeared to finish me off? The moon above was growing bigger, like it was coming for me. I felt like I was joining the sky. The clouds parted, showing the full, red face of the moon. Copper-colored, like blood after it had dried. Or maybe I was just seeing the blood that had spilled from my own head. Slowly the shadow advanced. I

gasped when I finally saw who it was. “Law?” Law picked me up and carried me down the street. I coughed, blood seeping down my chin. My vision started to swirl. I felt lightheaded, drugged, and dreamy. I wasn’t sure if I was talking or thinking, but the sentiment was the same. “I think you might’ve been one of the good guys…” I felt warm, despite the freezing air around me. The edges around my eyes were growing fuzzy and black. Everything was either all black or blackening. I could only feel, feel as Law’s warmth disappeared when he lay me down in what I assumed was a car. “Nami?” Law asked, his voice

betraying concern. “Nami hang in there.” I knew I should probably be fighting the warm feeling that was engulfing me. I knew that, but part of me was so sick of fighting. It would be so easy to give in. When the car started and I felt the engine rumble against my skin, I was so ready to float away, to let go of everything, even if that meant letting go of me. “Nami what the fuck happened?” I barely registered his voice. “Were you one of the good guys, Law?” I murmured, sinking farther into the warmth of the car. “Stay. With. Me.” Law’s voice sounded as if he was everywhere. “Nami, god dammit, stay with me.” The fuzziness kept growing, like a vignette

closing in on me. Thoughts no longer had meaning, everything just was. Soon everything was completely black. “Rise and shine, beautiful.” Law’s face was the first thing I saw. Chiseledfive-o’clock shadow-covered-chin. Hazel eyes, like the color of good whiskey, glared in scrutiny. Tight, drawn lips that curved in a smile when he saw me wake up. I blinked as if trying to reboot my system. At first, everything felt foreign. The warmth on my skin, the velvety smooth feeling of the blankets, it was all wrong. I was used to scratchy and cold. Where was I? I blinked some more, trying to gauge where I was.

In a bed, that much was sure. Instead of feeling terrified, though, I felt safe. I almost wanted to curl up in the warm sheets and die. I would never admit it, but the bed smelled like Law. Rich and spicy and masculine, it made me want to roll around in the blankets. The room was decorated in golds and pale blues and the carpet was plush. Ornate drapes were drawn over a large window, so I wasn’t sure what time it was or how much I’d slept. As I took in the rest of the scenery, it became clear I was in Law’s hotel bedroom. “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sit up. Everything hurt, and I mean everything. My toenails throbbed. My kneecaps twinged. My stomach roiled.

Even my teeth ached. I could barely move my head to look around. Even my eyeballs hurt. “The last thing I remember…” “Was me saving you?” Law supplied. “I didn’t need to be saved,” I ground out. “I had everything under control.” “Sure you did.” Law picked me up without asking and carried me like I weighed nothing. I let my arm hang loosely, grasping feebly at the covers that had briefly cocooned me from the world. “What are you doing?” I protested weakly as Law carried me from the bedroom to an adjoining bath.

“Giving you a bath,” he replied. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” “You are not giving me a bath,” I growled, twisting in his hold—Ow… Should not have done that. Unfazed, Law carried me into the bathroom. It was steamy and smelled delicious, like him. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to give in at that moment. A warm bath sounded like heaven. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” Law grinned. I geared up for a fight, but deflated. What was the point? I’d been raped. I’d been mugged. Clearly the universe was trying to tell me something. “Nami DeGrace,” it said, “You were not meant to be here.” “Whatever,” I replied. “Do

whatever you want.” I felt his hand on my cheek and flinched involuntarily. He pulled it back. My stupid, useless heart revolted. Somewhere in the black mass it wanted his warmth. “Hey,” Law said, his voice low. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.” “Like I said, whatever.” I pressed my face deep into his chest, trying not to look at him. My next words were smothered through the cloth of his shirt. “It doesn’t matter.” “It does matter,” Law said, voice firm. “You matter. You are important.” I didn’t respond, because what was there to say? “You’re covered in bruises and cuts

and—I think—vomit. I think you should get cleaned up, but can you stand? Can you do it on your own?” No, I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t do it on my own. I was so utterly exhausted, not just physically, but mentally. My willpower had miraculously stayed in tact after Morris, even after the multiple violations publicly and privately, I still wanted to live. Despite that, it just seemed like something out there didn’t want me around. Something in the universe really wanted Nami DeGrace to give the fuck up. “I’m sorry I’m getting you and your bed dirty,” I said. “You can put me on the floor.” I was loathe to be on the floor. Not because the bed was more

uncomfortable, but because the sheets had smelled like him, like campfire and cardamom. I’d awakened blissfully. For the few brief seconds before the pain hit, I’d smelled him. I felt badly for staining it with my filth. “I don’t give a fuck about my bed. I care about you.” Law grabbed my chin and forced my face out of his chest. I had to look him in the eyes. I was acutely aware that I was bloody and covered in vomit, while he was clean and beautiful. “This won’t be sexual, Nami.” Law’s whiskey eyes made me drunk. “It’s to get you better.” Of course it wouldn’t be sexual. I was basically a child in his arms, unable to care for myself. Shame colored me, but I said,

“Okay.” Law set me down on the cool marble tile but held me with one arm by the waist. He carefully removed my shirt first. It stuck to me by caked blood. I winced as he pulled it over my head. “I’m sorry, babe,” Law said with a frown before tossing the bloody shirt on the ground. “It’s fine,” I responded automatically. It wasn’t fine. It hurt terribly. I was sure I was bruised. I probably should have gone to the hospital, but that meant dealing with the police, and I never wanted to deal with them again. Next Law undid the button of my pants. I cringed and looked for a spot on

the wall to stare at, just like I had with Morris. “You okay?” he asked. I wasn’t okay. I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I was in excruciating pain. “Nami, look at me.” Reluctantly, I looked at Law. His forehead was pressed in concern and his eyes were dark with some emotion I couldn’t place. “No,” I replied, surprised by my own honesty. “I’m not okay.” “I have EMT training, Nami. Just think of me like a doctor.” Law held my gaze for a good thirty seconds as we waited together for my response. I was equally in the dark as to what I would say. With Law I was unpredictable. The walls I built seemed to fail. The rules I

constructed went out the window. At last I nodded, slowly and with careful determination. I didn’t agree to let Law undress me because he had EMT training. It wasn’t because I viewed him as a doctor. If I was being honest, I agreed because he was Law. Utterly, irrevocably himself, and that held more sway with me than I cared to admit. I lifted my legs to let Law slip me out of my pants. I was only in my underwear now. I waited, dread filling me up like a cement-filled balloon, for him to take those off too. Instead, Law led me over to the bath. It was filled to the brim with bubbles and smelled of him.

“What about my underwear?” I asked. I expected him to make some quip like he usually did. “You don’t have to take those off. I imagine it will make you more comfortable.” His concern left me speechless. Still holding me, Law bent down to test the water. “It’s ready.” Law helped me into the bath, the hot water instantly alleviating my pain. I let out a long sigh. Kneeling next to the porcelain tub, Law reached for a cloth. I watched, mesmerized, as he brought the cloth to my skin and gently started rubbing off the caked blood. It was such an intimate action. Bits and pieces of my psyche screamed at me to push him away. My

body clenched with tension. Yet, it felt good. I couldn’t deny that. Law had stayed true to his word: he wasn’t being sexual. He was merely trying to heal me. As he moved the washcloth down my arm, he continued to clean off the blood with the same gentle precision as a doctor would. I slowly relaxed, allowing him the freedom to touch me. “It was lucky I found you,” Law murmured as he dipped the cloth back into the water. “Was it luck?” I asked, turning to face him. “Maybe not.” Law stopped rubbing the cloth, his arms hanging limply over the side of the tub. I would never admit

it out loud, but I missed his touch. I missed the feel of the cloth cleaning me. “I followed you out of the bar. I lost track of you for a few hours and it was luck that I found you, because I was about to call it a night, assuming you’d gone home.” So quiet I barely heard myself, I whispered, “I went after Morris.” “What?” Law asked. “Nothing.” Law raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press. After a few minutes of silence, he stood up and reached for a towel. “Can you stand?” The bath had made me feel much better so I tested my legs. I was still wobbly, but I could stand. I stepped out of the tub, the

bubbles sliding off my legs and onto the floor. I walked into the towel Law held out for me. We stood still, caught again in the potent, feverous force that always seemed to trap us. Water dripped from my skin, making a puddle on the white marble floor. I tightened my grip on the towel. Law tightened his jaw. We both stared, eyes locked, our voices apparently trapped in the same force that had captured our movement. “You can borrow some of my clothes,” Law stated and spun around, heading back to the bedroom. I watched him, my vocal chords frozen. I needed to thank him. I had to say something. “Law!” Law stopped at my voice

and cocked his head slightly. “I…I…” I froze, paralyzed. “You’re welcome,” Law said, before continuing on his way. I fell asleep in Law’s bed. He was awake, listening to some late night comedian while sitting on the couch in the living room. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I meant to get up and go home, but the blankets were so warm and they smelled so nice. For the first time in months I felt safe, really and truly safe. Normally I woke startled and afraid, as if a threat was about to make itself known. This time, I let light slowly filter through my lids. I let the softness of the blankets warm around my skin. I let

everything slowly come to me. I was safe; there was no need to be afraid. When I was ready, I sat up, the sheets curled around my shoulders. Law was awake at the desk, typing something on his computer. Light spilled through the curtains but I couldn’t tell what time it was, maybe afternoon. I coughed to make myself known. With careful precision, Law stopped what he was doing and shut the computer. He slowly stood up off the chair and came over to me. I watched his movements, captivated. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Law asked, “How are you feeling?” “Better.” Law reached across the bed and

grabbed my hand. I let him hold it, but only a moment. As wonderful as it felt to have my hand enclosed in his, I couldn’t get used to the feeling. I let the sheets fall and stood off the bed. “What are you doing?” Law asked, standing with me. “I’m leaving.” My voice was quiet. “Let me drive you home.” “Look, Law. I’m damaged goods.” I glanced down at my bruised and battered body and laughed. “Literally. This… Whatever this is, between you and me, it can’t work. It won’t work.” I was feeling better now. My ribs hurt and my body was bruised, but nothing was broken. I was lucky. I had thought I would die out there on the

street, but Law had saved me. I owed him enough to save him from the likes of me. “Nami—” I raised my hand up to cut him off. It hurt to lift my arm, probably because my ribs were bruised. “Thank you Law.” I reached for my blood-caked and dirt-matted clothes, putting them on as gently as I could. The cloth hurt my skin, unlike his sheets had. “Truly, thank you.” “At least borrow some clothes.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes as he spoke. Something had happened between us the night before. Law had kindled and lit a part of me I had thought dead and buried. “No…” I shook my head. “No

that’s… I’m fine, thank you.” I quickly rushed out of the room, shutting the door just as more words left his mouth. I was afraid to hear them, afraid that if he asked me to stay, I would agree. Beyond the mystery of Law, beyond the lies and secrecy lay a person I thought I could fall in love with. Yet, I didn’t belong to myself any more. I didn’t have the choice to love. I belonged to my mission. The sickening reality was, I still belonged to Morris.

The moment I entered my apartment I crumbled on the couch, still in pain

from the night before. I didn’t bother taking off my clothes and placed a blanket down to keep the blood off. I may have found the couch on the side of the road, but it had served me well these past months. Raskol immediately jumped on my head, his excitement the exact opposite of what I needed right then. “Raskol, no,” I mumbled, trying to push him off of me. He was so excited to see me, but I was completely falling apart. I couldn’t even pinpoint what was tearing apart my insides, there were too many to choose from: Law, the mugging, the confrontation with Morris, my fucking life. I started to hyperventilate and my vision blurred to black and white spots.

I reached for a paper bag of leftover takeout, dumping the styrofoam contents to floor. As I breathed into it, my own breathing settled with the smell of Thai. It was too much. I was in so over my head I couldn’t see the sun any more. What had I been thinking, taking this on? I wanted everything to go back to normal. I wanted to be able to eat without questioning if I liked the food. I wanted to be able to watch TV without feeling disconnected. I just wanted to do something for me. But I didn’t know who “me” was any more. I had started reading and commenting on rape recovery forums, but even those weren’t helping. The biggest problem I had was that I didn’t

know who I was. I felt like an amorphous blob of feelings and ambitions with only one connector: Mitch Morris. I missed the days when I did and felt things for me and me only. Despite knowing this and wanting this, it didn’t change anything. I could scream that I wanted to be me again until I was blue in the face, but I still felt and did things for Mitch Morris. I set the paper bag down next to me and stared at the black screen of my TV. Raskol immediately forgot the task of sitting on my head, deciding instead to investigate whatever was inside the paper bag. Feeling no desire to ruin another of my favorite TV shows, I reached for my laptop. As I began to

input a name into the search bar, the computer automatically filled in another website for me. I froze. The last time I’d gone to that website had been while working for Morris. Memories drowned me faster than a flash flood. I glanced at the clock: it was well past ten at night. Everyone had gone home but I had stayed to finish mailing flyers. As I sat in the small cubicle, I stared at my blank computer screen. No one was around; it was just me in the office. I’d been doing some reading and I was so curious. What could it hurt to go to the website? I’d always been curious about kink. The thought of being tied down turned me on. I used to tie my Barbies

up when I was little. I never could find a partner who was into that, or at least a partner that was actually as into it as me, not just for a onetime thing to do on Valentine’s Day. I input the website and signed up for an account. It was overwhelming at first. There was so much I didn’t know. I had thought I knew everything, but I was way out of my league. That didn’t scare me though—in fact it did the opposite. I was so excited. There were people openly talking about their kinks. There was no judgment. There were even people posting nude pictures. I opened up a picture of a woman tied up and suspended from the ceiling. The caption read “for Sir”.

“Interesting.” I jumped at the voice, closed the website, and turned around to see Senator Morris looking over my shoulder. He had a peculiar expression on his face. Later, I would come to recognize that expression as guile. “I was just…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain myself. Morris only chuckled and walked off. I was so embarrassed that he’d seen me looking at the website. So embarrassed that I’d been looking up my fetish at his office. I didn’t realize that I needed to be wary, that I needed to be watchful. Morris had seen something that made him think I was asking for it. I stared at the website name, ready

to open with a single click. I hated that Morris had taken that part of me. He had taken it before I even got to explore. Instead of feeling excitement, I felt dread. I was about to give up and close my laptop, when the website loaded on its own. I must have accidentally clicked, or perhaps fate intervened. The website opened and I stared at the signin page. I shook my head at it, prepared to close my laptop, when I found myself inputting my sign-in information. What had drawn me to the website in the beginning had been its anonymity. Everyone acted under aliases (mine had been RecklessDream) and only gave out as much information as they wanted. There was even a built in app on the

website called “Secrets”. The idea of “Secrets” was to post your most intimate secrets anonymously. I had so many secrets. So many things I wanted to tell the world. Where did I start? Before my brain could process what was happening, I was typing in the small text box the app allowed. “I’m afraid I’ll never be myself again.” Wow. That felt really good. Sending my most private thoughts into cyberspace was terrifying but completely freeing. The best part was knowing no one knew who I was. No journalists would overanalyze the meaning. No one would make a meme of it. It was my secret out in the world, but

it was completely free of Nami DeGrace. I posted another: “I’m afraid I’ll never love, but I’m really afraid I’ll never have good sex again.” I giggled when I hit send and Raskol popped his head out of the bag, giving me a curious look. I felt giddy. I hadn’t felt giddy in a long time. I was about to post another one when a text bubble appeared unwanted on my screen. “U want some fuck?” My eyes widened. I was about to respond unkindly to the person when another bubble appeared, overlapping the previous. “I’ll give you good sex.” Shit. What had I done? I’d had no

idea about the message feature. Apparently my confession was an opening to every horny person out there. I looked at the message center, watching my unread messages rise from one to twenty in less than two minutes. My heart sank. I just wanted to send my confessions into the wind. I was naive. Again. Deciding to delete my secret, I returned to the home screen. Just as my finger rested on delete, I received another message. “The darker the night, the brighter the stars.” I smiled in surprise. The person had quoted Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. It was one of my favorite

novels, obviously; I mean my dog was named Raskolnikov. Removing my finger from the delete icon, I went back into the app and replied, “The deeper the grief, the closer is God.” I waited patiently for the person to respond, ignoring all the other messages that were popping up with some variation of “sex” or “fuck”. While I was waiting I clicked on the person’s info. His alias on the site was “Scarred” but that was about all the information he’d provided. There was no picture and the only information he shared was that he was male and straight. I couldn’t really complain, though, because all the information I’d given was that I was female.

At last Scarred responded and I clicked out of his bare profile. “You sounded like you could use a little Dostoyevsky. I assume you’re getting a lot of dick pics right now, too. So, you could definitely use some Dosto.” I smiled. “No dick picks yet… wait.” I looked at the app’s notification center and saw a picture. “Never mind.” “Saying sex on the internet is like yelling free beer at Oktoberfest,” Scarred replied. I smiled, leaning back on my couch. “I’ve learned my lesson!” I saw three little dots appear in the text box which let me know the person on the other end of the computer was typing and I waited patiently for their response. For the first

time in months I wasn’t wary, I was excited. Conversation with Scarred Scarred: “So, internet noob, what’s your favorite book?”

RecklessDream: “Asking me to pick my favorite book is like asking me to pick my favorite child.” Scarred: “Parents do that all the time. Mine did. Look, I’ll go first. Huckleberry Finn.” RecklessDream: “Really? I liked Huck Finn but I’ve never heard anyone say it was their favorite.” Scarred: “What? An entire generation said it was their favorite and declared it was a classic.” RecklessDream: “Touché.” Scarred: “You’re not getting away that easily.” RecklessDream: “Who me?” Scarred: “What’s your favorite book?” RecklessDream: “Dandelion Wine.”

Scarred: “And I’m the weirdo for liking Huck Finn.” RecklessDream: “It’s like distilled happiness. Family and summer and sunshine condensed into a couple hundred pages.” Scarred: “I’ll have to check it out.” RecklessDream: “You’re making fun of me and you’ve never read it?” Scarred: “If I promise to read Dandelion Wine, you have to promise to do something for me.” RecklessDream: “Depends…” Scarred: “Give me your name.” RecklessDream: “You can call me Dandelion.” Scarred: “Fine then, until I know your real name, you can call me Huck.”

RecklessDream: “Deal.” We talked for a few more minutes about nothing; it was nice to talk about nothing. My months had been filled with drama and tragedy, so it was refreshing to talk about simple, silly things. Once we ended the conversation, I changed my alias on the website to Dandelion permanently. I noticed that Scarred also changed his handle, to Huck. It was times like these that I wished I still had my best friend. Sure, I wanted my best friend for the rough times. It would have been nice to have someone to hold me while I cried. Honestly, though, what I really wanted was someone to talk to about boys and to

scream hysterically with over silly things. Effie Betancourt had been that person. I could tell her the most inane, silly thing and she would get just as excited as I did. Found a nail polish named “Rachel Green”? She would freak out too and demand we cancel everything to give each other pedicures, no matter how hideous the color. Now, after talking to Huck on Secrets, I wanted Effie back. I wanted someone to be excited with. For the first time in months I was excited about something, and the only person I had was Raskol. “And you’re a dog,” I said. He cocked his head slightly at my words. I

smiled, picking him up. “You’re a great dog, Raskol, but sometimes I wonder if you even understand me.” Raskol jumped off and ran to pick up his toy, a look of triumph on his face. “See, Raskolnikov, this is what I’m talking about. There is a fundamental problem in our communication. We really need to see someone about this.” I grabbed the rope out of his mouth and threw it across the room. He ran so fast he tripped over his paws and face planted into the carpet. That didn’t stop him though; he quickly recovered and grabbed the rope, returning to his bed. Raskol wasn’t one for fetch. He liked me to throw it once, then he took it to his bed and proceeded to chew on it. This

would last for hours. I sighed, leaning back into the couch. Effie was a horrid friend. She had left me when I needed her most. So why did I miss her? I should have been saying good riddance. Instead I held my phone and stared at her number. I still remembered it by heart and had dialed it into my keypad. If I pressed enter, what would she do? Would she apologize? Probably not. Would she ignore me? Probably. Why couldn’t I just ignore her like she ignored me? She had thrown away ten years of friendship. Why couldn’t I do the same? Sighing, I pulled out my

computer. At least I was getting better at avoiding that ever-expanding pit of despair in my stomach. “You want it. Take it.” I fought him. I fought the sock in my mouth. I fought his big, slightly overweight frame. It was useless and futile, but I fought him. He had me tied down and gagged. I was like a stuck pig. “I saw the images you were looking at. Isn’t this what you want? To be fucked like some whore? I’ll fuck you.” The image of a naked woman tied up in ropes stared back at me from the computer screen. It was two thirty in the morning; “Huck” and I had long since stopped talking, and I wasn’t going to

call Effie, but I couldn’t sleep. I eyed the woman on the screen, a tingle forming in my lower abdomen that now sat alongside the ever-present nausea. Sipping my tea, I clicked my trackpad and pulled up the next image. I’d always been interested BDSM—in bondage, to be more specific. People in ropes, gagged and bound, had me very interested. I thought if I had friends, they would say it was post-traumatic stress. You know, since I was held down and gagged with my own sock when I was raped. I mean, that’s a perfectly okay theory. From the outside, I see how it makes sense. From the inside, my insides, though, I knew it was wrong.

I admired the girls who were tied up. I was absolutely fascinated by them. And I always had been. To me, they represented a place so far away from me it was like Narnia. The women that let themselves be tied up for these photos and videos had absolute trust in the one doing the tying. I couldn’t begin to imagine having that trust again. Taking another sip of tea, I clicked a different image. The woman was strung up, her legs and arms tied behind her back as she hung a few inches above a bed. She looked to enjoy it. Sure, the images could have been fake, but I didn’t

think so. Unsurprisingly, there was a huge community that was big into bondage. Various forums and conventions confirmed what the tingling in my belly was saying: people not only liked it, they got off on it. I’d been looking into shibari, which was a type of Japanese rope binding. Sure there was a sort of grim beauty to duct tape, but the rope knots and style of the bind of shibari was just so beautiful, and apparently the knots were supposed to hit certain erotic pleasure points as well. I sighed, imagining myself tied up like the model on the screen. My fantasy was short-lived though. Even just imagining it made my throat constrict

and my skin sweat. I slammed my laptop shut, anger now coursing through my veins. Huck and shibari had been nice, fleeting retreats from my daily life, but I had a mission. My life no longer belonged to me. It belonged to vengeance. Vengeance didn’t get to imagine a happier life. Vengeance only imagined its goal: Morris razed and ruined. Preferably bleeding. Grabbing my tea off the small nightstand I called a desk, I stood up and walked into the kitchen. Covering the various laminate counters were long scrawls of blue paper. Operation: Make Morris Pay was now in full swing. First order of

business, get a better name for the operation. Second order of business, break into Becca Riley’s house. Becca Riley was Morris’s campaign manager and basically the black, festering heart of the Morris Entity. She was the one who had spun Morris’s rape away from him and onto me. She had made me an alcoholic in the eyes of the public. She had made me a whore. Becca Riley was a wretched, albeit brilliant, human being. She was bound to have information on Morris and the campaign. I wouldn’t be able to prove my rape or frame Morris without Riley’s files. While interning for Morris, word spread about Riley’s massive and

ancient home. Rumor had it that there was an intricate tunnel system underneath that even Riley didn’t fully understand. For the past few months I’d been petitioning the state for blueprints. Slowly I’d received each puzzle piece and that night, tea in hand, it all came together. Under the dim kitchen light, I could clearly see the tunnels outlined on the royal blue paper. It was as if Riley had given me a personalized invitation to her home. It was time for step two. In one week I would enter Becca Riley’s home and steal her files, all while she slept in the other room.

Feeling like shit, having not slept in days, I opened up Secrets. It was t-minus

three days until I would infiltrate Becca Riley’s house and I couldn’t stop speaking like a B movie spy, saying shit like “t-minus” and “infiltrate.” Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Probably. I only got up off the couch to give Raskol food and let him go to the bathroom. I didn’t eat. I didn’t drink, unless whiskey counted as water now. Despite the intense fatigue I felt, I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept going over the plan in my head, over and over, looking for any loose rocks I might trip on. I thought about how I had gotten to this place. I thought about Morris. Then I thought further back. I thought about my

family. I thought about the broken egg that had hatched me, going as far as to make a cryptic post on Secrets about it. Had I been doomed from the start? I was about to sign out and grab some more “water” when a text bubble popped up. Conversation with Huck Huck: “Dandelion, what’s your post about?” Dandelion: “I was just thinking about my childhood.” Huck: “Uh-oh.” Dandelion: “What? You don’t know a thing about my childhood. Maybe it was great and filled with smiley face stickers.” Huck: “Was it?” Dandelion: “Half of it was.”

Huck: “That’s nice.” Dandelion: “Yep.” Huck: “You gonna tell me about the other half?” Dandelion: “My mom and dad were stereotypical high school sweethearts who loved each other. At least that’s what I thought. Then when I was about thirteen my dad cheated on my mom, and I mean really cheated on her. He obliterated my mom’s heart like shrapnel. Everyone got hit.” Huck: “Sounds rough.” Dandelion: “That’s not even the worst part.” Huck: “Of course not.” Dandelion: “We were waiting, at least I thought we were. Because they used to

fight like that a lot. He would leave, she would cry, and then he would come back. So when they divorced, I kept waiting for him to come back, like he always did. When my mom showed up with a new guy I was like ‘woah, what the fuck are you doing here? My dad is going to be right back.’” Huck: “How did your mom react?” I paused at Huck’s question. I hadn’t told anyone about my mom and dad’s divorce, not even Effie. Of course Effie knew about the divorce in general. She’d been my rock during the whole ordeal and had helped me cope. She and I had rented movies and shopped, distracting ourselves like any good teenagers would, but we never talked.

I never gave voice to the concerns in my head. I didn’t want to, because that would mean admitting my father had faults. It would mean admitting that my father wasn’t infallible like every daughter wants to believe. It would mean admitting that he was human like everyone else, and it would mean admitting that he was a pretty shitty human, too. Huck was a stranger behind the screen. He didn’t know Nami DeGrace and he definitely didn’t know my family. I could finally air my burdens without consequence. When I typed out my response, the catharsis I felt was palpable. Conversation with Huck

Dandelion: “It wasn’t fair to her, which I realize now, because my dad was out gallivanting with his latest woman, while my mom was just trying to repair her shattered heart. It was at least three years after the divorce when my mom brought home Tony, too, so it wasn’t like he just showed up. I was the one still waiting.” Huck: “How are you and your mom now?” Dandelion: “Oh my mom got in a car accident with my dad the one time they were together after the divorce. They died instantly.” Huck: “Shit.” Dandelion: “Yeah. I laugh about it when I think how long I waited for him to

come home and then when he came home, they both died. Kind of ridiculous.” Huck: “Dandelion? Dandelion: “Yes?” Huck: “My number is 555-0813. I think it’s time we move our relationship past Secrets.” The catharsis I had previously felt dried up and shriveled. My gut once again returned to its normal twisted state. I signed out without saying goodbye and stared at my screensaver for a good ten minutes. Huck was supposed to stay behind the screen. He was supposed to stay anonymous. A number changed that. A number was decidedly intimate. I knew all of

this, but I still found myself punching the digits into my phone. Even though I didn’t see Tony, I still kept an eye on him. After the rape, I changed everything. My number was different, my address was different; I relocated and basically went off the grid. I had wanted Tony to have as little to do with me as possible, because at the time the media was flaming anyone who knew me. Sometimes I wondered if that was why Effie left me. Maybe the media made it too hard for her to be friends with me. Tony tried calling me and coming for me. I knew because my previous landlord complained.

“You keep having people come see you,” she said, always sounding irritated. “You don’t live here. You tell him stop coming.” The one silver lining of the whole goddamn thing was that I didn’t have to deal with Linda any more. Linda, the worst landlady in the history of landladies. Linda, the slumlord of South Salt Lake. One time, my drain was clogged so I called Linda, as she was my landlady. In lieu of hiring a licensed plumber, Linda hired someone off the street. Naturally, this person made the problem worse. Linda the Slumlord tried to pin the problem on me and tried to make me pay for the now broken bath tub. That did not go over well.

Despite my place being cleaner than when I moved in, I didn’t get the security deposit back. Whatever, it was worth it to be rid of her. Anyway, once a month I drove by Tony’s just to see how he was doing. I sat outside his house like the stalker I’d become and watched him. He lived in the same house he had bought with my mother just two months before she died in the car crash. He kept the garden nice, he took care of the lawn, and he’d never remarried. Every Sunday Tony tended to the garden. In the summertime I used to watch him water sunflowers. Sunflowers were my mom’s favorite plants. Every week Tony filled up a can and watered

sunflowers, and every week I wondered what went through his head. If it had been me, if I had to view a giant flower reminder of my mom, I’d rip it out of the ground. I’d make sure anything remotely looking like a sunflower was destroyed. Yet Tony did the opposite. He watered so it grew bigger and bigger. Now it was December, and the pale snow had suffocated the sunflowers under its crisp blanket. When Tony came out there was nothing for him to water. Still, he walked around the garden, looking at the frozen ground as if a flower was going to burst through any moment. I exhaled and typed out a text. “What do you think you’re doing?”

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” Tony, 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. I shoved the map back into my pocket and began my trek. The air inside the tunnel was stale, smelling of old dirt and mildew. The only sound was of my feet padding along the now decrepit

stone. There were various theories about the tunnel systems in Utah; some of the more conspiring ones involved the Mormon church. Anyone who grew up in Utah, had lived a few years in Utah, or owned a television, knew of the Mormon church. A church leader founded Utah, thus Utah was pretty much home base for Mormonism. Growing up non-Mormon in Utah was…a unique experience. For the most part, I had no issue with Mormons. I grew up in Utah, so Mormons were my friends. Mormons were my schoolmates. My first kiss was with a Mormon. So, just like you’d forget about anyone’s religion when friendship became front and center,

you’d forget a person is Mormon. You’d forget only for a little while, though, because the hard truth is that the majority of Mormons only associate with other Mormons. When it comes to marriage, when it comes to friendship, when it comes to family, unless you’re a part of their faith, you’re not going to be a part of their life. Which is understandable. It’s easier that way. A lot of their religion has to be kept secret. It’s hard to be friends with someone when you can’t share secrets. It wasn’t as if Mormons were the first group of people to stick close to their kind. Assuredly, they wouldn’t be the last either. Their closeness and unyielding support of one another is

usually something to be admired. In a world of many questions and lonely answers, they offer their truth: family, traditions, and values. Yet their strength is also their weakness; because Mormons are so close, they are also blindly trusting of one another. It was unfathomable to them that a man so high in the faith would disgrace himself, especially with someone like me, a non-believer: Mitch Morris had spent years cultivating his image and curating his friends. He had a beautiful blonde wife and a lovely family of five children. He was the epitome of Mormon life. I was the opposite. I was sin and debauchery because I drank on the weekends, smoked weed

occasionally, and had casual sex. The Mormon Church owned the media. They owned the newspaper and the TV stations. They even owned a mall. The police went to church with Morris and Morris helped get the sheriff elected. You got used to this kind of thing, growing up in Utah. You forgot that the church literally owned everything. So when it happened to me, I wasn’t prepared. I never stood a chance. Holding up my phone to examine markings on the tunnel wall, I couldn’t help but remember every Mormon I’d been friends with. I remembered ditching school with those friends and looking for similar tunnels to explore.

They’d told ghost stories and tales of old Mormons who’d built the tunnels to connect them to the temple. Back then they’d talked about their faith with skepticism. Now, they seemed lost to it. We’d lost touch after high school, when they started having babies and really getting into the faith. It had seemed so weird to me. In high school they’d been rebellious and carefree and had gone on crazy adventures with me. I often wondered what they thought of me now. I thought of them as changed. I thought of them as traitors to their previous selves, but perhaps they held the same view of me. More than likely, they shook their heads and wondered

what had happened to the Nami DeGrace from high school. I turned a corner and pulled out my map again. If I was correct with my highlighting, this was the final stretch. Down this tunnel lay Becca Riley’s home. Fear and apprehension curled in my belly like frozen lead. I’d done the research, so I knew that today, Saturday in the middle of December, Riley was asleep upstairs in her bed. It was the one day Riley slept in. The night before she would take a sedative in combination with a benzo and sleep for a full fourteen hours. She sent her staff home and turned off her phone. Riley likened it to “recharging her batteries”. It was the only time in the

year that she wasn’t working. It was pretty much the only time I could strike. I reached the end of the tunnel, my light slowly illuminating the walls around me until an outline of a door appeared. I placed my hand on the rough, damp feeling wood and held it there for a bit, trying to gain some courage. I knew it was now or never, but part of me wished I could hold on to never. Inside Riley’s house I quickly tiptoed out of the cellar and into the kitchen. From there it was a quick walk down the hallway to her office. I was lucky that the door was open, but my luck ended there. Her desk was locked tight and all the files I needed were deep

inside. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for. I was hoping for something I could manipulate to make Morris look corrupt or—if I was really lucky— something I didn’t have to manipulate at all. Perhaps the files would be proof of Morris’s true character. I glanced hurriedly around the office, looking for anything I could use to break open the drawer, when my eyes landed on a pair of scissors. Sliding the scissors into the gap in the drawer, I bent them back until the lock snapped open. Quickly, I stuffed whatever files were inside into my backpack. As I moved to the next locked drawer, my phone went off. The loud ringing was cacophonous

in the silent house. “Shit,” I said aloud, digging through my backpack to find my phone. I thought I’d put my phone on silent, but apparently not. I prayed Becca was drugged enough that the ringing didn’t wake her. As I pressed silent, the text that had sounded the alarm caught my eye. “I wonder if you told all your secrets and now you have nothing left to say.” Frowning, I read Huck’s message once more before typing a reply. “You don’t know anything about me.” Before I could put my phone away, he responded. “I know. And you’re making it fucking hard to learn.” I shoved my

phone in the sleeve of my backpack, resolved to deal with Huck later. When I looked up, Riley was in the doorway. My breath escaped me in a silent gasp. “Nami DeGrace?” Riley asked, shock marring her perfectly made up features. “Whatever are you doing here?” I stood up from her desk, folding my arms. I’d only met Riley a few times as an intern, and each time had been the exact same. She’d given me a brilliant megawatt smile and thanked me for my dutiful service. Then she’d returned her attention to her smartphone and walked off, barking orders. Becca Riley was a viper, probably more venomous than Morris. After all, she was the reason Morris was in office.

I didn’t buy her surprise for a minute. Even though she was supposed to be resting, her face was still impeccably made up. Every bone was highlighted and contoured, her lips were sealed with red, and her lashes were long and much too luxurious to be real. She wore a satin nightgown and robe, like a fucking nineteen twenties movie star. “Cut the shit, Riley.” Quicker than I could blink, Riley’s face turned cold. She eyed me with contempt and loathing and advanced forward. Placing a pointed finger on her wooden desk, she trailed the edge around to face me. With one eyebrow raised and two lips puckered, she regarded me. “What game are you playing,

DeGrace?” She smiled thinly through her question. I slammed the drawer shut just inches from her finger. She snapped her hand back. There was no pretense between us any more. She glowered at me and I returned her look with just as much gusto. “I’m not playing a game,” I seethed. “I’m going to prove your boss to be the twisted pervert he is and you as his accomplice and cheerleader.” Becca shook her hair out lazily. Sighing, she walked away from me and toward the window. I watched, my entire body posed for a fight, as she carefully pulled aside the drapes. Light poured in as Becca tied them up, taking long moments to carefully tie each knot. At

last Becca turned to face me, her back leaning against the now exposed glass. “Are you—oh, I don’t know the proper nomenclature any more…” Riley waved a hand frivolously. “Are you off the wagon? Is that why you broke into my house—because make no mistake, that’s what has happened here—and attempted to steal my valuables? Are you high, DeGrace? Should I call the police, or the professionals? Or perhaps the media would like another attempt at your psyche before the psychiatrists have a go?” I placed both hands on the desk, refusing to relinquish my stare. “There’s proof of your depravity somewhere.” “Somewhere?” Becca laughed, the

trill, tinkly sound at odds with her rancorous being. “I take that to mean you still haven’t found anything.” I nearly opened my mouth and spilled what I had found, just to wipe her stupid, smug grin away. I had proof. I had the rape kit the police refused to test. The police may have destroyed all other proof, like the clothes I was wearing and the pictures the hospital took, but they didn’t get the rape kit. The rape kit was stored at a separate facility that the police couldn’t touch. I held on to that rape kit as my only hope. I thought if I could get Morris arrested on some other charge, they might test his DNA and get a match for the rape kit. Or maybe if I looked long

enough, I could find more proof of my rape. So far nothing was showing up, but vile Becca Riley didn’t need to know any of that. Instead I said, “You and Morris are like acid rain, Riley. You can’t help but burn whatever you touch. So yeah, there’s proof somewhere.” Riley kicked off the glass, smiling. “Go ahead and look some more. If you could find something, it would make this game we play a little more interesting. Fair warning, the police will be here in about five minutes.” Riley sauntered out of the office, her silver robe fluttering behind. Just seconds after she’d gone, sirens sounded in the distance. Cursing, I

ran back to the servant’s hallway. I pounded down the stairs and into the basement, shoving open the cellar door that led to the tunnel system. “There’s nothing here!” I threw the last of the papers on the floor in exasperation. There wasn’t a single usable piece in anything I’d stolen from Riley’s. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Some of the records proved Morris was using public money for private things, but in the grand scheme of things, that was nothing. Considering the scandals most politicians had to face lately, it was barely even a blip. I was trying to prove that Morris was Satan, and even I was starting to doubt myself.

So far I’d taken thousands of pictures of Morris and the only thing I’d caught was him meeting with his secretaries late at night. Sure, that was fishy, but it wasn’t evidence. If you had a devoted fan base like Morris did, it counted for nothing, especially considering the source: me. I was still the alcoholic whore who had tried to ruin Morris’s reputation. I needed concrete evidence that Morris was one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Without evidence, I was just another preacher screaming on a street corner. The more evidence I had, the better, but really all I needed was to get him indicted. Even if all I could do was get him on something stupid, like

too many unpaid parking tickets, it was worth it. If his DNA was scanned into the police database there would be no hiding. He would match my rape kit and then his house of cards would come tumbling down. That had been my plan from the beginning, yet the further I continued, the more hopeless I felt. Morris was impregnable. He was like the fucking Pope in the Popemobile and I was just throwing candied almonds at his glass shield. Nothing I did touched him. He walked around with a smirk on his face while I wore a scarlet letter burned into my flesh. Grimacing, I shoved the bad thoughts down where they belonged and

turned back to the pile of papers on the floor. The only thing of value that I’d swiped was Riley’s personal day planner. I probably only had a few days before she realized it was missing and switched all of her dates, making the thing useless. I flipped through the pages, writing down the important information. It would make tailing Morris a bit easier. Instead of following him all day, I could simply show up. I didn’t need to wait outside his house or office for hours in hopes of him making an appearance. I didn’t have to scan his website to see if he had any events. Instead I could just check the planner. So that was nice.

As I was thinking over my new plan, a knock sounded at my door. I glanced warily up from the piles of papers strewn about my room. There was only one person besides the delivery man who knocked at my door: Law. I went to the door and yelled out, “What do you want?” “Let me in!” “Fat fucking chance of that.” Laughing, I turned and walked away from the door, but not before yelling, “Go away!” As I seated myself back on the floor, I heard the lock being picked. Terror seized me and I ran for my gun where it was nestled safely in the nightstand. I kicked Raskol lightly to wake him up, but he only raised his head

before returning to his slumber. “Seriously, worst guard dog ever,” I muttered before raising my gun to the opening door. “Woah,” Law said, eyeing the cannon. “Is this how you greet all your friends?” “It’s how I greet people who break and enter my home,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “What the fuck do you want?” “You’ve been avoiding me.” I shut my eyes at his answer and kept the lids pressed tight—anything to gain control over the way his voice affected me. “You never called. I was worried.” I opened my eyes, stunned to see how close Law had gotten. He was only a

foot away from me now. That rich, heady scent that was utterly Law engulfed me. It drugged me. “Take the hint, Law,” I said, surprised at how breathy my voice was. There was a brief pause wherein neither of us said anything, but I swore I heard the air crackle, as if the mere tension between us lit the oxygen in the room on fire. On my exhale, Law bounded toward me and pushed me against the wall that separated the kitchen from my living room. I elbowed him in the stomach and he barely flinched. The only way I knew my blow landed was from his short, low grunt. Law grappled with my hands and the gun, pushing them between us so I

couldn’t move. We were so close I could see the sweat on his brow. “It’s not smart to wrestle with guns, Law,” I said. I wasn’t looking at him when I spoke, my eyes trained on his bottom lip instead. I wanted to bite it. “I could see the safety was on,” Law replied. His voice was low, almost a rumble. I felt it all over. “You should probably make sure that’s off before threatening people.” I barely registered his reply. I couldn’t tell if the thick, hard thing pressing into my stomach was him or the gun. At that point I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the heady, spicy scent surrounding me and the feel of his hot skin keeping me pressed against the wall.

“Maybe it isn’t the gun you should be worried about,” I whispered, lips nearly touching. “Are you sure you’re talking to me when you say that?” Law asked, inching closer. I watched in fascination as he closed his eyes and his tongue slid across the seam of his lips. I felt the charge in the air again. I could do it. I could close the tiny, minuscule, practically nonexistent gap between us. Or, I could do this. I lifted my knee and jammed it between Law’s legs. Coughing, Law stumbled back and fell on his ass. At the sound of Law crashing to the ground, Raskol woke and started running around in circles, barking. Eyes watering, Law

glowered up at me. Slowly he stood to his feet. With cool, careful motions, he studied me. Then he turned around and walked away. He opened the door and I nearly opened my mouth to say something. What would I say? Stay? Did I want him to stay? I’d just kneed him in the balls; talk about mixed messages. My inner ramblings were cut short, though. With his back turned, Law spoke and interrupted my swirling mind. “See you soon, Nami.” With that cryptic remark, Law closed the door.

Is it crazy that sometimes I want the darkness? I stare into the abyss that has

become my soul and instead of searching for a flashlight, I want to take a nosedive into the inky black waters. I’ve dipped my toe, feeling the cool rush of sublime apathy and blue cruelty overcome me. The only thing stopping me was him. I never wanted to become like him. Maybe he was sick in the head. Maybe he needed help. Maybe he had been hurt as a child and was riding around on the terrible carousel that is a vicious cycle. Maybe I should have had sympathy for him. Maybe he was tortured and in more pain than I could imagine. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe his pecker should be ripped off and fed to him while he bleeds out.

It had been just a day since my botched burglary on Becca Riley. I’d stayed inside to recoup, reformulate, and rewhiskey. There hadn’t been many wins in my camp—strike that, there had been zero wins. Sunday was almost over and I hadn’t come up with any new ideas on how to destroy Morris. Depression was sinking in. Curled up on the couch, I posted a picture of shibari on Secrets. I didn’t say anything, just posted the picture. That was my secret for the day. I wanted to be tied up. I was a former rape victim who wanted be tied up during sex. I hated that everything I did now was defined by that goddamn event. I was no longer Nami DeGrace. I

was Nami DeGrace, rape victim. The label followed me wherever I went, except on Secrets. I knew when I posted the image I would get sexts. It was a naked woman tied up, hanging from a ceiling. Of course people would send me images and nasty texts. They sent them to me when I posted innocuous messages, so now that I’d practically given them an opening, why wouldn’t they respond? Not five minutes after I’d shut off notifications for Secrets, I received a text message from Huck. “Too afraid to call but not too afraid to be tied up?” he asked. “You’re a mystery Dandelion.” I typed my response. “No mystery.

Just not into talking to random dudes off the internet.” His response was immediate. “Not random. Do random ‘dudes’ know that you miss your stepdad Tony?” I stared at the words for longer than I liked, wondering how to respond. Huck was right; I did miss Tony. I missed his thick Boston accent and the way he ate meat out of a can. I made fun of him for it, but you don’t realize how much you miss those quirks until you no longer get to see them. “I didn’t tell you that,” I eventually sent. “I read between the lines,” Huck sent back almost instantly. “I’m going to call you now.”

“I’m not going to answer,” I replied just as quickly. “What are you so afraid of, Dandelion?” His response maddened me at first. Huck didn’t know me, didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know the life I led, so how dare he accuse me of fear? My finger hovered above the block button for a good thirty seconds before I calmed down. “I’m not afraid of anything, Huck.” My fingers typed quickly, making smudges against the glass of the phone. “I don’t know what you expect to happen between us. I’m razed ground. No fruit will grow here.” It was a long while before Huck responded. I’d assumed he’d gotten the

picture and moved on. I set my phone down next to me and had all but forgotten about him when the blue screen lit up with his response: “Even in the desert, fruit grows.” It was only eight at night, but it felt like three in the morning. I was exhausted from the previous day. Exhausted from that day. Exhausted from all the days, really. Still, I felt cooped up. I felt like I was going insane, and I wasn’t the only one. Raskol was growing tired of the apartment, opting to chew the couch to allay his boredom. I watched him through sad eyes; it wasn’t his fault his owner was a basket case. When I was in high school there

was a spot called “The Beach”. It was named that because when you turned your head upside down at night, the city lights looked like the twinkling ocean waters crashing on the shore. It wasn’t too far away from where I lived now, only a ten-minute drive. That night, The Beach called to me. I wanted to forget everything that had happened to me after high school. I wanted to go back to the time when I drove with my friends up to that point on the mountain. When we got out of our cars and turned our heads upside down like that was the only thing that would ever turn upside down for us. Grabbing Raskolnikov, I walked out of the apartment to go to The Beach.

I gave a quick glance to a black car parked opposite my street. I couldn’t see who was inside, but it didn’t fit in my neighborhood. It was much too nice. Post-rape Nami wanted to investigate. She wanted to go inside and grab her gun, march up to the car, and demand whoever was inside make themselves known. Tonight wasn’t about that, though. Tonight was about forgetting. Shaking the car out of my head, I jumped in my own and headed to The Beach. I rolled down the window for Raskol even though it was December and freezing. He loved sticking his head out the window and I loved watching him. Raskol was the only good thing to come out of all the shit. He was entirely

guileless and full of love. It sounded crazy, but some days I was glad for the rape, because it had brought me Raskol. The days when it was just him and me on the couch were some of the best of my life. Because I’d grown up without pets, I’d never understood the connection people had to dogs before, but now I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He held a piece of my soul. Raskol was never a part of the plan. I’d driven past the humane society and stopped on a whim. I’d gone inside, not sure what I was doing there. It was full of people gleefully picking out companions, and then there was me: a broken girl unsure of her next move.

Raskol was all alone, unlike the other dogs. When I asked the volunteer why he was alone, she said it was because he was afraid. He didn’t do well with people or animals. “I’m afraid he might never find a forever home,” she’d said. That was all I needed to hear. Raskol and I had been inseparable ever since. Checking my rearview mirror, I turned down the street that led to The Beach. When I looked in the mirror, I saw what appeared to be the same car that had been parked on my street. I tried to get a better look but it switched lanes and drove quickly past me. I should have turned around and gone home, I know. After the past months, I’d learned that

nothing was a coincidence. Still, the part of me that had decided to go to The Beach wouldn’t allow it. I needed one night to be normal. One night to shed the armor random black cars had made me build. I rolled up the window as I reached the turnoff for The Beach. Nestled right off a small highway, The Beach was only known to those who lived in the immediate area. You could live in Salt Lake City your entire life and still not know of The Beach. Even though it led to a much bigger hiking trail, most used a different trailhead to hike that specific trail, giving The Beach that secret feeling. Notwithstanding, The Beach was

usually crowded with teens looking to party or make out. Luckily it was December so only a few kids wanted to make out beneath a snowy, frigid mountain, and those teens stayed in the warmth of their cars. I watched the view from my own car, looking out at the city that had tortured me for the past six months. I could see the capitol all lit up in the distance. I could see the university I’d dropped out of. I saw our tiny downtown and beyond that I saw twinkling lights; one of those lights was the mansion our perfect senator lived in. Sighing, I grabbed Raskol and exited the car. We may have been able to pretend the lights were a twinkling ocean in high school, but now that I

knew what each individual light represented, it was impossible. I was there, though. I was determined to make some kind of positive memory. Before leaving the house I’d grabbed Raskol’s coat (yep, I was now the kind of person who bought small dog coats) and my hiking boots. I thought maybe if I climbed the small mountain, I could feel like I’d conquered the damn lights. I let Raskol attempt the mountain. It was snowy and wet, but he loved the snow. His little paws slipped around, but he could climb it. I hadn’t gone on many hikes lately (not much time to do that when you’re trying to bring down a senator), but the ones I had gone on, I

brought Raskol with me. I always got curious stares or smiles from the other hikers. Raskol was very small, especially in comparison to the other dogs. Some even commented on his ability to hike. If you knew Raskol, though, you knew a six-mile hike was nothing for him. He had seemingly endless energy. We made it to the top of the mountain and the lights were smaller up there, making it easier to pretend I didn’t know what they were. Snow started to fall, just a light dusting of flakes that was eerily beautiful. Raskol bounced around, trying to eat the falling snow. I laughed, feeling carefree and joyful as I watched him.

I bent over and balled up some snow, ready to throw it for him to catch. As I stood up, angling my arm for the throw, my fingers grew limp. Dismay rippled through me and the ball fell from my grasp. I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but it was impossible to deny. Becca Riley was there and she held Raskol by the scruff. I watched Becca, unable to move or speak. My thoughts flicked back to the black car. I knew I should have left. I knew I shouldn’t have risked it. I had been so determined to have a normal night, so determined to let my shit go for a few hours, that I hadn’t heard her approaching. I had thought I was safe. I

was never safe, though, and now neither was Raskol. Riley dangled Raskol over the edge of the mountain. The worst part was that Raskol had no idea what was going on. He watched me, that stupid silly grin I loved so much on his face. He thought Riley was playing with him. He thought he was safe. And why wouldn’t he? He trusted me completely. Raskol trusted me not to put him in this kind of situation, and I’d utterly failed him. “Riley, whatever you want I’ll do it!” I pleaded. “He’s just a dog.” What the fuck is wrong with you? I wanted to scream. Who hurts a dog? Riley rolled her eyes at me, as if

my emotions were tedious. “Here’s the deal, DeGrace. You stop fucking with us, and this dog is the only thing that gets hurt.” Riley looked at Raskol sideways. Raskol attempted to lick her. Inside, my soul died a little more. “I’ll stop, dammit!” I screamed. Distantly I wondered if the sound I heard was my own echo, or that of my world collapsing. “Just let him go!” Riley shrugged. “As you wish.” Horrorstruck, I watched as Riley let Raskol go over the edge of the mountain. One second she was holding him, the next he disappeared over the side. I couldn’t begin to describe the emotion that tore through me in that instant. I knew I screamed, because the

pain in my throat was so intense it broke through the disbelief. I fell to the ground, the weight of the emotion too heavy. I barely felt the cold, wet snow seep through my clothes as I scrambled to the edge of the mountain, reaching for Raskol. I desperately clawed at the edge for him, hoping he was there. I called his name. I called it again, expecting him to show up, to come running after me like he usually did. Where was his goofy face? Where was that ridiculous underbite? Through all the turmoil I heard one thing: laughing. Riley was fucking laughing. I stood from the cliff, rage coursing through me. I grabbed her by the

shoulders and pushed her to the ledge. “You think this is fucking funny?” Her smile slid from her face like a wet slug. Her heels slipped on the edge, sending rocks tumbling down. “Tell me what’s so fucking funny, Becca?” “Calm down, Nami.” Becca’s eyes darted from me and to the cliff I precariously held her to. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said, pushing her closer to the edge. “I’m getting rid of the infection in this town. Cut off the necrotizing flesh and eventually it goes away. Maybe I should start with you.” I shook her and more rocks tumbled down. Nausea crept up my throat at the thought that Raskol had

tumbled down with them. Riley swallowed. The laughter in her eyes vanished and was replaced with fear. I didn’t feel victorious like I had thought I would. I didn’t feel joy or relief or anything. I felt pain for Raskol and when she looked at me with fear, I saw myself. I saw myself beneath Morris, utterly terror struck. Still furious, I let her go. “Go home, you necrotic cunt.” Riley didn’t wait for me to say it twice. She scrambled away and I heard a car sound seconds later. Everything was numb. Some of that had to do with the fact that I was now on the ground with snow seeping through my clothes and turning my skin frozen,

but most of it had to do with my emotional grid. I had short-circuited. I stared out at the city that had taken everything from me. The lights twinkled beautifully, but all I saw was necrosis. I officially had nothing left.

Monday There’s not enough whiskey in the

world.

Tuesday All out of alcohol.

Wednesday Found some beer in the back of the fridge. Smells funny but it will have to do. Tuesday was miserable. Without alcohol I was up all night thinking of Raskol. The image of his dorky, happy face falling to its death… I opened the first can of beer.

Thursday 10:00 pm and I’ve stopped throwing up skunked beer. Probably because I ran out of stuff to throw up. It was a nice distraction.

Friday The ass-print on my officially has its own area code.

couch

Saturday Out of alcohol again. Out of vomit. Either going to sink into my couch and become one through symbiosis, or get even. I opened up the planner I’d stolen from Riley’s. It had been exactly a week since I’d taken it. The odds of it still being accurate were slim, but it was all I had. According to the planner, the next day Morris would be at the continental breakfast at a downtown hotel. I shut the book with a new, blacker determination on my mind Raskol, my rape—it couldn’t all be in vain.

Mitch Morris needed to die. The thought was crystal clear as I

watched him across the street, eating Sunday brunch as if it was any other day. I supposed to him it was any other day, though. He wasn’t battling with crushing grief. His psyche wasn’t sinking into charcoal. He was just eating his goddamn eggs and sausage. Every Sunday Morris ate brunch with his family. Sunday he took off, because it was the Lord’s day. His election offices were closed, or at least that’s what Morris led you to believe. Morris closed the office on Sunday because he liked to make a show of taking the Lord’s day off. In reality his PR team was always working and so was Becca Riley. My fingers inadvertently twitched

the trigger of my gun at the thought of Riley. I used to think my mission would be complete once Morris was ruined, but now I wasn’t so sure. Morris truly was Hydra. Cut off one head, and another emerged. I glared at him as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. Once he was dead, I would have to cauterize Becca Riley. Perhaps it wasn’t the most compassionate thing in the world to kill a man in front of his children and wife, but I was through with compassion. I was through with caring. I knew I needed to end this man before his dry rot spread beyond Utah. He was like a fungus that spread with wind; if I didn’t stop him now, he would infect

everything. Raskolnikov was the straw that lit my haystack on fire. I wasn’t going to spend any more time attempting to frame a man as vile as Morris. The most compassionate thing I could do for Salt Lake City was end Morris. I watched him eat brunch, laughing with his wife and children as he made the salt and pepper dance. Morris had no idea that one building over his forgotten regret sat lurking, waiting. I felt like the nameless shooter perched behind the grassy knoll. In my darkest dreams, assassination had never crossed my mind, yet there I was with my selfdefense gun, aiming it at the head of Morris.

Life really had been turned upside down. Just as I was about to pull the trigger, a creeping sensation spilled down my spine. I didn’t have to turn around to know I wasn’t alone. I could feel it by the hairs standing on end and by the way every sound suddenly dimmed to nothing. I was caught. “What the fuck are you doing?” Law roared, pulling me from the window of the abandoned storefront and throwing me against the decayed walls. Bits of the tiled roof fell on my head on impact. “None of your business.” I pulled

my arm from Law’s grasp, rounding on him before he could respond. “How the hell did you even find me?” “Why won’t you let me help you?” Law grabbed both my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I don’t need help,” I said, averting my eyes. I struggled to pull free of him, ripping my shoulders from his grasp again. I looked through the window to see Morris and his family getting up from their brunch. Fuck! I kicked a loose piece of debris. I’d missed my opening. “What you don’t need is to go full kamikaze on this!” Law yelled. I glared at him. I’d had enough of him and his righteousness. He had no inkling of what I was going through. He didn’t

understand the black quicksand pulling me under. Law saw me like others saw endangered tigers at a zoo. They watched through plexiglass, always safe from danger but close enough to feel like they were doing something. Grabbing my gun and shoving it into my bag, I attempted to brush past him when he said, “There are other ways to get revenge.” “True revenge consumes the spirit,” I whispered, eyes trained on the exit. Law pulled me to him and stroked my cheek. “I won’t let this consume you. Your heart is too beautiful.” “You know nothing of my heart!” I yelled, pushing off his chest. As I made my way out of the old building I added,

“Or what’s left of it.” “Everything is left of it, it’s just a little shadowed right now.” At his words I gripped my hands into white fists, unsure of what I was going to do. The tug of war between Law and me had snapped. He acted all knowing, but he was veiled. I wasn’t shadowed; I was utterly consumed. The door to hell had opened and I’d fallen through head first. I was living among the fire and brimstone and he thought there was hope? “I think we have our wires crossed, Law,” I gritted, spinning around to glare at him. “I made a mistake with you, and that’s my fault, so let me clear it up. There is nothing between us. Just

because I let myself give in to my selfloathing and misery for a few moments when you were around doesn’t mean I like you. In fact, I hate you. I hate all guys like you. Our kiss disgusted me and the sooner you get that through your skull, the sooner you can stop skulking around like some fucking lost dog, got it?” The words cut through me like a chainsaw on a mission. They had a mind of their own and were using my mouth like a puppet. I saw pain in Law’s eyes, sharp and clear like the sky after rain. When the pain disappeared, I swallowed the guilt. “You’re right Nami,” Law said. His voice was hoarse, like he’d been coughing. Only seconds ago it had been

full and robust, like usual. Now he sounded sick. “We do have our wires crossed. You’ve misread pity for concern. I pity you, Nami. I don’t care for you.” And I thought my words had hurt. Law’s statement absolutely eviscerated me. I knew it wasn’t fair. What I had said to him was cheap and meant only to wound. I didn’t realize how accustomed I’d grown to his blanketing presence until he’d taken it away. Now I was bitter and cold and reality was once again shoved in my face. I licked my dry lips, trying to do something until words came to my head. I didn’t know how to respond to him. He’d hurt me, but I didn’t want him to

know that. I didn’t want him to think he had any sway with me. I didn’t want to acknowledge that he had any sway with me. “Well,” I eventually said, voice cracking despite my best efforts. “So glad we got that cleared up.” I spun around and went out to the parking lot. I stomped through the empty storefront, rejoicing as my feet crunched over bits of broken glass. When I made it outside, it had just begun to snow. Thick, puffy snowflakes landed and for a moment I was reminded of Raskol. He loved the snow. I shook the thought loose and pulled out my keys, ready to go home and drink this shitty day into oblivion.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I jumped at his voice, dropping my keys. Sighing, I got to my knees to search under my car. For someone who had been about to commit murder only moments before, I sure wasn’t very composed. With my hand aimlessly grappling under the car, I said to Law, “Why the fuck are you still here?” “I don’t like how we left things.” Law leaned lackadaisically against my car, like he’d done so many times before, watching me search for my keys with bored interest. “We didn’t leave things,” I corrected. “We ended things. Whatever this fucked up thing was is now over.” I growled in frustration. Where the fuck

were my keys? I stuck my head closer to the gravel, trying to see under my car. Just as I was about to meld my head with gravel, I heard the sound of jangling keys. I shot up so fast I nearly banged my face against the side of my car. Law smirked at me, casually dangling my keys from his fingers. “How?” I asked, stunned. “Fast reflexes,” he responded, as if that explained everything. I glowered, reaching out to snatch them from his stupid fingers. In an instant, he pulled back. “No, I told you, I don’t like how we left things.” “And I told you, we didn’t leave things.” I reached for my keys again but he closed his fist tight around them. “We

ended them.” “Get in the car Nami.” Law gestured to my beat up Honda. “Best idea you’ve had yet.” “And drive me to my hotel.” “Then you go and say that,” I said sarcastically. Law clicked the button to open my car. Reluctantly I slid into the driver’s seat. I watched with mute indignation as he walked around the front to the passenger seat. Even though he had my keys, I felt an urge to lock the door. I didn’t though, because I was simply a helpless observer in my own life. Law said jump, and I jumped. Morris said strip, and I stripped. When Law handed me the keys, I put them into

the ignition and drove, trying not to think about the melting ice cube that had become my soul. I pulled up to Law’s hotel and said, “Your personal taxi has arrived at its destination.” “You’re coming up with me, Nami.” Law sighed, like I was the one putting him out. “Hmm,” I mused, turning the ignition off but keeping the car on. I put a finger to my lips, as if pretending to really consider what Law had said. “I think I’d rather drink battery acid.” “It’s time you learned about me, Nami.” Law’s usual smooth brogue adopted a sober, almost chilling

intonation. “The real me.” “Said every serial killer ever.” I turned my ignition back on. “No thanks.” “I have information that can help you ruin Morris,” Law said, the way someone might say “I have candy” to a four-year-old. Glaring, I turned off the ignition once and for all. “Spill.” “Not until we’re upstairs,” Law stated bluntly. “I’m not about to give you this information and have you fuck off without a thank you.” I scoffed. “You don’t strike me as the guy who needs a thank you card.” Kicking his door open, Law smiled back at me. “Well I do.” I didn’t need to follow Law up to

his room. I remembered it with perfect clarity. It was where we had kissed, where he had saved me. It was where he held pieces of me I hadn’t known still existed. It was a very eerie walk back there. I kept having déjà vu. When he waved his keycard over the lock, my eyes focused on the card and the hallway disappeared. It felt as if I were a high school student on prom night following her date into the motel. I was so unnerved that the minute Law unlocked the door I pushed past him and ran inside before he could. I needed to get a good vantage point. I chose the radiator, ignoring the hot metal scalding my skin.

“Interesting spot,” Law remarked as he shut the door behind us. “Shut up. Why am I here?” The metal burned my flesh, but I refused to be weak. Even changing locations felt like I was giving something up to him. In lieu of responding to me, Law went to his mini fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. He took a sip of one and offered me the other. I glared at him. “Suit yourself.” Law put the bottle back inside the mini fridge and turned to me. “I have a journalist that can help you.” I was so bewildered I couldn’t even laugh. A journalist? Like a member of the media? Part of the lynch mob that had personally tied me up and thrown me over the edge of a building marked

“The Associated Press?” After a few moments of silence I eventually said, “Are you fucking kidding me?” “Are you laughing?” Law asked. Thankfully the radiator had turned off. The metal was still hot, but I was no longer at risk of third-degree burns. I lifted one sweaty thigh over my other leg and leaned against the winter chilled window. Law watched me just as intensely as I him. With light brown hair cut short enough that it was out of his face, but long enough that I could still run my hands through it, he leaned forward so that it almost covered one eye. His head was cocked in a way that I’d grown

accustomed to, a way that seemed to either be studying me or laughing at me. I could never decide. Law’s five o’clock shadow was eternal, and beneath the shadow always sat a smirk. Except for now. Now his mouth was set in a hard line. “What’s the name of this journalist?” I asked, relenting. “Who does he work for?” Law moved from his perch against the mini fridge toward me. Fascinated, I watched him. How could someone simultaneously be a mercenary, but also full of mirth? Law handed me a card. “He’s freelance.” I reached for the card, not taking my eyes off of Law. “Go to him. He’s good and can be trusted. At least

look him up.” “How do you know him?” I looked at the paper skeptically. It read Matthew Jameson in italic silver letters. “I don’t. A few of my old colleagues were sources to him. He was good. Never ratted them out.” I looked from the card, to him, to the card. “Your colleagues? Like Morris?” I scoffed, shoving the card in my purse. “Why should I trust you?” “Don’t trust me, trust him,” Law shrugged. “He’s never betrayed a source and reports on serious shit.” Tired of pretending that Law didn’t work for people like Morris, I stood up from the radiator and headed toward the door. I took one last look at Law and

said what had been weighing on me since the beginning, “I don’t get you, Law. You work for Morris. You’re a lobbyer. You aren’t a good guy, so why are you pretending to know them? Why are you pretending that you care? Like you said, you pity me.” I sighed, turning to exit, when I heard a loud noise. I spun around to see that Law had kicked over a chair. His hair was a mess, but nothing compared to the wildness in his eyes. “Fuck!” he said, running a hand through his crazed locks. “I’m not a lobbyist, Nami!” “Don’t fucking lie to me,” I countered, eyeing the chair. I didn’t think Law would hurt me, but displays of

aggression didn’t sit well with me. Sighing, Law picked up the chair and put it back in its place. After a moment or two of arranging it so it was back in its place, Law sat down. I watched him with equal parts fascination and disdain. I didn’t trust Law at all. My trust for him went about as far as I trusted my cable company when they promised to keep my bill low. Still, watching him put that chair back in place was a bit…odd. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Law rubbed his middle finger, head low. I watched the ritual, entranced. Minutes passed as Law continued to rub his finger, the only sound the loud blasting of the hotel radiator as it turned

on again. I remained standing, damned if I’d let him lull me into comfort. “I worked for the FBI.” Law’s voice broke the monotony, but he still rubbed his middle finger. I laughed. Okay, he got me. I wasn’t expecting that. “Seriously? You think I’ll believe that? Were you also a spy?” “I worked in the human trafficking division. I quit about five years ago. I couldn’t…” Law paused and the rubbing ceased. Dead air, like the silence of a funeral procession, filled the room. Not even the sound of breathing could break it. All at once he continued, “I just couldn’t keep losing. The girls and little boys…they all disappear. No matter

how many leads we track down, they’re just gone. Right in our own fucking backyard, but still gone.” I eyed him warily, head cocked slightly. Law wasn’t looking at me. Law wasn’t looking at anything. His eyes had glazed over and his brow furrowed, as if reliving some nightmare. “I—” I started to speak, to argue that he was a liar, but Law coughed, interrupting me. He placed his hands on his knees and looked directly at me, as if the past few minutes hadn’t happened. As if I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to, and he was trying to wipe the memory away. “So, yeah. I can give you my old ID number and unit and you can look me up.

It’s been five years but there are still plenty of people there that will remember me. And anyway, you can’t erase bureaucracy.” No, I thought bitterly, but bureaucracy can erase you. “So why lobbying?” I countered. I wasn’t about to let Law’s confession—if that’s what it turned out to be—lull me into trusting him. Shrugging, Law replied, “It was about as far away from my old life as I could get.” “And why me?” I pressed. Law stuttered. “What?” “Why? Me?” I bit out the words. “Why are you fucking with my life?” “I—” I cut him off before he could

respond. “What am I? Just some sick pet project to make you feel better about the fact that you couldn’t handle your job and now work for the devil?” “No, Nami…” Law reached for me but I shoved him off. “I’m sorry you had to see the horrors of the world firsthand, but I am not yours to fix. I’m not some missing girl you finally found. I’m not an…an archetype to help you find closure. I’m Nami fucking DeGrace and I’m a real fucking person.” “I know that Nami.” Law stood up out of his chair and I noticed how intimidating he was. Not by stature or looks, but by presence. He was the type of man who filled a room, the type of

man that made you back down. “How dare you accuse me of being anything but genuine toward you?” “Are you?” I accused. “Are you really? Because what do you know about me other than that I was raped and taken advantage of by a senator? What’s my favorite color? What’s my favorite food? What’s my favorite TV show? Who were my parents?” Law looked stunned. I scoffed and waved him off, turning around to leave. “You’re just like the rest of them.” As I was storming out, Law yelled at my back: “Do you even know all of that any more, Nami?”

I reached for my phone for the one hundredth time that night and for the one

hundredth time that night, I dialed the number Huck had given me. Then, for the one hundredth time that night, I hung up on the first ring. Throwing my phone at the coffee table, I sighed, giving up. It was reckless of me to call Huck, but I felt so lonely. In the past six months I’d lost everyone and everything I’d believed defined me. Then, as if life wasn’t cruel enough, I’d lost the one thing that was helping build me back up. I’d lost Raskol. Huck made me feel like a person again. He made me feel like I wasn’t simply a thing to be defined by labels. I was actually a person with thoughts and feelings and dreams when I talked with him. After these past weeks, though, I

didn’t want to risk him. What if he became different outside the safety of my screen? Or worse, what if I ruined him the way I’d ruined Raskolnikov? It wasn’t lost on me that the common denominator in all of the horrible things happening was me. As compelled as I was to call Huck and hear the voice I’d imagined over and over, I couldn’t bring myself to follow through. The risk was too great. I watched in fascination and horror as my phone began to buzz. The vibration was so adamant, my phone moved. It buzzed and vibrated like it had its own agenda. As my phone neared the edge of the coffee table, I grabbed it. I looked at the number calling and

recognized it immediately as Huck’s number. As the phone vibrated for what was probably the last time, I pressed answer. “Hello?” I cradled the phone to my face, not sure if the emotion tugging at my gut was fear or excitement. “You’ve been calling over and over again.” The voice on the other line sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Sure the number calling was the one Huck had given me, but I wasn’t so quick to say Huck was on the other line. I didn’t know what Huck sounded like. I didn’t know who Huck was. Except…I felt like I knew everything about Huck, despite not knowing anything at all.

“Sorry, I had the wrong number,” I lied. Of course Huck had my number and knew it was me, Dandelion, calling. I wasn’t ready for what was happening, though, so I prepared to hang up before he could call me on my lie. “You had the wrong number fifty times?” I breathed into the phone, feeling like a total creep. I didn’t know what to say but now I didn’t want to hang up. I wanted to keep listening. The voice sounded so familiar. The more he spoke, the more I thought I knew him. I did know him though, didn’t I? Huck was the only one who’d made me feel like me. If it was Huck on the other line, then I should speak up. At the same time, I was worried that outside

Secrets our relationship wouldn’t last. That the magic of text would be broken by our voices. So I breathed into the phone like I was auditioning for the role of Ghostface in Scream. “Dandelion?” the voice asked. I hiccuped at his words. “Dandelion, I’m glad you called.” A million emotions and thoughts ran through me at once. I felt thrilled. I felt excited. I felt terror. I also felt that little niggling thought that I knew the person already…but I couldn’t know his voice, right? I only knew Huck through the computer and other than him the only men in my life now were Morris and— My grip slipped from the phone, but

I caught it just before it fell. “Law,” I said into the phone, my voice cold. Had he been playing me this entire time? Was it not enough to almost fuck me, he had to fuck with me too? “Nami?” Law asked, sounding surprised. “Oh don’t start with me Huck,” I fumed. “Game’s over now. You got inside my head, congratulations. Now go back to Morris and tell him what a good boy you’ve been.” “Dammit, Nami!” Huck—I mean Law, yelled. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m not working for Morris? I’m just as fucking surprised as you are that you’re Dandelion.” I rolled my eyes, even though he

couldn’t see. “Do you really fucking expect me to believe that? That of all the people on that app, you responded?” “I don’t care what you believe any more Nami. I’m sick of trying to prove that I’m not the bad guy.” Huck—Law, dammit!—hung up before I could. I stared at the blank screen for a few moments then chucked it at the wall. Watching the phone break in two, I felt a momentary catharsis for the girl I’d become. There was a knock on my door. I eyed it from my couch warily. I was comfortable, finally. After having spent a few hours drinking to forget my humiliation, now I was watching Netflix

and researching the reporter Matthew Jameson. I’d even laughed a bit at the TV. Progress, right? Before looking up Jameson, I’d looked up Law. Turned out it was a bit harder to do than just googling “FBI ID number”. I’d had to actually call the FBI, and when I told them I was trying to confirm if “Law” had worked there, they thought I was playing a prank and hung up on me. I almost gave up, thinking Law really was a scumbag. Still, there was that annoying feeling in my gut, so I pressed on. Finally someone connected me to the right bureaucrat and they confirmed that yes, Law was a former FBI agent. I drank a few more glasses of whiskey after getting that confirmation.

Back to Jameson. According to the all-knowing internet, Jameson was a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist who covered such lighthearted topics as government corruption, genocide, and sex trafficking. He’d won the Pulitzer for an exposé on sex trafficking within government-subsidized corporations. I hated to admit it, but he seemed like the real deal. Why he was living in Salt Lake City, I couldn’t tell you. Suffice it to say, after all the research and whiskey, when someone knocked on the door, I didn’t want to get off my ass and answer it. I knew nothing good waited on the other side. I didn’t have friends. I didn’t have family. All I had were paparazzi and potential

rapists. It was past twelve in the morning and I knew that whatever was knocking on my door was most certainly a boogieman. Another knock sounded on the door and I burrowed farther into my couch. If it couldn’t hear me, then it couldn’t get me, right? A pang of grief hit my chest as I remembered Raskol, who would’ve undoubtedly been barking at the door. He might have been a small and, at times, unreliable guard dog, but he was my small and, at times, unreliable guard dog. “Nami open your door! It’s me, Law!” I perked up a bit, looking at my door with less hostility and more interest. Why was Law here? Still, my

interest was not enough to get me off the couch. Law was persona non grata in the DeGrace house. “Go away!” I yelled, curling myself in blankets. “I will stay here and wake up all of your neighbors if you don’t let me in!” “Go ahead!” I yelled back. “They hate me anyway!” Silence radiated through the wood, and I hoped that Law had decided against staying. When I’d all but settled back into my alcoholinduced comfort, I heard something truly disturbing. Singing. Loud, operatic singing. I could hear Law clearly through my door, though the language was

unknown. He was bellowing the notes, his voice getting higher and louder. It was beautiful, but it was also incredibly annoying. I didn’t mind him waking up my neighbors—they’d been less than kind to me; I did mind, however, my neighbors calling the police. I didn’t want to deal with the police. Ever again, if I could help it. I opened my door, angry, slightly tipsy, and using my blanket as a cape. Law didn’t stop singing even though I opened the door. He continued, his voice an operatic majesty that did not belong in my hallway. He even gesticulated with his hands. “Stop!” I yelled. Law continued to sing, gesturing at my apartment that I

blocked with my body. I glared furiously at him as I let him enter my apartment. He only stopped his song when I closed the door behind us. “What the hell was that?” I fumed, trying to block him farther entry into my apartment. If I could keep him contained to just the entryway, then I technically hadn’t lost. “Puccini. Madama Butterfly.” I raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “So you’re an FBI guy who sung in the opera?” I wondered when I would get to the truth of him—Huck, Law, whoever the hell he was. “I’m an FBI guy who had a grandfather that loved the opera,” Law explained.

I scoffed and, remembering why I hated Law, got to the point. “Why did you come here?” “I decided that I do care what you think of me.” Before I could respond, Law pulled me in both arms and kissed me on the mouth, hard. I fought Law, pushing at his chest and biting at his lip until I tasted copper. He stepped away from me, untangling his hands from my hair and dropping them to his sides. For the first time since Law had barged into my life, I saw him undone. “Sorry,” he rasped. “Sorry. That was…” Law shook his head. “That was wrong, I’m sorry.” I squinted, not sure

what to make of him. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, the kiss had been all consuming. Intense. Visceral. Terrifying, too. I couldn’t forget that. It had been terrifying. Not because I remembered Morris, but because for an instant I’d forgotten him. I’d drowned in Law’s flavor and smell. For those few brief seconds, I was free. “Kiss me,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. Law’s honey gaze was elsewhere, so clouded it appeared like a stormy sunset. I spoke up again. “Kiss me.” Law snapped his attention back to me. “What did you say?” He knew what I’d said. I could see it in the way his gaze narrowed and his

jaw clenched. Law was giving me an out, giving me another chance to say no. I took a deep breath and said, “Kiss me.” Law closed the distance between us, his movements careful and calculated. I watched everything about him, from the way the muscles in his neck contracted and pulsed, to the hard gleam in his eye. He wanted me, that much was clear. The restraint in his features, though, was more alluring than any aphrodisiac. When Law reached me he placed his hands on my hips, but he didn’t grab me or clutch me. His fingers rested featherlight on either side. I felt them with stark clarity, though. Every sense

was attuned to him. “Say it again,” Law demanded. I complied. “Kiss me.” It was like a wave crashed over us. Law gripped me, pulling us together. His light touch turned to stone, and I felt the raw power of him. We were two storms smashing in a plain. Two black holes colliding, and our ripple was felt throughout the entire universe. It wasn’t enough to describe our flesh meeting, because Law and I were extraterrestrial. It wasn’t hate. It wasn’t lust. I wasn’t sure it was even love. What happened when we fused was something like nuclear fission. We exploded. Our tongues fused, our hands

frantically ripped off clothing. Foreplay was forgotten because our foreplay had been going on since the minute we’d laid eyes on one another. “Are you sure you want this?” Law asked against my lips. He bent down to kiss my neck, tongue sweeping across the skin. I groaned. Did I want this? “Shut up and fuck me,” I demanded. Law listened, ripping off my clothes and tossing them to the side. For a few slow seconds I was very aware that I was naked. It was the first time since Morris that I’d been naked with a man. Naked with anyone, even. The seconds dragged on at a terrifyingly slow pace. I felt cold. I felt exposed. I looked around for something to look at, just like I’d done

with Morris. I needed a piece of furniture to help me cope. Just as my gaze landed on a nick in my couch, Law grabbed my chin. “What’s happening right now? Look at me.” He held my skin with gentle force and so I focused on that, on the feeling of his rough hands on my smooth skin. When I was calmed, I took a deep breath and made myself look into his eyes. Warm like honey, and just as sweet. I hadn’t even noticed he was naked; I’d been too busy trying to forget that I was. Heat rushed to my cheeks and between my thighs. He was absolutely stunning. Sculpted and defined. Raw. I leaned in and kissed him, pressing myself to his body, feeling the warmth he

offered. “Nothing,” I said, separating our lips. “Nothing is happening. I’m fine.” Law looked at me skeptically, but only for an instant. He wrapped his thick arms around me, pulling me in for a deeper kiss. Unlike before, where we’d been feverish and fast, this kiss was slow, languorous, and heady. I felt myself getting high off him, more so than I did with alcohol and weed. Law lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around him. He curled his hands around me tighter and started backing us into the bedroom. “No,” I said when I realized where we were headed. Law immediately stopped. “Not in there.” I still couldn’t

sleep in the bedroom, not after Morris. Maybe I never would. I quickly kissed Law to let him know I still wanted to continue. “I’ll fuck you against the wall, Dandelion,” Law growled against my lips. “But I think you deserve better than that.” “The couch,” I said. Law raised a brow but carried me over to my ratty couch. It was old, I’d gotten it off the side of the road, but it was mine and it hadn’t been tainted by Morris. The few nice blankets I’d gotten at an outlet store were draped over the side. Plush and warm, they had been Raskol’s favorite place to sleep. Still carrying me, Law picked up

one of the blankets and threw it on the couch. He laid me down before climbing on top. Flashbacks of Morris’s big, hulking body suffocating me came out of nowhere. I started to hyperventilate and squirm. Quickly Law got off of me. “I can’t…” I said between breaths. “I can’t be on bottom.” As if it were the most normal thing in the world for a woman to freak out like that, Law simply pulled me onto his lap. The way I straddled him had his cock begging for entrance. It wasn’t his cock that had me gasping and head high, though. It was his intense stare. It was the way he grasped my head between his hands, locking me into that honey gaze. It was the way he

gently stroked my hair, making me feel loved. It was the way he made me feel safe. Even before Morris, I had never felt so cherished. “Are you ready?” Law asked, sliding his hands from my hair to my sides. I nodded. “Say it, Nami.” “I’m ready,” I said. Did that breathy voice belong to me? Slowly I guided Law inside of me. He was so big I felt like I was being torn open. At my pained face, Law slid out, but I gripped his shoulders and demanded he go back inside. The pain was better than the emptiness. When Law refused, I kissed him hard on the mouth. I used my tongue to

argue my point. I used my lips to plead my case. I needed him inside me. At last Law ceded and entered me. The pain only lasted for a moment that time and when he was fully ensconced, it felt like I’d been holding my breath for months and could finally breathe. “Dandelion…” I rolled over into Law’s arms, his skin warm and sweaty. I felt inexplicably safe as he called me by the nickname we’d shared before we knew our real identities. “Tell me about your work,” I asked, lifting my head onto my elbow. “I worked in the FBI human trafficking division—” “No, tell me,” I said, cutting him

off. “Well, what do you want to know?” Law sat up a bit straighter and the blankets we’d used fell down, exposing his chest. I was momentarily distracted by the hard packs of muscle, forgetting his question. I placed my hand on his chest and asked, “Why did you go into sex trafficking?” “I graduated head of my class. I like challenges. Human trafficking was a challenging specialization.” I frowned at his reply. He hadn’t even looked me in the eye when he responded and his tone was cold and distant. I didn’t buy his explanation for a minute. I was about to call him out when he leaned down and

pulled me closer. “Promise me you’ll call Jameson?” Law asked, his voice a breath against my ear. “The journalist?” I questioned. My words were slurred as I got caught up in the feel of Law again. “Now?” “No.” Law bit my ear, stretching the lobe with his teeth. “Not now, but soon.” “I don’t know…” I resisted. Even if Law did recommend Jameson, he was still the press. “Nami…” Law slowly licked from the base of my collarbone and back up to my ear. His warm kisses lulled me into complacency. “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll do it.”

Playfully I pushed away from Law, situating myself on his chest. He’d won this argument, but that was all he was going to get from me for now. Truthfully, I would lose again and again if it meant he would kiss me with the same adoration, but that was a secret better kept close. “Where’s Raskol?” The question was innocent enough. Law had no way of knowing the tearing hurt he’d just released in my chest. I tried to dismount and crawl away, but Law held me firmly, his fingers digging into my thighs. “Nami?” Law pressed. “Where is Raskol?” “He’s dead.” The words felt like slugs in my mouth. “Morris killed him—

or may as well have. He had his right arm, Becca Riley, do it.” Minutes passed where neither of us said a word. Law held me, stroking my back, and I allowed myself to be comforted. I allowed myself to feel sorrow. I’d felt nothing save guilt the past week. Sorrow is for people who deserve to be sad. Comfort is for those with the right to feel better. I didn’t grant myself either, because Raskol’s death was on me. Riley may have murdered him, but it was my fault he was in that situation in the first place. Still, lying with Law, I allowed myself a bit of sorrow and a bit of comfort. As the hour passed, I even allowed myself to forget.

“Nami?” Law asked. “Yes?” I responded, fiddling with the small tufts of hair on his pectorals. As far as men go, I supposed he was a fine specimen. His abdomen and chest were sculpted like finely hewn marble. His chin could cut glass. My gaze roamed across his body, stopping just short of the sheet that covered his groin. His beauty was undeniable, but it was more than that; his body was like condensed power, each bulge and rivet a reminder of the damage he packed. Even so, I felt safe with him. Law’s body was another reminder of the discipline he carried, unlike Morris, who was untrained and had relied on brute strength and testosterone to pin me

down. The tan valleys and peaks of Law’s hard packs of muscle showed the discipline and respect he had for himself, the discipline and respect he’d shown with me. He also had brilliant cognac eyes that would catch your breath by the sheer color of them. True to Law’s personality, though, they were always shrouded under his thick, determining brow. I rarely saw his eyes without that shadow. Right now, he looked at me, gaze furrowed and hazel eyes obscured. I lay down on his body, trying to get a better look at those eyes. Resting my chin on his chest, I frowned back at him. “What? What are you thinking?” For the first time in months I felt content,

yet Law’s shadowed brow hung over me like a raincloud on a summer day. “I love you,” Law replied. Boom goes the dynamite. I sat up, feeling like fire ants had infested our tranquil couch. Reaching for the entirety of the blankets, I covered up. I turned away, choosing to stare at a banal painting instead of Law’s face. Law’s rigid, unrelenting face. “Nami—” “Law, no.” I shook my head, still focusing on the knockoff Garden at Giverny across from me. It had been a gift from my mom. “Why did you have to ruin this?” I asked, turning my head slightly. I could see Law sitting up in my peripheral, his

naked body like a stone statue from the Parthenon. “I didn’t think telling you I loved you would ruin anything.” “Law… I can’t…” I jumped up and quickly threw on some clothes: a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and some snow boots. “Nami, what are you doing?” Law asked, his voice smooth and level, the exact opposite of how I felt. “I’m leaving.” I looked around, desperately searching for my keys. Why the fuck didn’t I keep them in one place instead of throwing them to God knows where the minute I got home? “This is your place.” I shrugged at his response. So what if I paid the rent?

It didn’t make it “my” place. A house is not a home and all that crap. A home is a place where you sleep in a bed, not on the couch. A home is a place with warmth. A home is a place where a dog greets you. I had a place where I could drink and sometimes fall asleep without a gun under my pillow. Sometimes. Bingo! I found my keys under the rug, because that makes perfect sense. Why wouldn’t I keep my keys under the rug? I snatched them up like they were gold. “If you could lock up when you leave, I’d appreciate it.” I ran out, closing the door behind me quickly. Fuck, he loved me? How could he love

me when I didn’t even know who “me” was any more?

The sun was up, letting me know I’d lost another night to my fretful,

frenzied thoughts. The night had been spent wearing holes in the floor as I’d paced back and forth. Avoiding mirrors and reflective surfaces. Trying (and failing) to avoid my own thoughts. I’d arrived home at three in the morning and Law was gone. He’d locked up and even cleaned up. It was almost as if he had never been there— except I knew he had been; his presence was more than physical now. He loved me? He loved me. It was impossible, but he’d said it. He’d said he loved me. Taking another lap around the apartment, I bypassed the couch. It was tainted…tainted by Law. Marked with

sweat and sex and emotion. I could still picture how he’d held me. I could see the way he drove me to oblivion and brought me back, made me feel safe. I could still see the image of us, absorbed by each other. I saw us unmistakably, the moment he told me he loved me. I couldn’t use the couch and the bed was still off limits. Slowly my world was being destroyed by a plague I couldn’t fight: memory. Plunking down on the armchair in my apartment, I flipped the card Law had given me in my hand. The embossed “Matthew Jameson” caught glimpses of light, refracting the silver letters as I turned it through my fingers. I’d promised Law I would call him, but that was before he’d

said he loved me. Did the fact that he loved me negate my promise, or did it bind me further? Sighing, I got up to make myself some stale toast, but Matthew Jameson, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, rubbed roughly against my finger. I looked into my dingy, lonesome kitchen and then back down at the business card demanding my attention. The printed ink said he was currently working at The Salt Lake Times. I nearly set the card down, my hand hovering right above the table, but instead I picked up my keys and left. The receptionist perked up when she saw me walk through the doors. She might have said hello, but I ignored her

and went directly to the elevators. If things didn’t work out with Jameson, I didn’t want there to be a record or a witness to my visit. I scanned the board on the wall that listed the names and departments in the building. Floor eleven, Salt Lake Times. After searching for Jameson on the internet, I had seen plenty of pictures of him. He had the same all-American looks Morris did. I was trying not to let that bother me. Floor eleven was nothing like you saw in the movies. No one was running around looking for some big lead, reporters weren’t talking fast and furiously. In fact, it was rather boring. Cubicles filled the room and offices

dotted the walls. I walked down the rows, looking inside the cubicles and offices, hoping to spot Jameson. I was about to give up when I reached the last office of the floor. Nestled between the bathroom and the water cooler was a small office. The plaque read Matthew Jameson. Without knocking, I entered. Jameson sat behind a medium-sized black desk. Behind him a window showed the Salt Lake City skyline. It would have been a nice view, if not for the smog. “Who are you?” Jameson asked, sitting up slightly from his desk. “I have a story for you,” I replied, getting right to the point. “Law said you could help me.”

Jameson shut his laptop and quirked a brow. “Law? Nick Law?” “Nick? Who’s—oh, Law. Yes, Nick sent me.” I’d honestly forgotten that Law had a first name. From the moment I’d met Law—or Nick—he was never anything but Law. The unyielding ridges of his face combined with his tacit yet forceful nature meant he was, and would never be anything but, Law. Jameson beckoned for me to sit in the lone chair of his office. I folded my arms in response. “Suit yourself,” he said. “What kind of story?” I eyed Jameson. He was dressed simply. Wearing a blue buttonup shirt and a single silver band on his left ring finger, he looked harmless. But

then so had Morris. His hair was cut short, shorter than Law’s. It was possible that his hairline was receding, but it was hard to tell at the length he wore it. “I need to know I can trust you first,” I explained, my voice a tad saltier than it should have been. Jameson laughed lightly, shuffling papers around on his desk like it was any other day and I was just some person bringing a story about nothing. “You came to me,” Jameson pointed out. “I can’t write a story I don’t know.” I exhaled and unfolded my arms. “It’s about Mitch Morris.” All humor drained from Jameson’s

face. “As in Senator Mitch Morris?” I shrugged. “The one and only.” Jameson leaned forward on his desk, face scrutinizing. “What about him?” I laughed, the motion hurting my chest. “It’s not good.” “I assumed as much,” Jameson said soberly. “What’s the story?” “That’s all I’m going to tell you until I’m sure you’ll write the story.” Jameson ran his hand over his skull-trimmed hair, regarding me with pained curiosity. “I can’t promise to write a story I don’t know. No one will.” I tapped my foot on the carpet. It was so thin it was like tapping concrete. The entire floor was cheap. The carpet

was thin and blue, the walls were painted a poor eggshell, and the windows were unclean. Jameson stood out, his face sincere. I wanted to tell him my story, but I’d been burned so many times I basically had my own bed at the burn ward. “Don’t you recognize me?” I asked him. Jameson shook his head. “Should I?” “Where have you been this past year?” I snapped. “Gaza,” Jameson replied bluntly. “Covering the civil unrest and election.” “Oh…” I wasn’t used to being unknown. “Well, maybe you should search Nami DeGrace and then get back

to me.” “Look, I don’t play games, Miss DeGrace, is it?” Jameson tapped a finger, his turn to be annoyed. “Either tell me what you’ve got or leave.” I’m sure I seemed like a fool, a bumbling mess to Jameson. He had no idea that my actions weren’t foolish, but learned caution. I’d discovered months ago that no one wanted to tell my story. Instead they would spin their own. My real story was contagion. “I don’t play games either, Jameson. This isn’t just any story to me. It’s my life. So I’m not going to give it away to just anyone.” I paused and reached for a pen and paper from his desk. “This is my number. Text me if you

decide you want to take this on.” Feeling somewhat empowered after talking to Jameson, I decided to get my hair cut. I hadn’t had a cut in months, not since the rape. Morris had used scissors to cut off my clothes, so I’d been understandably wary of scissors, but now I was going to face my fear. I pulled open the tall glass door decorated with vinyl appliqués and made my way to the check-in desk. I had an appointment for 2 pm and was a solid fifteen minutes early. There were three people ahead of me to check in. As I waited, I took in the salon. Workers were easily noticeable because they had to dress in black from

head to toe. I figured it was meant to look chic, but in reality they looked like they were going to a funeral. My eyes traveled the length of the spa before landing back at the check-in desk. I did a double-take when I saw Effie. Effie, who I’d known since third grade. Effie, who’d done my makeup for our high school prom. Effie who had let me borrow her dresses and even her underwear. Effie whose parents were like surrogates. Effie, who had completely stopped answering my calls when the media reported my rape, was working at the check-in desk. I felt frozen to my spot. There were two women working the check-in, Effie

and another, older-looking woman. I had seen Effie, so Effie must have seen me. What would we say to each other? It had been months. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe her phone had gotten disconnected. Maybe she had fallen down a well and had to live off of rats. I kept trying to get her to look at me. I stared, willing her to look my way. It was as if some magical force was keeping her eyes from mine. There wasn’t a magical force, of course, it was just Effie. Effie refusing to look at me. As the minutes ticked on, it appeared to me like Effie was putting on a play. Her smile was exaggerated. Her laugh was just a little too loud, and the

way she touched her coworkers wasn’t out of affection, but to make a point. The point she was making was that she didn’t need me. That she was happy without me. The woman beside her called me up. I walked forward like a zombie, still watching Effie. “What’s your name?” the woman asked. “It’s Nami. I have a two o’clock appointment.” I watched Effie, expecting her to look up at my name. She stared at a stack of papers, either entranced or willingly oblivious. I frowned, turning back to the woman. “What was that?” “I said you can go have a seat and we’ll call you when we’re ready,” the

woman said, smiling. “Thanks…” I trailed off, walking toward the waiting area. Effie still didn’t look at me. Back when the media was tearing me apart, I had wished for invisibility. Now, as I made my way back without so much as a glance from my (former) best friend, I realized I had wished for the wrong thing. Leaving the salon gave me new perspective. Seeing Effie made me realize the torch I’d been carrying for our friendship needed to burn out. I didn’t know if I would ever get over the way she’d abandoned me, or if I would ever stop wishing she would call me and say she was sorry and wanted to be

friends again. We were sisters, and you didn’t simply stop thinking about your sister. Seeing Effie did make me realize, though, that I had a person in my life who kept trying to be a part of it. Who even said he loved me. Law. I kept knocking him away. Out of fear. I realized if I kept pushing maybe a day would come when he wouldn’t push back. So I summoned my newfound clarity, and a little bit of courage I got from my new haircut, and drove to his hotel. I rode the elevator up, trying to keep the new courage on the forefront. It was the middle of the afternoon and the hallway was empty. Nerves wracked my body like electric shocks.

Maybe he wasn’t there. What did Law do, anyway? Besides follow me, that is. He said he worked for GEM and did shady stuff with politics. Before that he had worked for the FBI. There was a good chance he wasn’t home. It was the middle of the day, after all, and guys like Law didn’t sit at home doing nothing. That thought nearly had me spinning around on my heels, but I powered through. I reached his room and knocked on his door, willing my body to stay put. Law said he loved me, and there was a chance that I loved him back. Sounds were amplified through my anxiety. The sound of footsteps. The sound of the door unlocking. I heard them all through a megaphone. Still, I

stayed. It had taken seeing my “best friend” to realize how good Law had been to me. It was time to confront my fears. When the door opened, I was going to sit down and talk to him. I was going to have a real talk. I was prepared to apologize for kicking him out. I was prepared to tell him I wanted to work on whatever was happening between us, because it was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. Then the door opened. And I died. Okay, I didn’t die, but it sure felt like it, because the person on the other side of the door was death incarnate. Wearing a scythe, a black hooded cape,

and Louboutins, Becca Riley was the last person I expected to see. Quickly, I double-checked the room number. Did I have the right room? Yes, I did. Riley looked almost as surprised to see me as I did her. I was about to say something when I heard Law’s voice. “Who’s at the door?” Who’s at the door? I’m at the door, the woman you supposedly loved! I couldn’t stop staring at Riley. I had knocked on Law’s door expecting him, expecting the man I might love. Instead I got the Devil’s girl Friday. My brain was short-circuiting. The wires were fraying. It all happened so quickly I couldn’t control it. I felt nauseated and then the bile rose up, stinging my throat.

Then the bile exited my mouth, landing all over Becca Riley’s thousand-dollar pantsuit. I couldn’t even appreciate what had happened, because I was too hurt. Too betrayed. “What the fuck?” Riley screamed, looking at her now soiled suit. How had I let this happen? I had known from the beginning he was working for Morris, but I had let him convince me otherwise. I had been swayed by his pretty words, and maybe a little by his pretty face. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three and four and five times? Well fuck. “What’s going on—Nami?” Law came up behind Riley, looking like a

deer caught in headlights. I could see the cogs turning in his head as he prepared some kind of explanation for me. I didn’t want to hear it. I put my hand up, signaling him to stop. “She fucking threw up on me!” Riley bellowed, making obnoxious hand gestures at her suit. My brain told me to run away, to sprint from this horrible revelation and get as far away as possible. I was done running, though. I turned and walked away from them, refusing to go any faster than normal. I was through running away from bad people. They were the bad ones, not me. I had done nothing save exist. “Nami, wait!” Law called after me.

I nearly stopped, turned around, and ran back to him. His arms offered the only comfort I’d known in months and I wanted to feel that. Lifting my foot to continue on my way was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It felt like gravity was conspiring against me. When I reached the stairway, I pushed the heavy metal door open and let it clang shut behind me. Then I fell to the floor and cried. Tears hadn’t stained many pillows since my rape. I kept them locked tight inside of me. It had been the same way after my parents died. It was as if crying acknowledged their death. To me, crying was acknowledging the pain and giving

credence to the event. Now I lay on the couch, not even giving a fuck that it reminded me of Law. Everything reminded me of Law. Everything reminded me of Morris. There was no running from reminders when the people who had planted the memories walked around in broad daylight, proud of their ruination. Staring at the ceiling, tears flowed freely from my lids. I was broken. Congratulations, Mitch Morris, you broke me. Congratulations, Nick Law, you stomped on the broken pieces. Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson’s “Winter Song” played quietly in the background, the melancholy tune and lyrics a match to my soul.

Some days I wished I believed in God. I figured if I believed in God then I could ascribe some kind of purpose to the pain. I could believe that there was some person out there watching me and thinking “Yep, this is all for a reason.” Without God, I didn’t have that safety. I didn’t have that security. I had to navigate the waters on my own. And it totally sucked. I imagined the people who had faith could relinquish some of the pain. On days when it became too unbearable, they could say “God has a plan for me” and the pain would lessen. I couldn’t do that. I had to lie on my couch and stare at the ceiling, knowing that beyond the chipped plaster there was nothing

watching me. And that totally sucked. I had tried to believe in God, I really, really did. When Christianity didn’t work out, I tried to be Jewish. I went through all the Judeo-Christian religions: Catholicism, Protestantism, Judaism, and even Islam. When none of them felt right, I read the Bible. Because maybe the Bible held all the secrets that the pastors and priests and imams just couldn’t grasp. Did you know there’s a section of the Bible where a rape victim gets cut up into twelve pieces and sent to the twelve tribes of Jerusalem? That was the punishment for the rapist, to cut up the victim. Yeah, well, suffice it to say, after

that story I couldn’t keep reading the Bible. After the Bible failed, I tried other religions. Wicca, Buddhism, and the like. Nothing stuck. I just didn’t feel that moment that people feel. That “a ha” moment where they know someone is out there. When you talk to a person of faith there’s a resolute and unwavering dedication that can only come from some kind of certainty. I never got that. Not with Christianity and not with Satanism. So now I lay on my bed and stared at the uneven grooves in my ceiling, wondering what could possibly be the purpose for a person like me.

I drove home from my weekly trip to Tony’s feeling queasy. The tears had

stopped but I still tasted them on my lips, a salty reminder of how far I’d sunk. Law had been texting me non-stop. On more than one occasion I readied my finger to block him, but then stopped. So my phone sat in a cup holder, buzzing like a wasp. Now, I stared at a green light, knowing I needed to drive. Cars were honking and I was causing a traffic jam. I couldn’t bear to go home, though. It was so empty. Raskol wasn’t there to greet me. I couldn’t afford heat so it almost felt colder inside than it did outside. I hadn’t gone to work in weeks. Paychecks had stopped coming because they don’t pay you if you don’t work; go figure. My house was not a home, it was

a prison. I was locked inside with my thoughts. I was trapped with my demons. I was jailed with my memories. “What the fuck are you doing?” someone yelled out their window as they zoomed past me. I was still stopped at the light. “Bitch!” another yelled, their middle finger jutting out. Just as the light was about to turn red, I zoomed through. I quickly pulled into the parking lot of a yogurt shop, about to hyperventilate. Even though I was parked, my car was still on. I knew it was bad for the environment, but I couldn’t focus on anything. My phone was buzzing, a reminder of the betrayal that was still fresh like a

knife in my side. I had always suspected Law…but I would have been lying if I’d said I hadn’t started developing feelings despite that. My head fell on the steering wheel as the weight of everything became too much to bear. A knock sounded at my window and I jumped, turning to see who it was. My heart fluttered, the traitorous thing, as I thought it could be Law. Even though his knife was still firmly in my back, I wanted to see him. How pathetic was I? 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. Or…and this was the thought that

kept me up at night…what if I had gotten raped and now saw what the world didn’t want me to see? What if this was how it had always been, but it took trauma to force the false reality away? Lies on top of lies on top of more lies. People who lied with no rhyme or reason. People who lied simply because they could. I gulped, suppressing my fears and tears, and pressed my ear against the door once more. “He got married and had a baby,” Jameson said. “Fuck, Nick. I didn’t know this is what you meant when you said you had a story you were sending me. If I report on this I’ll be ostracized —” Jameson was abruptly cut off. I heard shuffling and then the sound of a

large weight being thrown against the wall. “You’re weak,” Law growled. “What kind of example are you setting for your baby? You have a duty to the republic. You’re supposed to be keeping the politicians in check. I expect to see this shit in the papers.” “Don’t tell me what to do Law,” Jameson growled back. “Don’t make me tell you what to do! Grow a pair and do it on your own!” What sounded like a slam followed Law’s words, and then silence. I kept my ear pressed to the door for another minute, but neither said a word. When I heard shuffling of feet, I quickly turned and walked away. I no longer wanted to

meet with Jameson, at least not then. There was too much to think about. As I made my way to the elevator, my mind was reeling. If Law was working with Morris, then why would he want my story out? I had been certain he was working for Morris. Everything pointed to that. His clandestine meetings with Becca were just the cherry on top of the shit sundae. So why say he loved me? Why help get my story out? I skipped the elevator and took the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Law was a liar, that much was clear. In my experience, people only lie when they either have something to hide or when they want something done. Neither scenario ends up well for the

person being lied to who, in this instance, is me. I waited outside the building until I saw Jameson leave. After months of following Morris, I’d gotten pretty good at tailing people. Four hours after the confrontation with Law, Jameson left the building. He boarded the metro and I followed the train for ten stops. Jameson walked a few blocks until he arrived at a quaint brick house with a picket fence. A fucking picket fence. I hopped out of my car and rounded on him before he could reach the front door. “Jameson,” I said to his back. He jumped, startled, and turned around. I wasn’t totally certain of my plan, but

Jameson was mixed up in my shit. He very clearly had ties to the Mormon church, and even more clearly, Law. It was obvious now that Law was twat monkey number one in my life. If Jameson had any answers to questions that needed answering, I was going to find out. Or, I was going to silence him before he did something destructive. “Miss DeGrace?” Jameson asked, turning around to face me. “What are you doing here?” “What the hell are you planning?” I spat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jameson set his briefcase down and gave me a curious look.

“I know who you’re working for,” I replied. I was getting pretty sick of all the confrontations. It was like my life had devolved into a shitty film noir. Still, it seemed like it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. Not as long as Morris lived and breathed, anyway. Jameson squinted, pretending to be confused. “I repeat,” Jameson said. “What are you talking about?” “Cut the shit, Jameson.” Jameson folded his arms, sighing. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t report your story. I can give you a list of others who might be able to, but I’ll be honest, they probably won’t.” I opened my mouth to respond when I heard the voice of a

person I’d hoped had fallen into a well. “Nami?” I spun around, glaring at Law. “Why are you here?” When I’d seen him leave The Times, it had taken all of my willpower not to run up and demand an explanation, or shove him into an open manhole. Why me? Why didn’t he just leave me alone? Why did he choose me to torment? My heart burned at the mere thought of him. Why had he made me fall for him? “I could ask you the same thing,” Law said. My eyes widened in surprise and then anger. “I have a perfectly good reason to be here,” I said, indignation burning my tongue. I looked at the both of them,

scoffed, and walked down the porch steps to leave. I felt dirty, having fallen for their tricks, but at least I could say I wouldn’t fall for them again. “Wait.” Law grabbed my arm as I walked past him. I tried to shake him off but he wouldn’t let me budge. “You need to let me explain, Nami. Last night wasn’t what it looked like.” I glowered up at Law’s gorgeous amber eyes. I hated that even now he made me ache. The memory of our sex was still burned in my soul. Just looking at him I remembered the way he felt on my skin and tasted on my lips. I hated him for lying, but I hated myself so much more for falling for it. I’d let myself go thinking Law would catch me, and

instead I’d landed on more jagged rocks. Even more so, I hated myself for continuing to clutch on to the feelings. As if Law’s betrayal wasn’t still fresh and bloody, there was a part that clung to the cliff he’d thrown me off. I was such a fool. Looking away, I scoffed. “So Becca Riley wasn’t in your room?” “No,” Law said steadily. “She was.” I yanked my arm free from his grasp. “Then it was exactly what it looked like.” “Okay guys…” I snapped my head back to Jameson, having forgotten he was even there. When Law was near, it was like we were in vortex of our own

making. “Clearly you have something going on. Maybe you should work it out. Feel free to use my lawn, of course.” Jameson picked up his briefcase and unlocked the front door, leaving Law and me alone in the freezing Utah air. “I’m not through with you…you…” I snapped at Jameson’s back, trying to think of the perfect insult, but fell flat. In truth, he’d been better than any reporter before him. He’d simply refused to take my story. That was better than twisting my words and making me appear wanton and ruthless. So he wasn’t brave; there were much worse things to be in the world than cowardly. I knew firsthand how difficult it was to go up against Senator

Mitch Morris. I exhaled, defeated, as Jameson shut the door on us. “Nami,” Law said gently, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “Please, just let me explain.” I loathed that I still craved his touch. For those few seconds, the gentle way he caressed my cheek was enough to make me forget myself. It was enough to make me forget his betrayal. “Honestly, Law,” I said, breaking the spell he had on me. “There is nothing you can say that will make me trust you again.” Law might have had my heart in a vice grip, but I would never trust him again. He held my heart captive, and that was very different than me giving it to him freely. I would never willingly give myself up to him. I’d made that mistake

once and I wouldn’t do it again. As I pushed myself past him, Law said to my back, “What if I told you Becca Riley is on your side?”

“I would say you’re fucking crazy.” I spun around immediately. Did he think

I was a complete imbecile? “She made up the stories about me. She murdered my dog!” I marched back up to Law. He was a full head taller than me but I stuck my chin out and stood tall. I would not be taken advantage of any more. No more lies. No more deceit. He wasn’t going to trick me. “Did you forget that Law?” I pressed. “Did you forget that she threw Raskol over the side of a mountain?” “I can’t do this here,” Law said, looking sideways. “Can you come to my hotel room?” I folded my arms. “How stupid do you think I am? Never mind, don’t answer that.” History wasn’t in my favor. Law probably thought I was a

gullible idiot. I wasn’t going to fall for this, though. Becca Riley was on my side? He had a better shot of getting me to believe that the moon was made of cheese. I told him as much. “Nami,” Law said. “If you ever trusted me, if you ever felt anything for me, you will come with me now. Please.” I frowned, his words affecting me more than I would have liked. The air was a frigid, bitter cold. I hadn’t worn a jacket, not expecting to be outside long. The wind blew with precise ice, burning the tip of my nose and cheeks. Still, I would rather freeze in the gray-white world than be duped and betrayed again. My heart just couldn’t take it.

“Nami,” Law said again. “I know you feel for me. Maybe not as much as I feel for you—” I laughed bitterly, cutting off whatever he was about to say. How dare he assume my feelings, but more so, how dare he say he felt more than I did? “Love is an action, Law, and you’ve acted with lies.” I waved my hand at him. “You know what? I don’t even know why I’m bothering. It’s like trying to explain morals to Hannibal Lector.” I rubbed my temples, my fingers numb in the cold air. “Nami please.” Law gripped my hands with his. “I promise if you don’t like what I have to tell you, I will leave. I will leave Salt Lake City and never come back.”

I stared at my hands. They looked so small encompassed in his. For a moment, I felt warm. For a moment, I felt safe. I let myself be comforted by his promise and pleas, but then I came back to reality. Slowly, I slid my hands out. “How can I be sure you won’t break that promise, too?” I asked. Laws brows crinkled, as if thinking, and then he pulled out his phone. He typed something into it before returning it to his pocket. “Done,” he said. “Done?” I asked incredulously. I nearly shrugged him off but then I felt my own phone buzz. “I sent you my contact at GEM,” Law explained. “What I’m about to tell

you will get me fired. I’ll have no choice but to leave Salt Lake City.” Keeping my stare pinned on Law, I felt the outline of my phone over my jeans. Partially satisfied, I removed my hand and lifted my arm, gesturing toward the street. “Lead the way.” Law walked past my outstretched arm and to his car. When he reached his car, he opened the door for me, but I shook my head. “I’m not getting in a car with you. I’ll follow.” As Law started his car and pulled off the curb, I contemplated turning around and driving home. I thought about driving past my home and out of the state. I could drive until I reached the end of the world. I wouldn’t have to face what Law had in store for me. I wouldn’t

have to be Nami DeGrace any more. The rape wouldn’t have happened. My world wouldn’t have been shattered, and I never would have tried to put the pieces back together. I never would have cut myself with the shards. Instead I followed Law, because as much as I wanted to disappear, I wanted to see clearly more. I wanted the fog on the glass to fade and I wanted the world to show me its face, even if it was ugly. I was done with secrets and I was done with lies. There was always going to be that part of me that wanted to run and hide, but I didn’t want that part to own me. I wanted to scream so loud that it was tattooed on the ears of humanity that Nami DeGrace could handle anything

that was thrown at her. And I was starting with Law. Law pulled into his hotel parking lot and I followed. We were silent as we entered the elevator and our silence continued when we reached his floor. Memories flooded me as we walked down the hallway. I remembered all that Law had done for me. I couldn’t help but remember how he’d taken care of me when I was hurt, how he’d bathed me and treated me so well. I remembered all he’d shared with me. How much of that had been true? How much had been lies? Maybe I would never know. Law placed his keycard over the lock and I braced myself for yet another reality.

“Becca Riley was raped by Mitch Morris,” Law said, keeping his stare on me. I blinked a few times and shifted my position on the chair I’d been sitting on for fifteen minutes. After coming inside his room, Law had offered me a drink. I’d declined. Since then we’d sat quietly, neither daring to break the calm. Everything was the same about the room. The same plush wingback chairs. The same pale yellow glow from the lamps. The same charming paintings stuck to the wall. Everything was the same, until he said that. How was I supposed to respond? Part of me wanted to deny it, to say that he was lying and making it up. I nearly did, too. I nearly called him out and said

he was making it up and Becca Riley wasn’t raped. I had my mouth open, ready to call her a liar and a— A what? A whore? What everyone else had called me? “What does that have to do with me?” I finally asked. Let’s say I could believe Morris had raped her; well, that still left me with a crapload of other questions. Like, why me? Why didn’t she help me? Why did she fucking murder Raskol? “I think Becca can answer that question best.” Law looked away. “What do you—” I stopped dead as Becca emerged from the adjoining room. I’d never paid the door any mind,

because it was always locked and I’d assumed the other room was locked as well. Mistake. Apparently the room next to his was filled with vipers of the Riley species. “What the fuck is this?” I exclaimed, standing up and out of my chair. “Nami, please let me explain,” Riley said, reaching a hand out to me as she stepped farther into the room. “Don’t you fucking talk to me!” I looked from Riley to Law and back to Riley, disbelief racking my body. “What the hell is this?” “Law has been helping me for a few years, ever since he got assigned to Morris,” Riley explained.

“What?” I sputtered, looking at them both again. “Is this why you had me come? So you could both attack me?” “No.” Law’s voice was smooth as velvet, but I wouldn’t be soothed. “I needed you to understand, and this was the only way.” “Why did you kill Raskolnikov?” Ignoring Law, I shot at Riley. She looked at Law, confusion marring her features. “Her dog,” Law explained. “My dog?” I wanted to scream. He wasn’t just a dog. He was my best friend, and she had brutally thrown him over the side of a mountain. I was supposed to play nice with her now because Morris had raped her as well? Morris had raped me and I didn’t go

throwing dogs over the sides of mountains. “My dog, Law?” I twisted around, furiously looking for something to either throw or grab on to. “My fucking dog, Law? You knew my ‘dog’ and that’s all you have to say? My ‘dog’?” Law reached for my arms, trying to bring me close, but I pulled away so frantically I hit him in the lip. The bit of blood that started to fall didn’t feel like enough. It wasn’t enough of a sacrifice for Raskol. Law wiped his lip and addressed me calmly. “Of course it wasn’t just your dog, Nami. But…” Law trailed off as Riley started to cry, tears falling from her lids in big splotches. Her face grew

red and the composed monster that had haunted my dreams evaporated before my eyes. “Morris was watching me that day, Nami!” Riley was full on crying and I didn’t know what to believe. “I had no choice! I didn’t want to do it! He was in the car below. He told me to kill your dog or…” “Or what, Becca?” I spat out the words because they tasted bitter, like cocoa without the added sugar. “Or he would finish it himself!” Becca threw her hands out as if she were offering something. I didn’t want anything she had to give. “So why didn’t you let him?” I demanded. “Why did you murder my

dog? I would have rather you let him do whatever he had planned for me!” “You don’t know what that entails,” Riley screamed, throwing herself to the ground. She started punching herself in the head, her tiny fists making big sounds against her skull. I watched, horrified, as the woman I’d come to know as a super villain in pantsuits ripped at her hair and repeatedly hit herself in the face. Law bent to the ground and tried to restrain Becca. “He makes me watch. He makes me watch as he does it to other girls. I couldn’t watch any more!” “You should have gone to the police,” I said without thinking. Law shot me a knowing glare. Of course she couldn’t go to the police. It would have

ended the way it had with me. How many women had Morris reduced to rubble like Becca? “What do you think we’ve been working on these past years, Nami?” Law asked, irritation lacing his words. Becca calmed in his arms, her rapid breathing stilled, and she looked at me with red, glassy eyes. “I wish I could take it back. There’s so much I wish I could take back, Nami,” Becca said. “I don’t know who I am any more. Once upon a time I was an anthropologist. Now all I think about is Morris. He consumes me.” Becca crumbled into herself. The only evidence of her sobs the shaking of her body. “I’m so sick of deceit, Law.” I

rubbed a hand to my forehead. “I’m sick of all of this. Why?” “It started out…” Law faltered as Becca heaved in his arms. Carefully he picked her up and brought her to his bed. When she was safely under his covers, he turned his attention back to me. “When we started out, you didn’t trust me.” I glared past him to Becca in his bed. It wasn’t jealousy I felt, but disconcertion. Was that how he saw me? “So you lied?” I scoffed, trying to change the subject in my mind. “Surefire way to gain my trust. Is anything you’ve told me true? Is your name even Nick Law?” “I didn’t think you would listen to me if you knew how close I was to

Becca.” Law glanced back at her, sleeping fitfully under his covers. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was help you, Nami. From the minute I met you. But you’re like a feral cat. If I show too much love, you run away.” Before I could blink Law was near me, only inches away. I could almost feel the smooth fabric of his sweater; I could definitely smell his heady aroma. If I didn’t act quickly I would get lost in him. Again. “You want to help me?” I yelled, inflamed. “Then stop lying to me! I don’t know up from down any more. Who even are you?” I spun around so I didn’t have to see his penetrating amber gaze. I forced my focus on the small knick in the

Anaglypta wallpaper. “You know me, Nami!” Law grabbed me by the forearms and forced me against his chest. “I’m Huck. I’m Law. You know me.” Didn’t he see the irony in his statement? He was two people, but I knew him as one? I shook my head, but still let myself be warmed by his embrace. I let myself fall comfort to his breathing against my back. His arms encircled me and I was safe again. “We can leave,” Law murmured against my neck, his lips light shadows against the skin. “I have enough money to live for ten centuries.” All at once I felt dead inside, like rotten seaweed drying on the beach. I pulled away slowly, losing his warmth like daylight is lost to

the night. “I don’t want him to win,” I uttered robotically. “The only way he wins is if you let him win,” Law pleaded to my back. “Forget about him, live your life happily.” “It’s not that easy.” I yanked away completely. “I’m nothing now. I’m lower than dirt because he made me that way. It wasn’t enough to use me; he had to tarnish me. I used to think I wanted him dead or in pain. Now I don’t know what I want any more.” Dead. Pain. It all felt so futile, so meaningless. I wanted something meaningful for Morris. Something like what I’d had to deal with. Death was too finite. Pain was too

unpredictable. I wanted his brain utterly ravaged. I placed my head in my hands. What had I become? Night had fallen and I was still at the hotel with Law. Becca had long since fallen asleep, her sobs lulling her into a fretful slumber. I watched her, her troubled sleeping apparent even from underneath Law’s bed sheets. Law sat on the hotel desk and I leaned against the wall, the space between us feeling much bigger than a few feet of carpet. “Are you and Becca sleeping together?” I asked, watching Becca’s uneven breaths move the covers up and down.

“No.” “Did you ever?” I turned my attention from Becca to Law. “No.” I folded my arms. “How did you two come to know each other?” “I was assigned to Morris two years ago. It was around the time Becca Riley was hired as an assistant. Part of my job is to watch Morris. One night I saw Becca leaving the campaign offices looking shaken. Her clothes were a mess, her face was distraught, and she had bruises. I didn’t need to see much more to know what had happened.” “Because of your job at the FBI,” I mumbled. “Because of my job at the FBI.”

“That doesn’t explain how you started working together.” Running a hand through my hair, I looked back at Riley. What a mess. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a sick thought popped into my head: It was easier when I thought they’d betrayed me. “I knew Morris was a slime ball when he agreed to take the bribe GEM offered, but I didn’t know how far it went,” Law explained. “Becca went to the police that night and they ignored her just as they did you. Except instead of fighting back with the media like you did, Becca went back to work. I approached her a week later.” “Just like that?” I turned back to Law.

“No,” Law said. “After he raped her again, I offered to help bring him down.” I sighed, hating that I felt sorry for Becca. It had been so much simpler when she was the terrible villain in my story. What Morris had done didn’t change her actions. She’d destroyed my reputation and she’d murdered Raskol. Still, her life hadn’t been easy, and the more I learned about her, the more I pitied her. The more I pitied her, the harder it was to hate her. “So what am I?” I asked quietly. “You were a complication in the beginning.” Law stood up off the desk and moved toward me. “Riley and I have been compiling a case to bring to the FBI to prove Morris is a serial rapist,

has committed fraud, and has used public funds to hide his crimes, among other things. If the local authorities wouldn’t take it seriously, then we were going to make the federal authorities believe her. I started following you to keep you from getting too close. Then I got too close.” Law kneeled before me, trying to catch my eye, but I looked away. “I can’t believe this.” I looked over Law’s head and at Becca, who was now tossing and turning. “Riley ruined my life. She killed my dog. She isn’t a good person.” “Becca is a product of her environment. In order to get the information we needed, she had to go

deep. She had to disappear. The Becca I met two years ago is dead.” “So I should feel sorry for her?” I snapped, feeling angry. “She did unspeakable things to you,” Law replied. “Maybe you don’t feel sorry for her. Maybe you just understand the way she is.” “Well did you guys get what you needed? Is Morris going to jail?” I finally looked at Law. His cognac eyes were muddied and tired. His five o’clock shadow had grown past the hour hand and was full on scruff. I couldn’t think about his pain, though, because mine was blinding. I needed him to say yes, Morris was going to jail. All of it had to be for a reason. Riley had to have

self-destructed, destroying me in her wake, for a reason. Instead, Law shook his head slowly. I laughed, feeling broken. “Why am I not surprised?” I stood up off the wall. Even though I stood slowly, I felt lightheaded. Maybe it was the blood rushing from my head, or maybe it was having my world rocked to its core yet again. Law gently grabbed my wrist. “Please, just stay the night.” “How can I stay the night with Becca asleep on the bed?” “She isn’t staying,” Law said, tightening his hold on my wrist. “She’ll go home, otherwise Morris will get suspicious.”

“I believe you,” I said. My eyes dropped to his hold on my wrist. I did believe him, I did. I believed everything about him and Becca and Morris. It was horrible and ugly, so of course it was true. “I believe you, Law, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.” I gently peeled his hand from my wrist and turned to go. When I left, I didn’t look back; I couldn’t. His amber eyes would melt my resolve, and right then I needed to be strong. I’d said I wanted the truth, but I hadn’t known it would hurt more than the lies.

In my mind I saw an intricate web. In the beginning it was only three fibers:

me, Morris, and my mission to destroy him. Enter Law: enigmatic, mysterious, and a bit of a dick. What I thought to be a just a single strand turned out to be the spider. Law wove the reality around me. I tried to disentangle the web, but it was too vast and convoluted. Where one strand ended, four others began. I huffed, turning on my side, and pulled the blanket tight around my shoulders. It was three in the morning, hours after I’d left Law at his hotel, but my mind was reeling. Once again I was thinking back to the beginning. This time I wasn’t thinking about Morris, though. I was thinking about Law. He’d never been anything but kind to me. Even when I was an utter shit to

him, he’d treated me gently. He’d listened to me. He’d seemed to know what was wrong even before I did. He’d saved my life. Even when I was at my most vulnerable, he’d never taken advantage of me. Law was perfect, except for, you know, one tiny problem: Law lied. About everything. Law lied about his job. Law lied about the company he kept. Law lied and lied and lied until he was wrapped so comfortably in his lies that they became his reality. His lies even shaped the reality of those around him. Unfortunately, I was around him. I pulled the blanket tighter, tossing around on the couch until my gaze stared straight at the ceiling.

Knock knock. My head shot to the side at the sound of rapping at my door. Nice people didn’t knock on doors at three in the morning. I should have been wary, but then again, I didn’t have any nice people in my life. Sluggishly I rose from the couch, keeping the blanket wrapped around me. I still couldn’t afford heat and my place was much colder at night. I could see my breath in the air, like wispy tendrils of smoke. I opened the door without checking who it was. At that point in my life I didn’t care if someone was there to kill me. Every part of my being was utterly obliterated. My heart had been put through a meat grinder. My mind had

been fucked, defaced, and effaced. There was nothing left save a body, so why try and save the body? I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting what stood on the other side of the door. I thought maybe it was one of Morris’s henchmen finally coming to finish the job. I figured it could be some paparazzi who’d discovered where I lived. Never in a hundred nightmares did I imagine what it really was: Law covered in blood. Speechless, I took him in. Blood covered the hands that had always been so gentle with me. Red stained his tshirt. Eyes widened, I swallowed the sight of him. Bloody, disheveled, but not hurt, it appeared. Before I could ask

what the hell happened, he spoke. “I snapped.” “Can I come in?” he asked. Stupefied, I stepped aside to allow him entry. Law walked past me and I watched his movements as if in a dream. He wasn’t the brutally stoic man I’d come to know these past months. He was undone, eyes wild, hair a mess, muscles twitching. Rubbing his thumbs together, he paced around my apartment as if I wasn’t even there. “You what?” I finally asked when the air filled with too many unasked questions. I stared at the blood on his shirt; it was soaked into the fabric, hard and stained. His gray jeans even had

splotches of blood on them. “I snapped,” Law repeated. He rubbed his forehead with his palm and I noticed his bruised and bloody knuckles. I realized the lights were still off and bent over to turn the table lamp on. Pale yellow light engulfed us, making the shadows we cast bolder. “What does that mean?” I asked. Law walked back and forth across my living room, his strides practically wearing the floor thin. While he searched for his words, I went to the kitchen to get something to clean him up. I grabbed a kitchen towel and ran it under some warm water, then grabbed some ice from the freezer and threw it in a sandwich bag. Exiting the kitchen, I

thrust the contents at him. He thanked me gruffly but I was already heading to the bathroom to grab some antiseptic. When I returned I made him sit on the couch. I took the towel back from Law, who was gripping it so tight I swore I saw bones beneath his skin, and started to dab at the blood on his knuckles. Law hissed but didn’t say anything. Silence once again surrounded us as I did my work. I cleared away the crusty blood from his knuckles and fresh blood started to flow. I stood up to get a towel or a bandaid but Law grabbed my arm. “Stay.” I looked at the hand on my arm and shrugged, sitting back down with Law. Finished with cleaning him, I sat unmoving, unsure of what to say. That

is, until he spoke. “I beat the shit out of Mitch Morris.” “What?” I exclaimed, turning to see his face. His expression was unreadable. “Is he alive?” “Of course he’s alive.” Law waved my question off and stood up. He started pacing again but I wouldn’t have it. “What happened?” I marched up to Law and stood in front of him, blocking his circular route. “You can’t just come in here covered in blood and not explain to me what happened.” Law sighed, placing a bloodied hand over his face. “I had my monthly meeting with Morris and I just…” Removing his hand, Law pierced me with his eyes. “I snapped, Nami. I

thought of all the pain he’s brought to you and to Becca…to others. I should have kept my cool. He obviously knows now that I know. Maybe he always did, but now he knows I’m not okay with it.” “I don’t…” I struggled with what to say. “What does this mean?” Law shrugged. “Well, GEM fired me.” I rolled my eyes, like that mattered, and pushed for more answers. “Is Morris going to press charges?” “I don’t think so.” Law leaned against the wall and exhaled a long, hard breath. “It was really fucking stupid of me to do. I was building a case against Morris. I don’t know what this means. My contacts at the bureau haven’t gotten

back to me yet.” I stared at Law leaning against my wall. I wasn’t as convinced as Law was that Morris wouldn’t press charges. He had the entire police force in his pocket. Morris didn’t need a bloody face; he could have put Law away without any evidence. Why was Law so sure he wouldn’t press charges? “You threatened him, didn’t you?” I didn’t expect Law to tell me the truth. He’d been feeding me lies since the inception of our relationship. I’d asked the question not looking for an answer, but to let Law know I was already aware. I turned back to pick up the now bloody cloth and antiseptic, when Law replied.

“Yes.” I spun back, surprised by his honesty. “I was one good punch away from ending his miserable life when I stopped myself. I’m not that person, Nami. I don’t intimidate suspects. I follow the rules. But I really fucking wanted to finish him off.” The look in Law’s eyes, the grimace on his face, let me know he was telling the truth. Truth was uglier than lies, and the ugliness in Law had me convinced. Setting the antiseptic and bloody rag down, I made my way to Law. I wasn’t sure what to make of this moment between us. Something fundamental had shifted, but instead of feeling unsteady, I felt sure. I leaned against the wall with Law.

The only sound in the apartment was our breaths. I imagined what it would have been like to punch Morris in the face. For months I’d envisioned throwing my entire body on top of Morris, kicking him, beating him, and eventually tearing out the wicked heart that beat his black blood. “How did it feel?” I asked, cocking my head toward Law. Law grinned. “Really fucking good.” It was six in the morning. Sun had risen beyond the clouds, illuminating a pale gray sky. Law had fallen asleep on my couch an hour after he’d shown up. I’d cleaned him up some more and given

him the biggest t-shirt I owned, an old rag from when I used to volunteer. It was still a little small for him. On the front it had some pithy saying about animals, and my heart hurt for Raskol again. Now I clutched my arms against myself, my breath fogging the glass of the window I looked out. Where did I go from here? Behind me a man slept on the couch, but not just any man. A man who appeared to be a pathological liar, but was perhaps the only truth I’d known in months. Beyond me, past the frozen glass, a city slept. A corrupt and morally bankrupt city that prided itself on its morals slept soundly. I’d spent months trying to clean the rotting black ooze

from the city and all I’d managed to do was catch a bit of the corruption myself. I touched my hand to the cool glass. I was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of losing. Tired of the Nami I’d become. Christmas was in a few days and I only knew that by the lights that glowed outside. Inside, I was totally black. I used to love Christmas. I wasn’t religious, but I was one of those nuts that loved to celebrate anyway. I loved the lights. I adored the smells: nutmeg, gingerbread, pine. You name it, I loved it. Everything from the trees to the snowmen to the baking had me cheery and filled with glee. Removing my fingers from the glass, I turned to face Law. My

apartment was noticeably glee-less. Cold, gray, a bit dirty. The paint was peeling and mismatched. The furniture was old and weathered. And a man I couldn’t trust, but who somehow still held my heart, slept on my tattered couch. “You’re staring.” Even though his eyes were closed and his breathing steady, Law spoke. I wasn’t surprised by it. There was little left Law could do to surprise me. “Yeah,” I responded. “It’s my place, I can stare if I want.” With easy determination Law sat up from the couch. His hair was a mess, the clothes he wore wrinkled and a little bloody despite the change, but he was still Law:

hard, calculating, and ever observant. “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 been 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.

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? As my thoughts started to spiral down that slippery, knife-infested slope that had been my home the past few months, I exhaled. I released the bad thoughts, the breath feeling like noxious gas. Releasing my grip, I stepped into

the apartment. Getting over Morris wouldn’t be easy, but I had to start somewhere. Still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t bring my gun along for the ride. I pulled out my .22 and walked to the couch, picking up the card like it was an explosive. It was cream colored and textured with no identifying features. Just as I was about to open the card, my phone rang. My heart skipped a beat when I saw who was calling and I stumbled, nearly dropping my gun and the card. “Hello?” I asked, answering on the first ring. “Did you get my flowers?” Law’s heady, deep brogue was evident even through the crackle of my shitty phone.

I glanced around my apartment. “You sent these? Why?” “I’m trying to apologize, Nami.” I frowned even though I knew he couldn’t see it. The flowers were extraordinary and breathtaking, but they were just flowers. “You think a couple of flowers can fix us?” I whispered the words because I almost didn’t want him to hear. I wanted to say I loved the flowers. I wanted to say I was ready to trust him again. I wanted to throw all the shit and garbage that had piled up between us out the window and just roll around in the dandelions. “No.” Law paused for a minute. “But they’re a start.” I picked up a fully

formed dandelion. Its head was round and wispy. Where had Law gotten so many? I thought they were beautiful, but most considered them a weed—not to mention it was the dead of winter in Utah. I blew the head, watching the wisps float away. “It must have taken a while to get these,” I said at last. “It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Over and over again Law had said I was worth something. When I felt useless, he showed me I was useful. Still, a glare the size of an eclipse hung over our relationship, and its name was Morris. Law had lied about so many things, I wasn’t sure where to begin unraveling.

“Nami, let me show you something. Let me prove to you that I’m in this.” “I don’t know…” My fingers trailed across the flowers. “I’ll pick you up in thirty. Dress for cold weather.” Law hung up the phone, leaving me with that cryptic statement. I was ready to huff and sigh, ready to forget him along with his secrets, when I remembered the letter in my hand. I opened the card and read. Dandelions for my Dandelion. I would pick a thousand of these everyday if it showed you how much you’re worth. “So what is this? A kidnapping?” I asked as Law opened the door of his

Range Rover for me with a grin. I slid inside, frowning. “Do you know of many kidnappings that start out like this?” Law shut the door and made his way to the driver’s seat. “I’d be a pretty shitty kidnapper if I let you know where we were going first.” “You haven’t told me where we’re going,” I pointed out. Law started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “Boston.” “Boston?” I rounded on him. “What the fuck is in Boston?” When he’d said, “Dress for cold weather,” I’d thought he was taking me up to Park City. A thirtyminute drive, a romantic cabin— something to go along with the huge

display of dandelions. I’d even worn some lingerie. Well, what I considered lingerie: black underwear. Seriously, what the fuck was in Boston? “Red Sox,” Law replied, taking the exit for the airport. I glared out at the gray-white moving picture. “I’ve survived this far without baseball.” I’d let myself get excited about the idea of a romantic getaway with Law. I knew we had a mountain of issues to work past, but if Law was willing to try… I exhaled and removed my gaze from the window. We were nearing the airport and whatever was in Boston had my attention now. More cryptic crap.

“There’s more to Boston than baseball,” Law said, placing his hand on my thigh. “Oh yeah?” I replied, my snark getting the better of me. “What’s that?” “My past.” Since meeting Law, thorns had formed in my side, thorns borne from his lies. Since the altercation with Becca Riley, though, it felt like Law was methodically attempting to remove them. He told me his truths, and then ripped the lies from their place without any anesthetic. Still, one thorn remained: Jameson. “So…” I said, turning my view from the airplane window to Law. “Will

this trip explain how you know Jameson?” Law took a sip of his bourbon and faced me. I’d never flown so nicely. In first class, we were given complimentary drinks, towels— basically anything our hearts desired. I’d taken a bottle of water and Law had ordered a glass of bourbon I couldn’t pronounce. Then again, most of my whiskey came with a sale sticker. “I was wondering when we were going to talk about that,” he said after another long, slow draught. I quirked a brow. “So you knew that I knew?” “Nothing much gets past you, Nami DeGrace,” Law said with a smile. The

slow, easy grin punctuated his sculpted jaw, as if it wasn’t chiseled enough. Law was past handsome. He was the type of raw masculinity that could only be portrayed in carved marble. Paintings were too soft a medium; photography dulled its power. Still, I wasn’t so easily swayed. “Why the fuck didn’t you just tell me you were friends?” “At the time it was the simplest option.” Law took another long drag of his bourbon. “I was never supposed to fall in love with you, Nami.” He pinned me with his cognac gaze and I reached for my bottle of water. I felt itchy and dehydrated from just his look. As the water slipped down my throat, I felt

little comfort. Nothing could ease me and nothing would distract me from the intense, carnal gaze Law ripped into me. “You know he didn’t take my story,” I rasped, setting my nearly empty water down. “I know.” Law kept his gaze locked on mine. I felt strangled by it. Still trying to control my voice, I said the thing that had been bugging me for days. “You know he’s Mormon.” Jameson was the enemy, so why did Law think he could be ally? Law took another slow sip of his drink and faced me. “Are you upset that I knew Jameson, or are you upset that Jameson is Mormon?” “Are you accusing me of being

xenophobic?” Before Morris, I had been painfully open-minded. I was champion to every marginalized group in the world. The fact that I was wary of Mormons didn’t make me xenophobic, it made me smart. Once you’re burned by something, it’s stupid to continue to trust it won’t do it again. At least, that’s what I thought. I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I heard someone try and use 9/11 to justify their misgivings about Muslims, or even dark-skinned people…well, I’d be pretty well off. Was that who I’d become? The cabin was quiet; only the faint sound of air blowing and magazine pages rustling could be heard. I felt

queasy as I thought about Law’s question. I looked to him, but he only raised an eyebrow. “I overheard you both talking,” I said, shaking off the gnawing in my gut. “It has nothing to do with his religion.” Law shot me a look and I folded my arms. “Fine, it has a little bit to do with his religion. But can you blame me? He said I was a stalker and that Morris was a ‘good guy’.” I huffed just thinking about it. “How can you be friends with someone like that?” “What you heard was only a snapshot of the man I know. He never used to sit in an office. He never used to have a desk job. He was out in the shit. He was digging up what others buried.

Now he’s…” “He’s what?” I demanded. “He’s lost himself.” Law set down his drink, empty save for the ice cubes wet with brown liquid. “I met Matthew years ago when I was just out of Quantico. It was my first sex trafficking case and he just happened to be reporting on it. He nearly got himself arrested trying to break into the company.” “I still don’t see how…” Law gripped my arm, forcing the words on my tongue to die. Reluctantly I quieted, instead listening to what he had to say. As Law continued, the grip on my forearm lessened, but only a little. “When you’re a man of law, you’re

tied by it. So tied that sometimes it feels like a noose around your neck. You learn to rely on others to pick up what you can’t. Matthew was that man. He called out the shitbags that hid behind bureaucracy and red tape and lawyers. He got the truth out. He might have saved more lives than me.” Law released me and I quickly turned my glare back to the window. I didn’t want to combat the fury in his golden gaze, so instead I stared at the clouds below. The Jameson Law described was a far cry from the man I’d met. “I couldn’t help but fall in love with you.” I felt the ghost of a touch on my back, but just as quickly as I sensed

it was it gone. “Your beauty, but beyond that, your mettle. You unearthed me, and I guess I was hoping you would…” Law trailed off. “You were hoping I would what?” I snapped my head back to his, unsure if the emotion tearing through me was one of anger or yearning. “I was hoping you would help him find his story again.” If I thought Utah winters were bad, it was nothing compared to the bitter Massachusetts chill. I gripped my coat, wrapping it tighter around me, as another gust of glacial winter wind whipped my cheek. Despite attempts to keep my stony demeanor, I shivered.

“I told you to bring a coat,” Law said, giving me a look. “This is my coat,” I responded, glaring at Law. It wasn’t like he’d given me much notice. He hadn’t told me where we were going until after we’d gotten in the car. Law sighed and unzipped his jacket. “What are you doing?” Law put his jacket over my shoulders and placed his hands in his dark jeans. Even though I was instantly warmer, I protested. “I’m not going to take your jacket. You’ll freeze out here!” “I’ll be fine,” Law said dismissively. “We won’t be out here for long, anyway. I only wanted to show you one thing.”

I shrugged out of the jacket, handing it back to Law. “I’m not going to be the reason for your frostbite.” Law eyed me and the outstretched jacket with slight amusement before turning away. My outstretched hand shivered as the wind twirled around us, whipping bits of snow into small tornados. “Fine,” I grumbled. I couldn’t take the cold any more and if he didn’t want his coat, then I was going to wear it. Plus, he did look fine. Standing with his hands in his pockets, it looked as if he were standing by a fire, not outside a house on a cold Boston street. “What are we looking at?” I said through shivering teeth. Even Law’s jacket couldn’t keep my face warm.

“That’s my home.” There was a steely reserve in Law’s words, like he was hiding something. I was used to him hiding from me, though. It was like we were constantly playing a game of truth or dare, and Law always picked dare. “Why don’t we go inside?” I edged, seeing if he would let on as to why we were standing outside his home and not inside. Plus, I’d have bet it was much warmer in there. “No one’s there,” Law explained, gaze still transfixed on the snowcovered home. “Well, no one you’d want to meet. Mom and Dad aren’t really present and my sister is gone.” His words stuck in the air, as if frozen by the chill. Neither of us said anything for a

while. Though the bitter wind sliced away my warmth and numbed my skin, I didn’t complain. I didn’t even shiver, instead focusing on Law. His mind was elsewhere again. That tumultuous look only memories could give was evident on his features. A car drove by and the driver leaned out the window, flipped us off, and yelled for us to get out of the middle of the street. Law still didn’t tear his gaze from the house. “Where’s your sister?” I asked, voice low. “Not sure.” A light flicked on in the house and Law glared. “She was last seen about thirteen years ago. One minute she was at school and the next

she vanished. She’d be twenty-six this month.” The wind howled. The sky was a bright white just like the snow on the ground. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I should say something. Instead, I took a step toward Law and latched my arm around his. Together we stared at his old home. I realized it probably wasn’t much warmer inside. We were quite a pair. I was broken, sometimes feeling irreparably damaged. Our relationship was nearly shattered. Yet there, among the ruins of his childhood, Law did something amazing. He gave me a piece of himself to help me rebuild. “This doesn’t fix everything,

Nami,” Law said. “I’m going to have to work for that, I know. But I wanted you to see where it started. You’re the only one I’ve told this.” Even though the truth he’d shared with me meant more than anything, there was a thought I couldn’t shake. It stuck in my side larger than a thorn, like broken glass. “Would you have even talked to me if Morris hadn’t raped me?” Law took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Does it matter? I love you. I love your courage, your tenacity, your grit. We’re all products of the world around us, and what happened outside this home thirteen years ago shaped me. I see the world through stolen childhoods and broken homes now. But, Nami, I love

how you reacted. You could have caved. You could have twisted. But you bloomed.” Unlatching my arm from his, I twisted to face him. Wind had burned his cheeks and his face was red, but he was still beautiful. Hard, unyielding, a force to be reckoned with. Even the elements couldn’t whip him into submission. Love him or occasionally hate him, he was the only Law that I would obey. As Law opened his mouth to speak, I dove at him, cutting his words at the quick with my kiss.

Kissing Law was an adventure. His taste sucked me in, his lips kept me tied,

and he—the very essence of Law—made me surrender. In the middle of the snowy street, we kissed. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, lips fused, wind whirring around us, the occasional car driving by and alerting us with a honk. Time seemed to cease for us and our kiss. It was magical. The winter chill started to feel like a fairytale and not a horrid force of nature. I lost myself in him. The way he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. The way he slanted his mouth to get more of me. The way he cupped his hand on the back of my neck and drew me in. I lost myself in the sensation and the safety of him. When Law pulled back, I felt

delirious and drugged. I reached for him again but he caught my wrist, keeping me at a distance. “I would love to keep kissing you, Nami.” Law paused, eyelids hooded as if remembering our kiss. I stepped forward, ready to make a new memory, but Law tightened his grip on my wrist and continued. “I would die here, kissing you, but if we don’t leave soon we’ll miss our flight home.” Reluctantly I agreed and clasped my other hand in Law’s outstretched one. We walked back to the car and Law didn’t let go of my hand the entire way back to the airport. A warm fog settled and neither of us spoke; I think we both didn’t want to risk ruining what had just

happened. When we sat down in the first class lounge, Law dozed off, our hands still bound. I never thought I’d be happy to go back to Utah, but sitting in the airport, I couldn’t wait to board the plane. Boston had been cold and unfamiliar. Better the devil you know, I suppose. I watched people walk around the airport, wondering what they were returning to…or running from. A man with a Patriots shirt walked by and a thought popped into my head. “But you don’t have a Boston accent,” I said, turning to Law. He gazed at me sleepily. “You think we all talk like we’re wicked smaht?” “Holy shit!” I gasped. “What was

that?” “My accent.” Law smiled crookedly. “I trained to eradicate it. An accent is one of the easiest ways to blow your cover. Doesn’t mean I can’t pull it out as a pahty trick.” “My stepdad is from Boston,” I mused. I turned back to people-watch but the man in the Patriots shirt was gone. Tony loved the Patriots. He had everything from a blanket to pajamas to cups. I didn’t like sports, much less love a team enough to deck myself out in their gear, but I loved that he loved them. “He has a thick accent. We used to make fun of him for it.” “Used to?” Law asked. I didn’t really feel like digging up

the graves of my parents in the busy Boston airport, so I changed the subject. “Did you pick all those dandelions?” Law sat up and turned to me. “Yes.” “How? Where?” I paused, stewing over his answer, before asking again, “How?” “Answer my question and I’ll answer yours,” Law replied, a wicked half-smile on his lips. When he smiled like that he reminded me of the gods I’d studied briefly in college, the ones lauded for such extreme beauty that mortals couldn’t comprehend it. Just like the gods, he was consistently tricky, never giving without expecting some kind of sacrifice in return. I folded my arms, preparing my lamb.

“I no longer make fun of him because my mom is dead so the tradition kind of died with her.” Instead of giving me the usual spiel of condolence, Law asked, “Why can’t you?” It took me by surprise. I was used to having to fend off half-sincere sorries and hugs. Law had asked a question I genuinely wasn’t ready for. “I already answered your stupid question,” I huffed. “Answer mine.” Law shrugged back into the seat. “I drove to a few known dandelion fields.” “How many is a few?” Leaning forward so that I was practically in his seat, I pressed my question. “I answered your stupid question, you answer mine.” Law grinned at me as

he repeated my insolent statement. “Fine,” I huffed, sitting back into my own seat. “I can’t go to Tony because I’m afraid of what will happen. I’m afraid the paparazzi will hound him…” I trailed off, staring at a man with a Patriot’s hat. “I’m afraid he won’t want to talk to me any more.” So many “friends” had dropped me like dead weight during the scandal. I’d already lost two parents. I couldn’t bear losing Tony as well. Minutes passed where neither of us said a word. Law slipped farther into his seat, head relaxed on his arm. I watched his eyes close and his jaw relax. It felt like watching a bear sleep. All that raw, condensed power slumbering felt

unnatural. With my hand still entwined in his, I wondered if that meant a part of me was sleeping with the animal. Law affected the deep rumblings of sleep, his chest rising and falling like the tide. I turned my attention to the windows so I could watch the airplanes land and liftoff. As I watched another plane leave, its lights disappearing in the dark sky, Law spoke, his voice startling me from my quiet vigil. “I went to about a hundred different fields.” “Will you tell me more about your sister?” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if Law had gone to sleep. It was impossible to tell with him.

His head rested on his hand and his eyes were closed, but with Law that didn’t mean shit. He could easily be awake and listening. It had taken a lot of courage to ask the question and I wasn’t sure if I could ask it again. I almost wished he was asleep. As minutes passed with no response, I concluded that Law was indeed asleep. It had been twenty minutes since Law had dropped the dandelion bomb on me and still we had about twenty minutes before boarding. He’d dozed off, or at least it looked like he had, and I’d been left stupefied. Over a hundred different fields? That was…unbelievable. Then again, Law was unbelievable. In the twenty

minutes since he’d dropped the bomb, I’d stewed. I’d realized I knew so very little about Law. I felt like I knew him; on a carnal level, on a visceral level, on the kind of level where atoms existed, I knew Law. Yet, on the level where sisters disappeared, I didn’t know him at all. “Her name was Jane—Janey.” I snapped my attention to Law. His eyes were still closed and his head still rested on his arm, but he had responded to me. I watched him, waiting for him to say more. Maybe all he would tell me was that she was “Janey”. “She didn’t look much like me, actually we were very different.” Law sat up, slowly straightening his back and

opening his eyes. “Janey had light skin and freckles. Her hair was red I think…” Law trailed off and I looked over to see what had stopped him. His gaze was pinned to the wall, but his mind was far off. I thought about what he’d said. His profile was all hard edges and lines, but his skin was smooth without any imperfections; not even a mole marred the olive tone. Law was tan, his skin intense like desert sand. He had light brown hair that I loved to mess up with my hands. I still wasn’t sure what his heritage was, but that seemed like such a small secret in comparison to the others I’d unearthed. “I wish I remembered more about

her,” Law continued. “After the search parties stopped and the police closed her case, my parents threw away all her pictures. They gave away all of her clothes and furniture—anything that might remind them of her.” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to continue.” “No,” Law said. “No, it’s good. I haven’t talked about her in years. I’ve thought about her. Almost every day I’ve thought about her. Throwing away her stuff and burning her pictures didn’t dissolve her presence; if anything, it amplified it. We could never talk about her. We never mourned her. We never gave her a funeral. We simultaneously forgot about her and waited for her to

return.” Emotion clogged my throat. Not sure what to do to ease his pain, I wrapped myself around him. I squeezed tight, wishing I could suffocate all the bad that had been done to him. Law tensed up at first but then relaxed. He started stroking my hair. “I haven’t talked to my parents since the day I left home. For them, when Janey died, the world stopped turning. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a big, warm family. All I have are pieces of one.” I lifted off him and crossed my legs. “Both my parents are dead, my dog was murdered, and I stalk my stepdad because I’m too afraid of what he thinks of me. One piece of your life is worth

more than my entire being. I’d be happy to have a piece of yours.” Law reached out and stroked my cheek. “The biggest tragedy in your life isn’t your parents’ death. It isn’t Morris. It isn’t Raskol. It’s that you continually devalue yourself. The biggest tragedy of your life will be you not realizing how amazing you truly are.” Tears brimmed the surface of my lids. I hadn’t cried for Morris. I’d kept my tears inside when he’d ruined my reputation. I hadn’t cried for Effie. When she’d left me alone, it had hurt worse than a punch to the gut, but I hadn’t cried. Despite my desolation, I hadn’t cried for Raskolnikov either. Yet there, in the freaking Boston airport, I was about to

cry. Law didn’t say another word. He opened his arm for me and I gladly took the comfort. I nestled myself against his chest and let his scent sooth me. Tears fell silently but his shirt soaked them up. It wasn’t tears of sadness that fell, but tears of undoing. The thing I’d feared for months had finally happened: I’d come undone. It hadn’t happened in a blaze of glory, with Morris in pieces at my feet and Salt Lake City in rubble, though. It had happened pressed against Law, a man who promised to do me back up. Law gave me the window seat again. When we lifted off, the city below looked like sparkling glitter. I was

mesmerized by it. Boston was so beautiful from up in the plane. Twinkling like stardust, you could almost forget all the terrible things that happened there. Up in the sky, a city wasn’t made up of murder per capita, but glimmering lights. I touched the window, its pane cold against my fingers. It was nighttime now and I couldn’t see anything. The sky was painted black. I turned my attention back to the sleeping cabin. Law had sprung for first class tickets again. Before the trip, I’d never flown first class. We had big chairs the size of twin beds and the attendants brought us anything we wanted. Flying like that, I was almost able to forget the circumstances that had led to it.

Law was asleep, his Grecian profile all the more prominent when illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead plane lights. I reached out to touch him but pulled back just as quickly. Shaking my head, I turned back to the window. Whatever had happened between Law and me in Boston would most likely stay in Boston. “What are you thinking now, Dandelion?” Law’s words startled me and I turned to see his eyes open and studying me. “How long have you been awake?” I squinted at him, as if I could stare the answer out of him. “I was never asleep.” I folded my arms, deciding to reply

truthfully. “I was just thinking about what happens when we land.” Law stood upright and leaned into me. The invasion of my space wasn’t drastic, but the single act seemed to dominate me. I swallowed. “What are you thinking?” Law’s voice was dangerously low. I knew that timbre. I’d been swayed by it before. I tried to look away but Law closed whatever distance was left between us. I had nowhere else to look but him. His body. His severe edges. His calculating gaze. “I’m wondering what will happen,” I whispered. “To?” Law pressed. “Us.” Law gripped the back of my

neck and pulled me into him. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a merging. I didn’t just taste the power, I felt the cutting intensity throughout my body. I responded instantly, wrapping my arms around his neck and moaning into his mouth. Law stopped and undid my hands from his neck. I opened my eyes, confused. “Can’t have you waking everyone up,” Law said, grinning. “Be good and you’ll be rewarded.” I wanted to rebel at that. I nearly slapped him across the face. Yet deep inside, his words made me glow. I dropped my arms to my sides and waited for instructions. Law traced a finger from my cheek down to my collarbone and carefully brushed aside my cotton shirt. I shivered

as my shoulder became exposed. Bending down, he placed a light kiss on the tip of my shoulder. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. “Good girl,” Law murmured against my skin. It took all my willpower not to grip Law by his powerful shoulders. I didn’t want him to stop, though, so that meant playing by his rules. I kept my hands next to my sides because that meant Law would continue kissing me. Law placed a hand on my stomach and I gasped. “Shh…” Using his other thumb, Law tugged my bottom lip. “You have a beautiful mouth, Dandelion. Don’t let it get us in trouble.” I was speechless, or

at least I thought I was. My thoughts got jumbled up with his hands on my mouth and my stomach. Then he did something amazing. Something reckless. He slid his hand from my stomach and beneath my jeans. My mouth popped open. “You’re okay,” Law said, his eyes still locked with mine. I wasn’t okay—I mean, I was okay, but my heart was about to explode from the tension and anticipation. Law’s palm was only an inch away from me—the deep, needy part of me. I had never known how much I needed something until right then. I couldn’t cry out, I couldn’t beg, so I did the next best thing. I sucked the finger he

had on my lip inside my mouth and bit. Hard. Law’s eyes darkened for a split second and then I felt him—his hand on the naked, deep, needy part of me. He covered all of me and it was the most delicious feeling in the world. My heart fluttered. My stomach ached. My thighs tingled. My vision blurred. And this was all from just a touch. “Is this okay?” Law’s voice was gruff. It sounded like he’d been yelling for weeks. I took a few deep breaths before responding. “Yes.” It was all I could manage and it came out in a sigh. “What do you want?” Law punctuated his question by pressing his

palm harder into me. I was on the verge of hyperventilating. “Touch me,” I practically begged. Law split me with his thumb. I knew I was supposed to be quiet, but when I felt the pad of his thumb open me, I couldn’t help moaning. Law didn’t seem to mind, or else he was too preoccupied because no sooner had I cried out than he pressed a finger inside of me. “You’re so wet.” Law groaned and I felt the sound like a vibration in my soul. I was beyond wet, I was weeping. Law turned me into a puddle of wanton desire. Without him I was dehydrated. Needy. Unhinged. I grappled for him, desperate, more desperate than I’d ever been.

My mind bifurcated between the woman I had been and the one I was now. There was the past Nami: cold, stoic, and unrelenting. Then there was this one, the one held in Law’s arms. She couldn’t see anything beyond red passion. She begged him. She rubbed against him. She was incessant in her need for Law. I couldn’t feel embarrassed, because all I had room for in my head was throbbing, pulsing need. It seemed, though, that I wasn’t alone. Law leaned in and seized my mouth. His tongue commanded I surrender and I capitulated easily, because I was already lost to him. My soul was so tangled in his that when he took my body it came without

hesitation. Without Law I wasn’t just alone, I would wither. It was beyond craving. It was need. With his mouth on mine and his fingers inside, I came and I couldn’t keep my cries silent. No amount of lip biting or teeth grinding could keep that orgasm quiet. “Law!” I begged, trying to get him to stop so I didn’t draw attention. Instead, Law placed a rough hand over my mouth. My eyes popped open in terror. Briefly I remembered Morris. I remembered his hand over my mouth, but then I looked into Law’s eyes. There was no loathing or contempt in them. All I saw in the honey depths was love. I relaxed and let the orgasm wash over

me. When it was over, Law removed his hand slowly. I felt empty without him inside me. I felt cold, but Law quickly pulled me into his chest. He threw a blanket over us and I fell asleep to the deep rhythm of his breathing.

“You just passed my street.” “We aren’t going to your house. We

have one more stop on the Law Apology Tour.” I twisted around in my seat, as if watching the street name get smaller would suddenly make Law turn back. Instead, he made a left onto a busier street and kept driving. At Law’s gentle tug on my fingers, I turned back and sat correctly. There was still a part of me reluctant to trust Law. That part wanted to insist he turn back and take me to my house. I smothered that part with a pillow, reminding myself that in the past twenty-four hours Law had shown me more truth than I’d had in months. So wherever he was taking me, it had to be worth it.

Settling into the warmth of the car, I nearly dozed off. We were sheltered from the snow and wind outside. The Weeknd played through the speakers and I let my mind drift away with the lyrics. I barely noticed where we were going, letting myself trust in Law. When the car slowed to a stop, I looked outside the window and registered the destination. The recognition fell on me with as much force as a baseball bat to the head. It was the same street I’d been coming to for weeks. “What the fuck is this?” I yanked my hand from Law’s, alternating between glaring at him and the house outside. “How do you even know where he lives?”

Law shrugged. “Contacts in high places come in handy every now and then.” I released a bitter laugh at his response. “I don’t know what you’re expecting but I’m not going in there.” “Nami…” Law reached for my hand but I held it away. “You had no right to do this, Law!” I yelled at him, but my gaze was pinned on the orange brick house we were parked in front of. Snow blanketed the yard and covered the roof. Even though it was early in the morning, I could see lights on inside. Tony was awake. My heart ached to walk up the steps like I had so many times before. My mom used to keep the house smelling so

nice. There was always some kind of candle lit or something cooking. When Mom died, Tony kept buying the candles and lighting them. I wondered what he was up to so early in the morning. Was he reading the news? Did he read about me? Did he ever think about me? “Nami,” Law soothed, interrupting my thoughts. “I think you should talk to him. There’s a good chance he misses you just as much as you miss him.” “What if he doesn’t?” The question slipped out in a whisper. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the brick house. Avoiding Tony had at least granted me the illusion of family. I could pretend he still wanted to see me. If I walked up to him and he disowned me, I would have

nothing left. I looked back to Law. Well, not nothing, not any more. Sighing, I placed my hand on the car door. “I can come with you,” Law said as I readied to open the door. I popped it open and bitter cold air slapped me in the face—though it still wasn’t as harsh as Boston. I almost welcomed it; the frigid gale cleared my thoughts. I shook my head at Law. “This is something I need to do alone.” As angry as I felt, it wasn’t really with Law. It wasn’t even real anger. It was anger to mask my fear. If these past months had taught me anything, it was that anger was always easier. It was easier to be angry than to acknowledge how terrified I was

to walk up the steps and knock on the door. I looked up at the orange house and back to Law, his face a silent comfort. I gave him a small smile, the most gratitude I could muster at the moment, and shut the door. Nerves wracked my body as I made my way up the steps. He’s going to turn me away. It’s too early, he’ll be mad at me for waking him up. By the time I got control of my thoughts, I was standing on the welcome mat. It was red, white, and blue and read “Patriots”. At least some things hadn’t changed. Before I could change my mind I slammed my fist against the door. I glanced hurriedly around. I could still run away. I could leave before he

answered— “Nami?” Tony appeared in the doorway. He looked at me like I was a ghost; I couldn’t read the other emotions. Was he upset? Or was he happy to see me? I rubbed my shoulders, not from the cold, but because I was anxious. “Nami, oh my god. I can’t believe it’s you.” Before I could respond, Tony pulled me into a hug. On a couch in a house I used to call home, I gripped a mug of hot tea. Tony sat across from me. Wearing a shirt that read “I might be in Utah, but my Sox are in Boston”, he was just like I remembered him. It had been several minutes since the last word was spoken,

and that word had been about tea. Awkwardness had settled like a thick fog and I couldn’t navigate it. “Nami—” “Tony—” We both said each other’s name at the same time. Time ticked on as we waited for the other to start speaking again, but neither did. Finally, Tony spoke. “Where have you been?” “Here, in Utah.” I took a sip from my tea. “You’ve been here all this time? Why didn’t you call?” I heard the betrayal in his voice even more than I saw the pain in his eyes. His hurt lanced my side. I gripped the tea for comfort and protection.

“I was worried you would be disappointed…” I trailed off, staring into the honey swirls of my tea. The color was almost like that of Law’s eyes. It gave me strength. “I was worried you would hate me after what happened.” Tears formed in Tony’s eyes. I gripped my mug harder, not sure what to do or say. I had prepared for the worst. I had prepared for Tony to kick me out and say awful things; that was all that had happened to me these past months, after all. I hadn’t prepared for this. His emotion was overwhelming and affecting. “How could you think that?” Tony asked, his voice shaking. “How could

you think I would hate you? You were raped, Nami. You did nothing wrong.” I looked away again and into my mug. “The world doesn’t believe me. Why would you?” “I know I’m not the dad you want, Nami.” Tony sighed. “But I love you like you’re my daughter and I’m never going to stop loving you. I don’t care what the world says. You’re my daughter. I wish you would have trusted me enough to come to me.” My relationship with Tony had never been stellar. I had hated him when he and my mom were together, and by the time I started to accept it, to realize how good he was for her, Mom died. It was hard to forge a relationship with

him when Mom wasn’t around to act as the fire to weld us together. I wished I could have trusted him too. I wished for a lot of things, though. I wished a lot of things could have happened that didn’t and a lot of things wouldn’t have happened that did. I was learning that I couldn’t dwell on things I couldn’t change. But Tony was something I could change. I couldn’t change what had happened with us, but I could change what was going to happen. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Don’t be sorry,” Tony replied instantly. “Nami you always have a bed here. You always have a meal here. I’m always going to be here. When I agreed to marry your mother all those years ago

I also agreed to love you and that didn’t stop when she died. When she died, God rest her, it became even more important to me that you were taken care of.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that. After months of declarations of hate, I wasn’t used to declarations of love. In lieu of response, I set my tea down and moved to sit next to Tony. “I’ll be better,” I said. “I’ll call and come visit.” “You know I read what happened with that senator and I don’t believe a single word of it. I tried calling but the number was disconnected. I’ve emailed you at least a hundred times. I went to your apartment but that angry woman said you didn’t live there. I’ve been so

worried. I had no idea where you were.” Tony started to cry, his sobs so dichotomous with his big frame. Tony was an ex-army pilot, with tattoos all along his arms and on his calves. I reached out to comfort him, but pulled my arm back. “God if anything had happened to you, Nami…” Tony reached for me and pulled me into his body, hugging me so hard I could barely breathe. His cries were muffled against my head. At first I was stiff against him, unsure of how to respond. As the minutes passed and he continued to hug me, though, I relaxed. I gave into the unfamiliar feeling, a feeling I would later recognize as family.

I walked back to Law feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: happy. Talking with Tony had been emotional and heart-rending, but overall I felt good. I felt grounded. “How did it go?” Law asked as I opened the door and seated myself in the car. “It went…” I looked back at the orange brick house and smiled. “It went really well, Law. Thank you.” As Law pulled away from the curb, I noted him. I studied his profile, the hard edges so at odds with what I knew lay beneath. Since my first chance encounter with Law at the coffee shop, he had always looked out for my best interests. I was a stranger to him in every sense of the

word, yet he was more familiar to me than any person I’d ever known. “I love you,” I blurted out. It was the worst way to say it, I knew that. I should have done something magnificent like he had. I should have showered him with roses or bourbon or something. Anything other than the way I did it. Law deserved that much. Watching him, though, I was compelled. The words tumbled out of me of their own volition. Law pulled a hard right and stopped illegally on the side of the road. I glanced around at the cars honking angrily at us and nearly had a flashback. Only weeks ago Law had dragged me into his car and attempted to take me to his hotel. When he’d seen my fear, he’d

pulled over and I’d followed him instead. That day we’d shared our first kiss. I’d been in such a terrible place I couldn’t stand it. Morris had utterly consumed me. I would never have imagined that that kiss would turn into something more. Something lifechanging. With what I knew now, though, it seemed so obvious. Nick Law, just like any law, was irrevocable. I almost lost myself in the memory, but Law grabbed my chin and forced my attention to him. “What did you say?” His cognac stare made me drunk. Would I ever get used to it? I licked my lips and his gaze flashed to them before returning to my

eyes. “Say it again, Nami.” “I love you, Law.” I knew without a doubt that I loved Law. He made me stand in the light. Without him, I would have been a shell of myself. I would have been ash, razed and ruined. Law kissed me. It was hard, fast, and over too soon. Law tore away and, giving me one last pointed stare, pulled back into traffic. My heart beat so wildly I could hear it in my ears. The drive to his hotel was tortuous. Our tension was like a live wire ready to snap. When we finally arrived I felt like I might faint from the heat. As we boarded the elevator there was one other person in there with us. The air was electrically charged and I wondered if

the person felt it. Just standing next to Law with our shoulders touching was enough to nearly seize me. I held my breath, because I felt if I expelled it I would die. Die of lust. Die of anticipation. Die of love. Abruptly Law moved, breaking the connection between our shoulders, and I felt empty. I watched his movements, feeling like I was underwater. The lust I felt for him, the love that twisted me, had me drowned. He pressed the button for the next floor. When the door opened on an empty floor, the other man in the elevator looked at us expectantly. “Get out,” Law said to the man. “I beg your pardon.” The man

scoffed. The man was a few inches shorter than Law and dressed in a suit. The way he regarded Law, it was clear he wasn’t used to being told what to do. Law took a step forward and invaded the man’s space. “Get. Out.” Law towered over the man. The man glanced at me and back to Law, uttered something under his breath, and then hurried out of the elevator. I opened my mouth to ask Law what that was about but he rounded on me. He pinned me to the elevator wall before I could say a word. His mouth was on mine, his taste drowning me. I sighed, I moaned, I absolutely capitulated myself to him. “I had to have you,” Law said

against my lips. “I couldn’t wait another floor.” Law undid the buttons of my jeans and ripped them to the floor. He fell with them, his head at my thighs. I would have been nervous, but there was no time to be. Over the lace of my panties, Law placed a kiss. I crumbled at the sensation, holding on to his shoulders for support. Nothing had ever felt so good before, so intimate and loving. I wasn’t an idiot; I was aware of cunnilingus. It’s an act of love, though, and I’d never been in love. Not until Law. Slowly, Law removed my cotton thong. With each inch of my secret skin he revealed, he pressed more kisses to it. He placed lingering, longing kisses on

my inner thigh, on the curve of my knee, and along my calf. When he was finished removing my thong, he placed a single kiss on my ankle. Law took off his shirt and put it on the ground of the elevator. I marveled at his chiseled physique. It was so the opposite of mine. Where I was marred with scars from fighting back and tattoos for fighting, he was flawless. Yet, in his perfection, I saw the imperfection. I saw why he was so perfect. I saw the need to be fit so he could always catch and capture anyone who might harm. I saw his broken heart that always searched for Janey. We were one floor from our destination when Law pulled the

emergency stop button and said, “I’ll never rush with you.” Law lifted me up and placed me down on his shirt. He kissed a trail from my ankle to inside my thigh, his lips light, just teases of what I knew he would do to me. I panted, his teasing working me up. He licked the inside of my thighs, purposefully missing the center. I reached for his head, trying to force him to where I needed him to be, and he laughed low in his throat. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, Law licked me from the bottom of my slit to the top. He ended at the bundle of nerves that I swore held the key to everything. The bundle of nerves that had the power to completely

undo me. I looked down at Law and the look in his eyes unraveled me. His halflidded gaze was locked on mine, honey eyes gripped in lust. I arched my back off the ground, but Law placed a hand on my lower stomach, forcing me flat. Law sucked me, the sensation causing my eyes to roll back. Even in the cramped elevator, I felt loved and worshipped. Law had the ability to do that, though. He had the ability to make you feel completely purposeful and worthy, even on the floor of an elevator. I got lost in Law. I was swept away in his sensations: the feeling of his five o’clock shadow rubbing against my inner thigh, his soft lips against my own,

lower lips, his artful tongue driving me to oblivion. My orgasm didn’t come crashing down. It came as Law had come to me: slowly, with patience, but with a fervor that consumed me. When it was over, Law put my clothes back on me with deliberate care. I watched him through dreamy, postorgasm eyes. Was it possible I’d really gotten so lucky? Pulling me in by the waist, Law held me to him. He reached out and started the elevator once more. As the elevator started to rise, I examined Law as I had so many times before. His smile was fastened on me, no hint of smugness in the upturned corners. All I saw was love. The elevator doors dinged open,

alerting us that we’d made it to our floor. Law pulled me up and out of the elevator, pressing his lips against mine. He pushed me against the hallway wall, sliding a hand up my shirt to cup my breast. We were only a few feet from his room but the fuse between us had blown. We were blacked out on each other. Lost in the darkness, we were each other’s light. Law lifted me into his arms, lips still fused to mine like we held each other’s only oxygen, and carried me the last of the way to his room. When we entered, Law laid me on his bed. “I have plans for you Nami.” “What kind of plans?” I asked, my

voice more breathless than I would have thought possible. Law gave me a crooked grin, the kind I felt all the way in my thighs, and walked over to the closet. He pulled out a black leather bag. I watched with equal parts excitement and trepidation. Law unzipped the bag and slowly pulled out its contents: a long, silky looking, red braided rope. Law laid the rope next to me and, keeping his hand pinned to my side, put his other hand next me. I was boxed in. “Do you remember what you wanted, Dandelion?” Law immobilized me with his gaze. I sucked in a breath. Law was referring to the conversations we’d had when he was Huck and I was

Dandelion. He was referring to the things I’d posted anonymously. They were my secrets. They were my hidden desires. They were what got me raped. I looked away, but Law grabbed my chin. “What are you thinking?” “I don’t want to do it,” I lied. Law raised an eyebrow, but let my chin go. “If that’s what you want.” I wanted to be tied up and I wanted Law to be the one to tie me up. The rope rubbed against my arm, the smoothness edging away my resolve. The idea of Law tying me up…it had my heart pounding and my thighs wet. I was pretty sure Law knew all of that, because his eyes betrayed his doubt. He wanted me to tell him, though. That was the way

Law worked. Law didn’t take anything that wasn’t expressly given—at least, not from me. “It was the reason I was raped,” I blurted out. “What?” Law’s stood up off me, giving me space. “What do you mean by that?” “I mean…” I exhaled, dreading giving an explanation. “I mean, I was on the website and Morris saw and he said I was asking for it. He said any girl who wants to be tied up is asking for it.” I intertwined my fingers, staring at the paintless nails. Rationally, I knew Morris was a pig. Still, there was a little part of me that thought maybe he was right. What person asks to be tied up?

“Nami, look at me.” Reluctantly, I turned to look at Law. “You are not responsible for what happened. You could have been surfing the internet naked in Morris’s office and you still would not be responsible. Morris is a rapist and you are everything. You are light. You are purpose. He will die and wither away and you will have lived despite him.” I sucked in my breath. Law’s gaze was fierce, his eyes like fire. He stood straight with everything in him strained, from his breathing, to his stare, to the muscles in his neck and the veins in his arm. He looked ready to fight and I realized he was ready to fight, for me. Neither of us said anything. We let the words he’d spoken do their magic,

twisting around us and settling like dew. At last I nodded. It would take a while to internalize what Law had said, but I was getting closer and closer each day. “Do you think…” I paused, feeling dumb. “Never mind.” “What?” Law unclenched, sitting down next to me. The fury in his voice dissipated like embers in a bonfire. All that was left was a warm, comforting smolder. “Do you think we could just lie here for a while?” I turned to see Law’s reaction. Smiling, he gestured for me to come closer. He pulled me into him and I was warmed. I didn’t know how long we lay there; it seemed time stopped for a while. I lost myself in the comfort and

safety of Law. I may have even fallen asleep. I knew Law would protect me and shelter me. Our dreamlike world couldn’t last, of course. Sometime later, when the sun had gone down and the city lights twinkled through the hotel window, Law’s phone rang. I sat up, startled by the noise. “Ignore it,” Law mumbled, stroking my hair. I lay back onto his chest, but a minute later the phone rang again. And again. And again. Law sighed and answered it on the fifth ring. I watched his face for any sign of emotion, but he betrayed nothing. He gestured for me to return to the nook I’d created between his chest and his arm, and we returned to

our dream. For another hour, everything was perfect. Then Law spoke. “Okay,” Law said into my hair. “This is kind of the worst time in the world to do this…” “Are you proposing?” I joked. When Law didn’t respond, I quickly added, “I’m just kidding. Don’t freak out.” “Nami.” Law stood up and separated us, holding my stare for longer than I would have liked. “I love you. I don’t plan on letting you go any time soon, hopefully never. Unfortunately, that’s not what this conversation is about. I have some…news.” “News?” I shrugged off his gaze and looked at his phone, limp and alone

on the nightstand. Law rubbed his forehead. Looking out the window, he said, “I’m not sure if it’s good or bad.” I crinkled my brow, not happy about the game he was playing. “Spill it, Law.” Law looked away from the window and back to me before saying, “I’ve received word that Becca Riley is dead.”

Law’s pronouncement hit me like an avalanche. I hated Becca Riley with

everything a person could hate. She’d murdered Raskolnikov, she’d ruined my life, but I didn’t want her dead. Becca was, as Law said, a victim of her circumstance. “That bastard!” I yelled, standing off the bed. “He did it, didn’t he? He fucking murdered her.” I paced back and forth, rubbing my hands over my hair. Why would he kill her? What did he have to gain? It didn’t matter. Morris was a cold, calculating bastard. He’d probably done it for sport. “Nami, listen to me.” Law stood up and grabbed me by the shoulders, forcing me to focus. “She killed herself.” “What?” Another blow landed and I let out my breath. “Are you sure?

Morris could make it look like she did.” “It’s all over the news.” Law let go of me and exhaled. It was a few good seconds before he continued. “They’re running her suicide note. In it she blamed Morris and said he raped her. I don’t think Morris did it.” “Wow…” That…that was way too much information. I slumped into an armchair, feeling like I’d just run twenty miles. I wanted Morris to get payback, but not that way… Never that way. “I know.” Still standing, Law stared at the blank TV, his face a mess of emotion I couldn’t decipher. “We could turn it on, see what they’re saying.” “Do you really want to see that?” I

grimaced at the thought. I could imagine what they were saying and the freaking field day they were having with the new information. The media was like vultures. They would pick apart anything if they thought it would feed their viewers. “No.” Sitting back on the bed, Law put his head in his hands. “Hey.” I walked over to Law and lightly touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?” “This is my fault,” he said. “I should have gotten her out when I had the chance. I’m a fucking selfish asshole.” “This is not your fault.” Just like Law had done with me, I had to make

him see he wasn’t responsible. “Becca Riley was a fucked up person and that has nothing to do with you.” “You don’t know, Nami.” Law took his head out of his hands and turned to me. “Two years ago you wouldn’t have recognized her. She was…” Law shook his head. “I ruined her. I’m a fucker.” “Did you force her to do any of it?” I pressed. “No,” Law conceded. “Then it was her choice and you can’t take responsibility for that.” Law nodded, but the sentiment was hollow. It would take a while for him to realize he wasn’t responsible, and I knew a little about that. I linked my arm in his and followed

his gaze out the window to the cold twinkling lights of Salt Lake City. From our perch, the lights were anonymous, just like from the plane. It was easy to pretend that they were stardust, not people picking apart Becca Riley’s death. Becca’s death had, well, kind of killed the mood. Since we hadn’t eaten anything since the plane ride home from Boston, we decided to go out and get dinner. We entered the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby, the ride down much less exciting than the ride up had been. We held each other for comfort this time, not lust. When the doors dinged open, neither of us

expected what lay on the other side. Reporters swarmed us. Lightbulbs flashed. Questions flew. It was complete and utter chaos. “How did they find me?” I asked Law. He shook his head, trying to block me from the swarm. There were no rules in a situation like that. The reporters didn’t ask nicely. They didn’t care if they hurt you trying to get a photo. All bets were off. “Miss DeGrace what do you have to say about the recent allegations?” I shoved the nosy reporter aside as Law and I made our way to his car. Just as I made space to move, another one popped up. “In light of Becca Riley’s suicide,

are you going to ask the police to reopen your case?” “No comment,” I growled. I slammed the car door shut, wishing I could slam it on their fingers. Before all of this had happened, I hadn’t been a violent person. I was actually quite a pacifist. Shit, I’d studied peace & conflict for fucks sake. Now, I carried a gun and envisioned slamming car doors on people. My mind jumped to Becca. It hadn’t even been a year and I could feel myself molding to fit my environment. She’d had years of it. No wonder she had become the monster she was. Law wove in and out of the reporters. They chased the car, not caring if they hurt themselves in the

process. Their bulbs flashed against the window, the bright lights like dying stars. When we finally pulled into The Bell Jar it felt like we’d been through a war. “Did they follow us?” I asked Law as I stepped out of the door he’d opened for me. Law glanced down the street. It wasn’t empty, seeing as it was just about dinnertime, but there wasn’t a swarm of story-hungry reporters there either. “I don’t think so.” Law’s voice was heavy as he shut the door behind me. Together we walked into The Bell Jar and we seated ourselves just like the first time we’d come. Unlike the first time, though, I wasn’t thinking of ways to leave. He had been a mystery then and I

hadn’t trusted him. There were still parts of Law that were a mystery to me, though, and maybe there always would be. Law was not the kind of person you got to know over dates and movies. Like diamond, Law was revealed through challenging circumstance. At first he appeared black and callous, but as you got to know him you saw what he truly was: sparkling, tough, and unbreakable. Law was one of a kind. We both ordered the chicken and waffles (mine sans chicken), eating in silence for a bit. The day had spoken enough for the both of us. I reached for the water I’d ordered, a far cry from the whiskey I’d drunk to oblivion nearly a

month before, and swished it around in my mouth, pondering. Not much time had passed, yet it felt like eons. It was nice to sit and have a meal with Law, just the two of us. It almost felt normal. So of course something had to interrupt. “Breaking news as more information sheds light on the late Becca Riley’s allegations.” Law and I both set our forks down, our attention now held by the small TV set in the corner of the bar. A newswoman talked about Morris while information about him scrolled across the scene. It was a national news station, meaning Morris’s scandal was no longer local. “Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Matthew Jameson has just released a

story,” the newswoman continued. “In it Jameson alleges that not only are Riley’s accusations true, but that the accusations of one Nami DeGrace are also true. If you’ll remember, we did a brief story about her. She was a volunteer on his campaign some months ago and accused Morris of sexual harassment.” I scoffed. I had accused him of rape, but that was a nice spin. I glared at the blonde, somberlooking newswoman, wishing I could reach into the TV and slap her. Did she not realize the people she reported on were actually real? Instead I swallowed the bile building up in my throat and listened as she went into more detail. “Jameson goes on to detail some quite shocking things that, if they are

true, will not just mean resignation for Senator Morris, but quite possibly jail time.” Appetite now lost, I stared transfixed as the news story unfolded. Law appeared just as hypnotized as me. “The Morris campaign, still reeling from the pushback from their senior campaign manager’s suicide, has yet to comment on Jameson’s allegations. Do you have anything to comment, Allison?” The screen split in half and another woman appeared who had cropped blonde hair and a perfectly made up face. I immediately recognized her as one of the reporters who had lynched me. I remembered her calling me a slut and liar only months before. “Thank you, Candace. It’s clear to

see that Senator Morris’s career is over. What is more interesting, though, is whether or not this new information will bring about formal charges. I’ve heard talk on the hill that formal sanctions are in order, but we’re still not sure if he will do any hard time, as they say. One thing’s for certain, Candace: I wouldn’t want to be him right now.” A ridiculous commercial about hot dogs came on, which made it easier to turn my mind away from the news that had just broken. Slowly Law and I turned our attentions back to each other. “Wow…” I said at last. “I told you Jameson was more than the snapshot you saw.” Law’s words

weren’t tinged with any arrogance or smugness. If anything, he sounded remorseful. We both knew that by breaking the story, Jameson would face repercussions. Most likely, he would be ostracized from the community. He might even need to move. “Yeah…” I took another breath. “I guess I just…” I tried to find the words, but I was totally without. “I just, I mean you hope for something to happen, and then it happens. I don’t know what to feel right now.” Law reached across and held my hand. “You’re in shock.” I nodded. “I’m in shock but I’m also…uncertain? I don’t know if that’s the right word. I feel like I should be

more happy, you know? I should be ecstatic, but I just feel…numb.” Law squeezed my hand and I lifted my eyes to his, grateful for him and his comfort. No sooner had my mind eased than my phone started to buzz. I looked at it like it was a venomous snake. “What?” Law asked, removing his grip from mine. “It’s my phone.” I picked it up, eyeing the unknown number. “It’s ringing.” Law still didn’t understand. “And?” “You, Tony, and Jameson are the only ones with this number.” Law raised his brows, indicating his interest, but shrugged. “Maybe it’s a wrong number.”

“Maybe…” I let the phone ring itself out and then set it back down on the table. Our chicken and waffles were cold now. The night was growing longer and people were starting to leave, but I felt like Law and I were just getting started. Even though it was nearly ruined, I still wanted this night for us: a semi-normal dinner. Just as I was settling back into the booth, a notification appeared. “What is it?” Law asked. “A voicemail,” I replied, stupefied. I hadn’t had a voicemail in nearly a year. I picked it up and pressed play. “Hey Nami, it’s Effie—” I hung up as soon as I heard my ex-best friend’s voice on the receiver. Law perked up,

watching my reaction. Before he could ask, I explained, “It was Effie, my old friend. She stopped talking to me when the media started covering me. All of my friends did…” I looked away. It still hurt thinking about how all of my “friends” couldn’t be arsed to listen to my side of the story, much less believe me. What hurt the most, though, was Effie. I’d known Effie since the third grade. We’d witnessed each other’s first kisses; we’d held each other through our first breakups. She had been there when my parents died and had held my hand at the funeral. She was more than my best friend. She was my sister.

And then she was gone from my life. All it took was a rumor blown way out of proportion. I went to her a day after the rape. I gathered all my strength to tell her I had been raped and that Morris had forced himself on me. At first she was the same old Effie. She held me as I cried. She promised we would make the police believe my story. Then two days later the news started running my story. They painted me as a liar. They pulled every bit of information they could about my past and twisted it into a believable fiction. I called Effie for support, but she didn’t answer. I kept calling and calling until she finally picked up and said, “Look, Nami, I can’t keep supporting your

delusions. Get help.” She hung up and that was the last I heard of her. I didn’t believe it at first. I couldn’t. How can you believe that your best friend, your sister, just abandons you after over a decade? I knew I should have moved on. I’d moved on from everything else. I’d thrown yogurt in her face! Still. It’s one thing to move beyond the noxious, black tar that’s got you sinking, and another to give up hope in the sister that used to keep you tethered. Law reached over and rubbed my back, helping me finish the story. I smiled gratefully at him and said, “I don’t know why she’s calling me now.” “She probably saw the news,” Law

offered. “So?” I said into my hands, forcing my tears back inside. “So the news isn’t painting you as a liar any more,” Law continued. “Effie probably saw the news.” I looked from Law to my phone and back to Law. I summoned all my strength to press play and finish the voicemail. “…I saw the news and I would really like to talk to you. Please call me back. My number is the same.” I stared at the phone, unsure what to feel. I felt Law’s gaze on me, but he didn’t say anything until I looked up to him. “What do you want to do?” I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Part of me really wanted to reach out.

I’d been so lonely and I missed Effie. I missed our stupid fights. I missed our girl talks. I missed riding in the car and singing along to songs. I missed sleepovers. I missed shopping. I missed eating ice cream together and watching dumb TV shows. I missed her. But I missed the Effie that was my sister, and the Effie that called me wasn’t her any more. The Effie that called me had abandoned me. I exhaled, pushing away the leftover waffles on my plate. “Right now I just want to go home.” “I’ll take you back right now.” Law signaled for the check. “I mean…” I bit my nail and looked

away, hoping I wasn’t being too forward. “I want to go home with you.” I lay in bed with Law, staring out the window at the Salt Lake City skyline. We’d made love. Now he held me. I turned on the TV, even though he’d told me not to; call it a morbid fascination or a need to know. Slowly, I slipped out of his sleepy embrace. Hours later and the news still hadn’t stopped reporting on the same thing: me. For once, though, they weren’t picking me apart. They weren’t tearing into me like leftover nachos. My picture (an old but at least somewhat flattering

one) was raised in the corner; I was somber and serious looking. It was unlike the months before, where they’d seemed to use any shot they could to plaster me as a harlot. The picture they had now was almost regal looking. It was odd to be on the other side. To watch the vultures pick at someone else. The picture of Morris on the screen was of an unflattering angle. His chin looked weak, his eyes beady, and contempt seemed to radiate from his pores. I wondered if the world would see the Morris that had haunted me for nearly a year. There was no new news to report. The reporters merely rehashed the day’s earlier developments. Their assessments

floated in and out of my ears as I trained my gaze on Morris. I locked onto his small blue gaze and thought of his family. I wondered what he was telling his wife and children. I wondered what his constituents were thinking. I almost let myself get sucked back in, but then Law groaned in his sleep. He reached a hand out, tugging at my waist. The action jerked me out of my spiraling thoughts. I wasn’t sure what the next months held for us. I wasn’t even sure what the next few days held for us. Now that the world knew the truth, it was an entirely different battlefront. I felt sorry for the world. I was sorry they had to know the truth. I knew what that truth did to a person. I’d

experienced it firsthand. It was a truth so ugly it could change a person’s very soul. Lucky for me, Law had come along. He’d agreed to share his soul. Because of him, my soul had never truly blackened. It had grayed, it had withered a bit, but because of Law, it had stayed intact. I cuddled closer to Law, stealing a bit more of his warmth. I wasn’t poetic enough to call Law my angel. I wasn’t a damsel needing saving. I was in distress, but Law didn’t wear shining armor. He hadn’t rescued me from perdition. Law had seen me in Hell and had helped me build the map out. Law was my compass. In the end, I wasn’t sure of the

future, but I could be sure of one thing: whatever happened, I could handle it.

ONE YEAR LATER

“Today is his sentencing.” “I know.” “Are you sure you don’t want to go?” “You’re asking me this now?” I was suspended from the ceiling, my body tied up in intricate knots. Law had bought and moved into a downtown loft. The view was spectacular, especially from my position. I was above it all, above the lights that twinkled like stardust, above the people that lived and lied in the lights, I was above it. Hung from the ropes, I felt power. “I want to be sure.” Law trailed his hands along the knots and I could feel the sensation vibrating against my skin. I

shivered, goose bumps forming. From the rope to Law’s deep voice, I felt everything with intense awareness. The knots pressed against my naked skin, their hard packs reminding me of Law. The knots reminded me of his cock: smooth, yet hard and roped, literally. I’d been suspended for only a few minutes, but it wasn’t the first time Law and I had engaged. He’d had plans for me, as he’d said months before, and he had followed through. Law had waited until I was at peace before suspending me. We did rope play, we did bondage, but he never suspended me until I had fully let Morris go. Good thing, too, because when you’re up like that, with the rope

pressing into your skin, completely helpless, you have nowhere to go but your mind. All that’s left is sensation. Had I attempted it too soon I would have broken. Instead I soared. When Law raised me up in the ropes, I felt like I was flying. I let out a sigh and said, “God I would love to talk about anything else right now. Lets talk about genocide.” “Nami…” Law yanked on one of the knots and I trembled. “I want to know that your mind is clear. There can’t be any secrets between us, remember?” I sighed. “I let Morris go the day I decided he didn’t have any more power over me. I don’t need to watch him go to jail to know he’s out of my life.” I had

helped with the case, of course. After Becca Riley’s suicide note, more women came forward. An astonishing twentyfour women had tales to tell of their own rapes by Morris’s hand. It was sickening. I made it clear to the prosecuting attorney that I would give my testimony but my help ended there. It wasn’t about spite, it was about moving on. I’d given almost a year of my life to Morris and I wasn’t about to give up more. I recorded my account of the rape so they could admit it into evidence and alerted them of the rape kit that had been abandoned in evidence. The attorney tried to apologize, more to cover her ass than out of real contrition. It was clear I had a huge civil

suit on my hands. I could take the state for a lot of money for the way they had handled my case. I didn’t, though. Like I said, I didn’t want to give up any more of my life to Morris. I had moved on. “It probably doesn’t hurt knowing he’s getting life no matter what,” Law whispered, running his fingers lightly along the ropes. The sensation was like an amplified caress. “Yeah. That doesn’t hurt.” I sighed the words, utterly losing focus. Up in the air, it was hard enough to think, much less carry a conversation. Law tugged on the ropes, his actions a purposeful movement to elicit an erotic response. Each knot hit a pressure point designed to drive me wild. When Law tugged

another knot, I whimpered, completely forgetting what we’d been talking about. “I suppose it’s time we get started, Dandelion,” Law murmured, straining the rope so hard I saw stars. Afterward we cuddled in bed with the news on. Different news channels each reported on the same thing: Morris. His sentencing was over and the judge had ruled that Morris would get life without parole. I turned off the TV and craned my neck to Law. If it was possible, I’d grown to love him more over the year. We wouldn’t be in Utah much longer. Law had gotten a job with a nonprofit in DC that worked to eliminate

sex trafficking in the US and abroad. I’d also gotten a job and now we were both moving to the capital of the nation the next week. After months of what felt like sleepwalking through my life, barely managing to finish my degree in peace and conflict studies online, it had all clicked together. Law had shown me the job and I’d applied, interviewed, and been accepted. I was going to work in a rape recovery center. Hopefully my terrible experience would help someone. That was the plan, at least. Mostly everything about my Utah life was ending. The only tie I had there was Tony, who I made sure to text, email, and Skype whenever I could.

Even my tie to Raskol was no longer in Utah. Raskol would follow me wherever I went, and Law had solidified that in silver. Dangling delicately from my neck was a canine-shaped locket Law had given me months ago. It was the closest I would ever get to a dog again. Law and I had visited the humane society a few times, but it felt like I was trying to replace a child. I’d discovered that the most I could do to allay my guilt and remorse was donate to various dog charities. Yet even that was like taking an umbrella to a stormy sea. I’d grown to accept that nothing would calm the sorrow I felt. I had decided not to call Effie months before. I’d deleted her voicemail

and blocked her number. She was part of my old life, the life I was moving on from. She had chosen not to be a part of my new life when she’d abandoned me and left me to the wolves. I wrote her numerous letters that I never sent. Each letter was the same variation of the previous one. I called her out for being a horrid friend and person. I told her she should be ashamed of herself. I told her she was terrible. In the end, it wasn’t worth it. To ascribe so much worth to a person who doesn’t value you is toxic. I had learned that from Morris. It was better to forget Effie and move on than to try and capture the elusive concept of closure. Hopefully I would make new

friends in DC. Maybe my new friendships wouldn’t be exactly like mine and Effie's had been, but then what I’d had with Effie hadn’t actually been what I’d thought it was. A true sister doesn’t abandon you. A true sister believes you no matter what. “How do you feel?” Law asked, pulling me close. “I guess I should feel something, right?” I asked, resting my chin on his pectorals. “I mean I’ve been working for exactly this, to see that bastard’s name dragged through the mud as it rightly should be.” “But you don’t?” Law rubbed my arm. I was grateful for that gesture because even though the lofted apartment

was warm, I felt cold. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he can’t hurt anyone else, but it’s almost as if I don’t care any more. This past year with you has been the happiest I’ve ever been. It’s been the bright spot in my murky waters. I just…” I trailed off, uncertain. “You’re not required to feel anything for him, good or bad.” I nodded at Law, liking the way that sounded. I’d had numerous requests for interviews. People finally wanted to hear my story. Still, I’d turned them all down. The only person who seemed to understand why I was turning them down was Law. Instead of calling me a liar, a slut, and a whore now, everyone was

guessing about my state of mind. I was no longer a whore, I was a hero. I was a different kind of tabloid fodder. The same people who had hated me loved me now. They wanted inside my head. They wanted to call me brave to my face. To the naked eye it seemed like I’d gotten what I’d been fighting for, but I knew better, and so did Law. It was just a different type of public lynching. They wanted to string me up and call me martyr. I wasn’t a martyr. I’d swum in the black ooze. I’d done terrible things. I wasn’t ignoring their calls because I was mad or sad or utterly post traumatic. I was ignoring their calls because I’d moved on and wasn’t about to glorify

Morris with so much as a whisper, much less a segment on 60 Minutes. “So what do we do now?” I asked. “Now that I’m all enlightened and shit?” “We could become monks,” Law suggested. “We could…” I smiled, pretending to consider it. “Or we could become preachers,” Law offered. “That’s also a possibility.” I furrowed my brow, as if really thinking about it. “Or,” Law continued. “We could finish packing and go fuck each other’s brains out until we can’t get out of bed.” “That”—I pointed at him—“that is an idea I can get on board with.”

“Well, that’s the last of it. We are officially done packing,” Law said, closing the lid on his suitcase. He reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me in for a kiss. A year of his kisses and I still hadn’t tired of them. He opened me up, body and soul. Breathless, I pulled back and gestured to the huge pile of clothing we’d yet to pack. “What about that stuff over there?” “All right,” Law whispered, taking my ear between his teeth. “You caught me.” Law grinned and spun me around so I was flat against his chest. Bending down so his head was to my neck, he placed lingering kisses on the tip of my

collarbone. He ghosted a trail of kisses to the top of my chest and I gripped his forearms, his lips making me fold into myself. “It’s getting too quiet in here.” Law sucked along my skin, pushing my shirt aside to get at my bare shoulder. “The sound of you screaming my name is noticeably missing.” Law tugged the back of my neck and forced me to look at him. His honey eyes shone with lust, but he searched mine. Law never took what I didn’t offer. “I’m going to fuck you,” Law stated. Only hours ago we’d made love and I still felt the echoes of our sex. My legs were weak, my arms were sore, and between my thighs I still felt him inside

me. “You are, are you?” I teased. I reached out and kissed him. Unlike our previous kiss, this one was forceful. It was needy. It was hot. We’d shared tongues and lips many times that year. I’d pecked him on the cheek. I’d kissed him goodnight. Our kisses had become our language, and the kiss we shared now was electric, the fire between us casting shadows. We were searching for each other. We were renewing the bond we’d built. We were tasting for the lost souls we’d found together. I broke apart just long enough to whisper, “Tie me up, Law.” Law smiled against my lips before separating to go

get the rope. When Law met me, I was beyond death. I walked the world and saw only ash and ruin. My body didn’t belong to me; it belonged to Morris. I saw it as a tool for his destruction. I didn’t believe in love; I worked in fear and hate. I let myself believe that because I hated, I was free. That was the opposite of the truth, though. I was caged. I was locked in with my demons. Law changed that, because Law made me love him. When you love someone, you have to exorcise your demons. When you’re alone, you can be swallowed up by them. Law forced me to exorcise my demons

Before Law, even before Morris, I’d been searching for clarity. I’d yearned for a love so true I could lose myself in it and not fear getting lost. I’d stared longingly at pictures of women tied up and feared that I would never have such trust in another. After Morris, I was convinced it was impossible. Now I knew nothing was impossible, even love. THE END

Thank you for reading Elastic Heart. Normally I attach a preview of

one of my upcoming books, but I’m so thrilled to bring a preview of another amazing author’s book. Here is Summer’s Eve by M.C. Cerny! Enjoy! M.C. Cerny fell in love with books after experiencing her first real ugly cry reading Where The Red Fern Grows. Her debut romantic suspense novel, Flashpoint, was written in a series of post-it-note ramblings that would likely make her idol Tom Clancy and her mother blush. She is a post graduate of NYU, and calls rural NJ home with her menagerie of human and feline furbabies. When M.C. is not writing, you’ll find her lurking in Starbucks, running stupid marathons, singing Disney show tunes, and searching out the perfect

shade of pink nail polish. You can buy Summer Ever After here. You can find M.C. Cerny here: Facebook Twitter Instagram Newsletter

Today seems like a good day to

make some shitty choices. Those would be my dad’s words, not mine. But choices need to be made all the same. Rolling over in the plush bed, I let my body sink into the downy mattress as I stare at the ceiling, watching the light bounce off the hanging crystal light fixture. My mind wanders as rainbows playfully dance against the pale walls darting back and forth like the fast paced L.A. traffic. I think about the choices ahead and how un-carefree I’ve become. Stagnant. My skin tightens and zings from the coolness of the air conditioner as I brush the four hundred thread count sheets off my chest and down my stomach. Scrunching my eyes firmly shut against

the daylight, I groan into the empty room. I’m alone. To drown out everything—sound, light, whatever—I wrap the fluffy pillow over my head. My foot kicks out adjusting my cramped legs and my focus shifts to the feel of the soft sheets skimming further down my body. The roaring outside my head is the sound of the ocean hurtling water and rocks on the soft sand just beyond my little rented cottage. Damn pillow doesn’t completely block it out like I want–no, need it too, but I mind it less today. The exhaustion from making the long drive is actually better this morning, but just slightly and for damn sure I don’t miss the downtown traffic.

The Previous Day Waking up, I find myself hungover more from exhaustion than alcohol, only a fourteen-hour drive away from our romantic getaway. The expensive champagne didn’t have the desired effect to dull my senses before I left. I think about what Lucas Crowley said to me and the numbness filling my chest. I’m clutching the phone so hard I have to force myself not to snap it in half. With my ear glued to it, I listen to his voice drone on while my heart tries not to shatter into jagged little pieces. Pieces that were more than likely fragmented long before I ever introduced Lucas into my life.

“I love you, Abigail. I really do, but….” I should have known the ‘but’ was coming. As I listen to his flimsy excuse, my eyes burn with pooling tears, which are caught by my lashes before slipping down my cheeks. I’m the ultimate ass in thinking my boyfriend, my lover for the past three years, was coming up to scratch. He got exactly what he wanted after my dad’s lavish office party last night, no need to keep me dangling, even if I’m the one who created this mess. Our relationship has been a sort of secret since we met that first day as interns at my dad’s firm, although we’d been assigned in different departments under different mentors.

I worked my ass off getting that assignment to prove to my dad I was worth it, finally worth his attention, and recognition. I interviewed with other department chairs so no one could say I got the internship due to nepotism, but I always felt like he didn’t want me at the firm to begin with. Three years I’ve spent consumed with law school, studying my life away to pass my bar exam in one shot, and now this. I wondered if I would always feel– lacking. “What do you mean, you’re canceling our vacation? Three years, Lucas. I have been waiting for this moment—to finish school and pass the bar exam. Waiting to tell my dad about

us and start our lives. Just fucking waiting! Everything has been set, and now you’re having second thoughts?” My voice shakes with uncertainty. Feeling dejected, I grip the space above my nose between trembling fingertips to ease the pain between my eyes as the phone rests against the side of my head. The secret of our relationship has taken its toll on us both, and now I hover on never getting the peace I long for. “I’m not canceling anything. You’re just being unreasonable. Your dad has offered me a chance to work on a highprofile case this summer as lead council. I just think if we hold out a little longer, he’ll finally respect my efforts. He will finally see me as a competent lawyer

good enough for his daughter. I have to earn my job, unlike some of us.” Sneering laces his voice and I’m taken back by the venom he throws at me. Fuck you, Lucas, my brain screams, but the words keep a choke hold over my throat. “What? I’ve worked just as hard,” I say calmly, trying to keep myself in check. I don’t tell him that was my case before I turned my father down for this much-needed, stress-relieving time away. He had dangled the case like a shiny lure, and I refused to be baited because I thought Lucas and I would be together rebuilding our strained relationship hundreds of miles away. It is time we should be spending together

after all the sacrifices we’ve made to get to the top and be offered a job at my dad’s firm— so we can emerge as a couple and no longer some sordid secret romance. “Doesn’t my job, our future, mean something more than some silly little summer of self-exploration?” Lucas implies coldly. “It’s not as if I didn’t sacrifice too by not telling your dad we’re together. You made us a secret to begin with.” Sure, so now it’s entirely my fault for wanting to be taken seriously in a shark tank full of lawyers who’ve known me from the time I pissed my pants as a toddler. Jerk. “Come on, Abs, we talked about this.” The nickname grates on my nerves.

Did we? Yeah. We agreed to keep PDA out of the office and focus on work so we could be offered good jobs, or at least kick-ass references. Apparently, Lucas has made an addendum to the memo I missed, so much for being professional and building credibility with fickle colleagues. Pulling the phone away from my face, I look at the once happy picture of us hugging. How long will I keep making excuses for him? I ignore Lucas’ pleas to reconsider. Under my Dad’s thumb, I would remain working my ass off grunting for the firm, getting coffee and doing pointless research for his cases as assistant counsel. At least Everest Barlow, my dad’s partner, believed in my work.

Obviously, Dad offered this lead case to Lucas to punish me for defecting this summer, and Lucas—unable to help himself—snatched it up in his selfish self-preservation. “I’ll call you when I get there.” Hanging up on Lucas, I feel strangely devoid, wondering what the last three years have been. A slick haze coats my eyes as I hold the wadded up tissue against my cheek, hoping to catch any fallen teardrops that endlessly pour from my eyes. The salty mixture of sadness and disappointment scratches my cheeks. My dad considers this behavior weak, so it’s best I leave anyway. It’s less conflict for our family dynamic to endure as I figure out what to

do next. As my mother lay dying from cancer, she often spoke of the town she grew up in, and I wondered how different my life could have been had she stayed there in Gold Beach. It’s no wonder my father forbad us from speaking about it after she passed. He hates just about everything she loved. I suppose that’s why it felt like the perfect place to hide away and lick my wounds for the summer. I drive my car, a sleek silver BMW convertible—a gift from my dad for getting into law school—up the coastline. The trip from LA took me fourteen long hours, causing my shoulders to ache and my backside to

burn from sitting in the same spot for so long. I couldn’t stay inside my apartment any longer. Being a task-oriented person, the stink of inactivity was killing me. Unable to sleep another wink I left around 3 a.m., well before the sun rose in LA, showing me its true colors as a selfish, egocentric city of my peers. As I drive north, the sun brightly shines and wind blows my hair free from its ponytail as I head up Route 101 toward Oregon. On one side of the highway is a rocky coastline and on the other is a forest of tall North Pacific pine trees growing denser as I leave civilization. I don’t feel any compulsion to stop, except to maybe use a bathroom; hunger isn’t a present concern at the

moment. Ocean air saturates my nostrils with a clean salty sting and the smell of crisp pine. I come to a small commuter bridge —it’s one of those old drawbridges crossing the Rogue River. The wait to cross takes forever. I practice deep, cleansing breaths as I focus on the remaining drive. The sun glints over the water, blinding me for a second, and gulls fly low, letting out cries into the wind. Just a little farther and then I can collapse and regroup. There is only one way in and out of this coastal town along the scenic highway. I imagine I’m entering my stronghold with the bridge towers on either end protecting the city and

watching over me. I feel safe within my new kingdom I’ve been voluntarily exiled. Continuing to wait for the bridge, I read a sign with gold ornate lettering on a curvy blue background: Gold Beach, Oregon, pop. 2,650. Scratch that, current population 2,651 for the next several weeks. I look down at my steering wheel fleetingly to view my neatly manicured nails. Mandated office attire, I muse. The minions all dressed in pencil skirts and slacks in subdued colors will be handling case files today. They will be flipping through hundreds of documents on rampant expeditions to find loops holes and case law references. I shake my head, wondering who will be writing

my mentor’s opening dialogue. The only regret is that I might have disappointed Everest, but I think he’s also the only one who would understand my defiance. A deep breath settles me into acceptance… I should paint these nails some bright, obnoxious color for the next two months. The blare of a barge horn startles me back to the present. I drive slowly through the bridge toll, watching a young man down on a boat. The sun’s glare obstructs much of my view, but I imagine he’s in charge standing at the helm, waving his hat at me. From this distance, I’m guessing he is attractive, but not really my type. For one thing, he’s big with huge, hulking shoulders and shaggier hair than I’m

accustomed too. His face looks like he might be sporting scruff or a messy beard, but I can’t be sure. Definitely not the blonde manscaped suited-up guys I’m used too from the dark T-shirt molded to his chest and cargo shorts hanging from trim hips. As he drives the barge through, I notice he isn't even wearing shoes. Keeping my hands on the wheel, feeling uncertain, I refrain from waving back. Spending a great deal of my life learning to be the good girl, the perfect daughter, has gotten me nowhere. My hand itches at the wheel but I hesitate too long and he’s guided the boat through the drawbridge by the time I decided to go for it. It’s not as if I will ever see him again anyway so I let the

regret go. I’m here to work on me, not pick up guys. The bridge lowers, bells ringing and I drive my flashy little car over the bridge and down a coastal road full of rocks and sand. Off to my left is an astounding view of the ocean as I follow the instructions from my iPhone’s GPS. The directions are the only sound I’ve allowed inside my car since leaving LA. Letting the car feel each twist and turn of the road I’m pleasantly surprised my destination is exactly as it was advertised. I registered at a cute little bed and breakfast with a view of the ocean and beachfront access that I found online during my search of my mother’s hometown. This was the perfect location

for a secluded getaway and what I had hoped would be a romantic time to slow down and rekindle. So much for that happening now, if ever. My hands shake while holding the wheel pulling myself together. The B&B boasts a homemade breakfast by the proprietress and absolute privacy, which is something I desperately need right now to be able to hide away and heals my wounds. Pulling up to the house, I can see its timeless beauty from the fresh painted shutters to the wraparound porch. It’s so picturesque I sit there for a moment, letting my head rest back against the seat. A sea breeze whips my hair around as I step out of my car and grab my substantial designer suitcase—another

gift from Dad—lobbing it up the flight of stairs to the doorway. I sort of anticipated someone greeting me right away and opening the door, but the charming vista probably lacks some of those other amenities I’m used to at five star resorts. “Well, hello there. You must be Miss Holliday, my evening reservation,” the woman with a gentle voice calls out to me from behind an old wooden counter inside the foyer of the house. I look around, taking in the décor. It’s all subtle colors, white washed woods and soft lines, something my mother would have appreciated. “I’m Madeline,” the woman introduces herself, clutching my hand warmly in her soft one, “but you

just go ahead and call me Maddie.” I can’t help but smile at the woman. Her face is kind, and I’m glad I made the reservation here instead of at some overpriced island resort like Lucas had originally wanted. Much of my tension eases in this stranger’s presence. “Hi, I’m Abigail Holliday. I have a summer reservation with open dates. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.” I let out a deep breath, feeling relieved. “Oh my, you look oddly familiar to me. Do you have any family here, my dear?” Maddie cocks her head to the side, studying me strangely. She squints, as if I will turn into an older, taller, blonder version of me. She’s not half wrong either.

“Actually, my mother Judith grew up here, but she’s passed away, some years now. Her maiden name was Love. I’ve probably got a few distant cousins hanging around. This is my first visit.” Thinking about my mother makes my heart hurt. I miss her, but I don’t want to think about her right now. That’s all part of the family shit I’ve worked hard to suppress. “Well, Abigail, you definitely came to the right place then.” Maddie is sweet and doesn’t press me further, which I’m grateful for. “I’ve got a nice little cottage right on the beach waiting for you. Reservation for two, my dear?” Maddie looks at me and my luggage expectantly. I smile back, shaking my head.

“Just for one,” I correct her, holding back the angry tears. “Not a problem, dear.” She reaches over the counter and holds my hand, squeezing gently before letting go again. “Thanks, I appreciate that.” She hands me a key and motions for me to follow her. I begin to drag my suitcase along, but she stops me. “Oh, dear, just leave that. Roman will be by shortly to take that big bag to your room. No need to carry it down the path. It’s a bit uneven right now until he fixes the walkway.” She prattles on pointing to things here and there, but I’m too occupied by the view to listen much. “Poor boy comes home every summer, and all I do is keep him busy with

endless repairs.” She laughs and I feel bad for whoever this maintenance guy must be. “Oh, okay.” She continues to speak, telling me small bits of information about her B&B, but I’m busy taking in all the fresh air and lack or responsibilities right now. I follow her from the house down a short path through the gravel, sand, and small brush to a little whitewashed cottage. It’s exactly how I pictured it from the website. Little blue shutters frame the windows with small flower boxes and two rocking chairs on the porch, which face the ocean. I’m standing on the porch in awe as she opens the door. “It’s perfect,” I say,

and she smiles delightedly before leaving me to await my baggage. I want nothing more than to sleep the next few days away, read on my Kindle, and lay in the sunshine. Leaving L.A. was a good decision, the best maybe if only I could stop the nagging doubt of my second guesses…

Thanks for reading Elastic Heart! This book was definitely not easy to

write, however it might just be my favorite. To stay up to date on all of my books to connect with me, you can find me here: Official Website Facebook Twitter Instagram Goodreads

I of course need to thank those who helped me write this story!

Once again I’m thankful for my tight team of betas, they let me know what’s up and what’s not working. Aaly, Katina, Dayna, and Amanda, thank you so much for reading this story when it was rough and ugly. Your words and advice are invaluable to me. Liz Wiley, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you’re more than a beta and you’re more than a personal assistant. When we met I was so unsure of myself. I was certain my writing was shit, but you kept telling me otherwise. I’m still not certain… but I don’t know where I’d be without you! Thank you to my editor, Editing by C. Marie. You do a wonderful job and I’m so grateful to have you on my team!

Thank you to my formatter, Formatting by Leigh, for saving my butt! I tried doing it on my own and subsequently crashed and burned. But hey, if you don’t try you’ll never know. Thank you to all the wonderful writers in the indie world! There are so many writers who have shown me so much support, I could write a second book dedicated to just you guys. I’ve been blessed to be included in groups with wonderful writers who genuinely care about each other. Once again, though, I’m singling out Kristen Hope Mazzola, because you’re a doll. You went out of your way to help me, not because you could get something out of it, but because that’s the kind of genuine

person you are. Unfortunately a lot of bad gets highlighted in the indie world. Drama gets focused on and shit gets flung, but I’m so happy and so grateful to be surrounded by not tens but hundreds of wonderful authors who are beautiful inside and out. To my Facebook group, Get Hard. We started out small but we’re growing! I love all of you and have such a blast with you. Which brings me to the next group of people to thank: the readers. Thank you to the readers who take time to purchase and read my book! Thank you for leaving reviews on my book! Good or bad, reviews are the life blood of an author. They help me grow and

flourish. So thank you! Without the readers I don’t exist. Without you guys, I’m like Tinkerbell sans the clapping. Thank you to my family. I’m in a very unique situation, I think, in that all of my family, from my extended family to my immediate family, is very supportive. My Grandma Dort has supported me from the beginning and continues to support me. My Mom, my Dad, my StepDad, my sister, my brother, my sister-inlaw, my brother-in-law, they all support me. I’m so very thankful. Last but not least, my rock, my foundation, the glue to my inner gluesniffer, Eric. I’d write a whole sonnet about you, but I have to write my wedding vows in a few months and I

don’t want to waste all the good stuff. I love you.

Owned Series You Own Me (Owned #1)

Let Me Go (Owned #2) Tied (Owned #2.5) Available in Mouth Rocks the Heart charity anthology Come To Me (Owned #3) May 2016 The Boogiemen Series Seven (The Boogiemen #1) September 2016 Standalones Elastic Heart Beast Date TBD