Jane Doe(8)

But let’s be honest. Steven probably wouldn’t recognize the cause or effect.

All in all, though, last night’s fun was a good idea. Playing the submissive mouse is going to be a lot easier when I’m not tight with tension and always on the edge of snapping and telling Steven what I really think of him.

If there was any chance of regularly finding a partner of Anthony’s caliber, I’d hit the bars every night, but Anthony was a long shot. Every one-night stand is a roll of the dice. I’m good enough at recognizing fellow monsters that I rarely put myself in danger, but no woman can avoid the risk of a seriously bad lay. It’s like some of them are trying to be terrible in bed.

All those jokes about the clitoris being hard to find? Come on. It’s right there near the top of the vulva every time. There’s maybe one square inch of possibility, and they still can’t work it out. The sheer incompetence astounds me.

Of course, there are plenty of men who don’t even bother to try, but it’s gotten easier and easier to spot them at first glance after years of practice. I’m pretty sure Steven is one of them, so I’ll put off sleeping with him as long as I can. Luckily, resistance fits my narrative.

I want to spend my lunch hour reading, but I stupidly open my email and there is that note from Cheryl still waiting for me. I could just delete it. I don’t care about Cheryl. But I do care about Meg, and Cheryl is the only link to my love for her. We could stay in touch. Have coffee. Talk about Meg.

Meg was the closest thing I had to a soul. She blew into my life like a hurricane. Is that too clichéd? It is, but the worse sin is that a hurricane is destructive, and Meg wasn’t. So . . . she exploded my cold, quiet world with all the beauty of a fireworks show.

She was my sophomore roommate in college. My freshman roommate had been ignorable. We had nothing in common, but nothing that made us enemies either. That year was quiet. Forgettable.

But Meg . . . Meg was a new universe. There was no question we’d be friends, because Meg was friends with everyone. I didn’t want to go out dancing with her the first night we met, but she had decided we’d go dancing, so we did. It was more fun than all of my freshman days smashed together.

But fun was just the start. With Meg I could almost imagine I was normal. She was hopeful, positive, and loving, and if I tried hard when I was with her, I could pretend to be those things too. Only for short moments, of course. I stole brief glimpses of the world through her eyes, and it was like reading the best book. I could lose myself in her story.

The most important thing about Meg, though—the thing that kept me tied to her—was her reliability. Meg was there for me every single time I needed her. She was the first person in the world I truly trusted. She was the only person. And she’s gone.

I’ve never missed anyone before. What do I do with that? Without Meg, I’m no longer sure who I am. She was my connection to a future. To love and children and marriage.

One day Meg would get married. I’d be her maid of honor. She’d have kids and I’d be their aunt Jane. Meg was my only hope of loving children, even if that love was seasonal and sketchy. I’ll never have my own. What would be the point in creating more people I’d barely connect with?

But I knew I’d love Meg’s kids through her. Enough to be there on Christmases and birthdays. To celebrate with them. To have a link to family and traditions, even if they weren’t my own.

Without Meg, my future is a cold march of nearly identical days. No true family. No holiday gatherings. Is that a reason to hang on to Cheryl? Is that what other people would do?

She promised Meg she’d take care of me, and I know she’s a more-the-merrier type, so if I keep in touch I’ll at least have the chance of a warm and raucous Christmas in the future.

But strangers aren’t family. Meg will never be there. I’ll never belong. I’ll be a stranger everywhere I go for the rest of my life.

Still, I don’t delete Cheryl’s email. I have no idea what that means.

By the end of lunch I’ve lost a little of my glow, but that’s a good thing. Hobbies are well and good, but I need to get back to the work of keeping Steven on my hook.

If I could get this all over with quickly, I would. Fall into bed with Steven and get close to him right away. Find out what makes him tick. This could all be over in days. But if I don’t resist sex, I won’t be worthy of love, and I need him to love me in his own little selfish way. I need him to show me his weaknesses.

So no sex tonight. Maybe a kiss. I’ll keep my cardigan buttoned up to my neck until Steven talks me into having a glass of cheap wine with dinner. Then I’ll get warm and unbutton it too far and he’ll think he made that happen.

This relationship will be tedious and nearly unbearable, but the end will justify the means. Maybe I’ll destroy his family. Maybe I’ll set him up for embezzlement. Maybe I’ll kill him.

I’ll find what’s most important to him and then I’ll take it away. However that plays out is fine with me.





CHAPTER 9

I’ve never killed anyone. I’m not that kind of sociopath. But you never know. Desperate times . . .





CHAPTER 10

Steven promised a hole-in-the-wall and he delivered. It’s a little Italian restaurant on a side street in downtown Minneapolis that’s either going to serve the most amazing food I’ve ever had or food that will reveal why this place is slowly dying.