An Anonymous Girl(7)

Love her, I think. I still love her.

It just hurts to be around her.

I still haven’t written a single word when Ben knocks on the door and tells me I have five minutes left.

I lift my hands and slowly type, Yes, and I’d give anything to undo it.

Before I can rethink the words, I hit the Enter key.

I stare at the computer screen, but Dr. Shields doesn’t write anything in return.

The cursor seems to throb like a heartbeat; it’s mesmerizing. My eyes begin to burn.

If Dr. Shields typed something to me right now, if he asked me to continue, and said it was okay for me to go over my allotted time, I’d do it. I’d let it all out; I’d tell him everything.

My breathing grows shallow.

I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to tell me to jump.

I keep staring at the screen, knowing I’ve only got a minute or so left.

The screen is still blank except for the blinking cursor. But words suddenly begin to pulse in my mind, in time with the cursor: Tell me. Tell me.

When Ben opens the door, I have trouble dragging my gaze away from the screen to nod at him.

I twist around and slowly pull my coat of the back of my chair and pick up my backpack. I look at the computer one last time, but it’s still blank.

The minute I stand up, a wave of exhaustion envelops me. I’m completely depleted. My limbs feel heavy and fog invades my brain. All I want to do is go home and crawl under the covers with Leo.

Ben stands just outside the doorway, looking down at an iPad. I catch a glimpse of Taylor’s name at the top, followed by three female names below it. Everyone has secrets. I wonder if they’ll reveal theirs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at eight,” Ben says as we begin to descend the stairs to the lobby. It’s an effort to keep up with him.

“Okay,” I say. I grip the rail and focus on the steps so I don’t miss one.

When we reach the bottom, I pause. “Um, I have a question. Exactly what kind of survey is this?”

Ben looks a little irritated. He’s kind of fussy, with his shiny loafers and fancy stylus. “It’s a comprehensive study on morality and ethics in the twenty-first century. Dr. Shields is evaluating hundreds of subjects in preparation for a major academic paper.”

Then he looks past me, toward the next woman waiting in the lobby: “Jeannine?”

I walk outside, zipping my leather jacket. I pause, needing to get my bearings, then I turn and begin to head toward my apartment.

All the people around me seem to be engaged in ordinary activities: A few women with brightly colored yoga mats enter the studio on the corner. Two guys holding hands stroll past me. A kid zipping by on a scooter is chased by his father, who shouts, “Slow down, buddy!”

Two hours ago, I wouldn’t have looked twice at any of them. But now it’s disorienting to be back in the noisy, bustling world.

I head to my apartment, pausing at a stoplight when I reach the corner. It’s cold, and I reach into my pockets for my gloves. As I put them on, I notice the clear polish I’d applied to my fingernails only yesterday is chipped and peeling.

I must’ve been scraping at it while thinking about whether I should answer that last question.

I shiver and cross my arms over my chest. I feel like I’m coming down with a bug. I have four clients today, and I have no idea how I’m going to summon the energy to haul my case around the city and make small talk.

I wonder if the survey will continue where it left of when I return to the classroom tomorrow. Or maybe Dr. Shields will let me skip that last question and give me a new one.

I turn the final corner and my apartment building comes into view. I unlock the main door, tugging it hard behind me until I hear the latch click into place. I drag myself up the four flights of stairs and unlock my door, then collapse onto my futon. Leo jumps up and curls next to me; sometimes he seems to sense when I need comfort. I adopted him almost on a whim a couple of years ago when I stopped in to an animal shelter to look at the cats. He wasn’t barking or whining. He was just sitting in his cage, looking at me, like he’d been waiting for me to show up.

I set the alarm on my phone to ring in an hour, then rest my hand on his small, warm body.

As I lie there, I begin to wonder if it was worth it. I wasn’t prepared for how intense the experience would be, or how many different emotions would engulf me.

I roll onto my side and close my heavy eyes, telling myself that I’ll feel better once I’ve rested.

I don’t know what could happen tomorrow, what new things Dr. Shields will ask. No one is forcing me to do this, I remind myself. I could pretend I overslept. Or I could pull a Taylor and simply not show up.

I don’t have to go back, I think right before I sink into oblivion.

But I know I’m only lying to myself.





CHAPTER


FOUR


Saturday, November 17

You told a lie, which is an ironic entrance into a study on morality and ethics. Quite entrepreneurial, too.

You were not a substitute for the eight A.M. appointment.

The original participant called to cancel at 8:40 A.M., explaining she had overslept, long after you were escorted into the testing room. Still, you were allowed to continue, because by then you had proven to be an intriguing subject.

First impressions: You are young; your license confirmed that you are twenty-eight. Your chestnut-brown curls are long and a tad unruly, and you are clad in a leather jacket and jeans. You don’t wear a wedding ring, but a trio of slim silver bands is stacked on your index finger.