A Nearly Normal Family(79)

Did I have any choice? Whether this was true or not, I couldn’t keep seeing Chris. In fact, it was disturbing that I’d let it go this far. Sure, he was thrilling and sexy and loaded, but enough was enough. I couldn’t take any more drama.

“Did you open the drawer?” Linda asked.

I nodded.

“Chris made me go along with stuff I didn’t actually want to do. He said if I truly loved him I would show it. When I finally dared to put my foot down, he was enraged. He tied my hands behind my back and stuffed a ball gag in my mouth. I could hardly breathe.”

I gasped for breath automatically. Memories struck me like lightning.

“He raped me. I suppose he must have wanted me to resist. That was how he liked it. I realized that then.”

I thought of Chris’s gentle hands in the bathtub at the Grand. The water lapping rhythmically against our bodies. Nothing that Linda said seemed to match the Chris I knew.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“I did, but they closed the investigation. Chris’s mom is a law professor and knows every prosecutor and judge in this country. Chris is a successful entrepreneur and a millionaire. Why would anyone believe me?”

“When did you file the police report?” I asked.

Linda shifted side to side.

“In April.”

“After you left him?” Amina asked.

Linda nodded.

“After you left him?” I said. “Or was it the other way around?”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment and dried her cheek.

“The other way around,” she said quietly.

I spat on the sidewalk. Ahead of me, another bus pulled up and a woman with a suitcase jumped aside as the water splashed over the sidewalk.

“That’s my bus,” I said, running after it.





70


I stretch out on the bed in my cell and stare at a stain on the ceiling until it starts to grow and come to life and float into an optical illusion of blurry colors and patterns.

I think about Chris. Maybe there is something to Shirine’s chatter about brain chemistry and emotions and the need for stimulus. But does that mean I shouldn’t blame myself? In the end, I suppose everyone has to take responsibility for their own actions. Dopamine and serotonin and adrenaline can never be held accountable. Extenuating circumstances? I don’t know.

I knew who Chris Olsen was. At least I should have.

Impulses and feelings only exist for a moment. I’ve always thought that love is different, a choice you make. A crush flames up and fades out. Jeez, I fall in love, like, ten times a day on any given random Tuesday in October. But I didn’t choose to fall for Chris. Or did I? Was I even capable of choosing?

Why does my stomach hurt when I think about it?

Everything comes back around. Confusion and disgust.

Betrayal.

When I think about Amina, it’s like my skin starts to split. The sorrow and guilt swell up and give me total motion sickness.

I think about Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield. Is it even possible to survive this life with reason intact?

I’m not at all prepared when Shirine shows up. I fly to the edge of the bed and hide my tears behind my hands.

“What is it?” she asks, putting her leather briefcase down on the desk.

“Nothing,” I mumble. “Just tired.”

She bends down and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I slowly turn my face up toward her and let the tears come.





71


On Friday, Amina and I split a kebab platter on the sofa, even though Mom and Dad had made me promise only to eat in the kitchen or at the dining room table.

“Don’t disappoint your father” was the last thing Mom said before they left.

Story of my life, in some ways.

“I can’t believe you inflicted that psycho on me,” I said, glaring at Amina.

“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t get rid of her.”

“Honestly, Amina. That Linda Lokind found out who you were and tracked you down. She must have stalked you. Just like she stalked Chris.”

Amina bit her lip. She so clearly wanted to protest, but I guess she realized it wasn’t the right time.

We’d searched online for more info about Linda, some sort of proof that she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but Linda Lokind was as good as invisible.

“You’ve got something there,” Amina said, pointing with her plastic fork. “No, there. Higher up.”

I moved my finger up my cheek and wiped away a smear of sauce.

Amina sighed. She gets embarrassed whenever I’m messy and sloppy. She uses her utensils like surgical instruments, making tiny mouse-sized portions that slip into her mouth so she hardly needs to open it. You can never see her chewing.

“Tegnérs tonight?” she said. “Please, please, please.”

“No way.”

I’d had a headache all afternoon and all I wanted to do was crash on the couch and sleep for ten hours. This day was made for a crappy night in. And I didn’t have to worry about Chris. He’d texted to say he was going to meet up with an old friend and we would talk another day. For some reason I was trembling at the thought of having to break up with him. I didn’t know whether I should take the bull by the horns and tell the truth or let it just kind of fade away.