Jane Doe(29)

“I think it’s our two-week anniversary.”

“Is it?”

I have no idea, but it’s close enough, so I nod.

“Then happy anniversary, babe.” With any other man, I’d be moving too fast, but I’m taking my cues from Meg. She claimed they were madly in love after only one week. And if Steven thinks I’m needy and desperately romantic, he’ll read it as easy to control.

He kisses my cheek and settles into the couch with a satisfied sigh.

“Steven, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“When we were at the church, your dad mentioned unpleasantness . . .”

He shrugs and raises an eyebrow in question.

“He said how nice it was to meet me after all that unpleasantness.”

“Oh. Right.”

“What did he mean?”

He takes a hard swig from his beer and frowns as if it’s filled his mouth with bitterness. The frown doesn’t budge after he swallows. “Yeah. Well. My last girlfriend was a crazy bitch.”

I’m ready for this. I don’t smash him in the head with my beer. I don’t even claw his face with my nails. Instead I just gasp a little as if I’m mildly dismayed. “Oh no!”

“Yeah. It was pretty bad.”

“How so?”

He shrugs again. “Typical crazy female stuff.”

“So she’s a psycho? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

“No. I mean yeah. But you don’t have to worry.”

“She’s not going to follow me home and slash my tires?”

He flashes a charming smile. “You don’t have a car.”

“You know what I mean. Should I be worried?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

“She killed herself.” He says it without flinching. The words are straightforward and not tinged with the slightest haze of guilt.

“What?” My voice is tinged with all sorts of things and none of them are real. Shock. Doubt. Pity. Terror. I make my eyes wide and cover my parted lips with a shaky hand. “Steven. What?”

“Yeah. I broke up with her and she killed herself to get back at me.”

“But . . . but . . . My God! She must have been . . .”

“A crazy damn bitch.”

She loved this man. He never deserved it, but Meg loved him. She died for his love.

He’d kicked her out of his house again. Screamed at her that it was over. He’d told her to go fuck someone else so she’d know deep in her heart he was never going to touch her again. He’d thrown her things into the street. Not in front of his house, of course. That would have been embarrassing. No, he’d boxed up her belongings and dropped them on the curb outside her job to humiliate her in front of her coworkers.

Why? Because a man from work had called and invited her to his place. For a barbecue. Along with every other coworker. That was it. A man had called. But she’d been too friendly on the phone, apparently, and the man was taller and hotter than Steven, and that had been Meg’s downfall.

Because she was a whore. Because she’d always been a whore. Because she was such a slut that she didn’t even know how to behave appropriately around men.

Did you hear how you spoke to him? Did you hear your stupid giggling? It sounds like you two are already fucking. Sure, Meg, go over to his house and slut it up! I’ll just stay here and work my ass off for everything we have. You’re so fucked up and disrespectful. I can’t believe I considered marrying you.

I know exactly what he said because she sent me screengrabs of the texts later that day.

I want to kill him right now. I want to break my bottle on his coffee table and stab him in the jugular and then drag him outside so I can press his face to the grill and burn him while he dies.

But I shake my head and keep my mouth covered.

“Let’s not talk about her,” he finally sighs.

“But . . . how long ago did it happen?”

“Last year,” he answers curtly, but it’s not true. It happened nine months ago, in the middle of February, when Meg couldn’t face the long nights and gray days.

I told her a light therapy lamp would help her feel better. Apparently I was way off base.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Steven mutters.

“But, Steven, this is a big deal! You must still be reeling.”

“I prayed a lot. I got over it.”

“But I don’t understand why she killed herself. Did you break her heart? Were you cheating on her?”

“What? No way! I found out she was slutting around with guys at her job and I kicked her out. She realized she’d screwed up the best thing she’d ever had. When I wouldn’t take her back, she wanted to punish me.”

“By killing herself?”

His shoulders jerked up in a violent shrug. “She probably did it for attention. Figured she’d take a few pills and I’d come running back. I guess she fucked that up too.”

He still wants to let everyone know Meg couldn’t do anything right. She couldn’t even die correctly. I swallow my rage and keep my frown soft and trembling.

“But you must have loved her,” I say quietly, pretending I know what sympathy is. “You must be grieving.”