Resist (Songs of Submission #6)(28)

My eyes shot to hers. My breathing picked up. “What?”

“You have bruises on your neck,” she said.

I impulsively touched the bend where shoulder and neck met, as if to hide them or make sure they were still there. “What did he do?”

“He killed her.”

He killed her. Had I known that, somewhere deep in my gut? Had I been avoiding it? Lying to myself, as I often did? Or were there more lies on top of those?

I felt trapped. Months ago, I’d been flying, my own buzz filling my ears, with a destination in mind but a path not mapped. I had a job and friends and hope. One night, I spilled a drink. I touched a man’s hand, and I let him kiss me on the hood of his car. Some time after, I don’t know when, I fell into a web of lies and deceit. The harder I struggled, the more trapped I became. But who was the spider? Was it Jonathan? Or Jessica? And how could I get out of their f**king web?

I glanced around, feeling the wetness in my eyes. God, one blink and I’d be a mess. I sniffed and took a napkin from the tray. I saw the manila envelope she’d brought out sitting on the low table. On top of it, face down, sat her phone.

“I’m scared,” I said. She squeezed my hand. “He is rough. He...” I trailed off.

“Go on.”

“He calls me names, and...” I put my hands to my neck and looked into the distance.

“Does he choke you?”

“He calls me whore. Did he say those things to you?”

“Well, no.”

I started to get up “Never mind.”

She took my hand and squeezed it, pushing me back down. “It was just different for me. For me it was bitch and slut. Humiliating women is part of his sickness.”

I looked away. I needed to keep the pain on my face. I touched my neck again and whispered, very low, “He hurts me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessica said, “I can’t hear you?”

I looked back at her, finding the tears of a minute ago were still available. I blinked them out, and they dropped like stars.

“Does he choke you, Monica?”

I nodded.

“He does? He chokes you?”

I shook my head. She looked confused. I cleared my throat and eyed my bag. “I think I should go.”

“He choked me,” she said. “I had bruises just like yours. I thought I was going to die. That’s the turn-on for these men. Watching your pain and fear.”

“These? Bruises like these?” I said, touching my neck.

“Yes.”

“I fell down a hill.”

“You don’t have to lie to protect him. I’ve been in your shoes.”

I squeezed her hand. Her French manicure was perfect on all of her fingers but the right thumb, which was cracked. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Sure.” She craned her neck to see in the house. “She’s gone to bed. God. Couldn’t wait another half an hour.” She slid the manila envelope from under her phone and handed it to me. “This is for you. There’s nothing in there Jonathan doesn’t know, and it’s everything he won’t tell you. I know everything, and that scares him.” She patted my head as if I was a terrier. “Do you want ice?”

“Yes, please.”

She squeezed my hand one last time and got up, closing the door behind her.

The temptation to open the envelope was intense, but I had very little time. I hugged it to my chest, unopened, and snatched Jessica’s phone. I slipped through the sliding glass doors and out the front. The phone was recording a voice memo. I shut it down as soon as I hit the street. If she tried to chase me, she’d be looking for my car. I still walked behind hedges and in the darkest parts of the street until I got to the Jag. I sped away as fast as the car and common sense allowed.

On the drive home, I considered that I’d done something really stupid. I didn’t know which stupid thing I’d done. A string of things had seemed right at the time and could still be right. The phone, which wasn’t getting signal and would be untrackable until it was turned on again, frowned at me like a hostage. I could turn it on and quickly put it into airplane mode. I could pop the SIM card. I could hear everything if I really wanted to.

“Fuck off,” I said to the black rectangle on the passenger seat. “You’re full of shit.”

I giggled at my double entendre that recognized the recording of Jonathan’s spanking was inside. Then I laughed because my brain emptied of everything but the one thing that mattered. I trusted him. He hadn’t earned it and he certainly had pushed my limits, but deep in my heart, I didn’t need to hear the recording. I believed him. I always had.

When I realized I was going ninety-five, I pulled over. I rubbed the tears from my eyes, got my breathing to a normal rate, and turned on the overhead light. Once I got back, I wouldn’t be able to open the envelope because Jonathan would be there. Whatever was in there needed to be read furtively, in the dark of night, alone. It would be evil and ugly, written with the silk of a spider’s web.

Chapter 23.

My feet dragged up the steps, boots clopping on the wood. I was f**king tired. I should never stay up late the night before any meeting, but especially not that meeting. I was going to crawl under the sheets with Jonathan, curl up next to his beautiful, warm body, and sleep.