Elastic Heart

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to sit up. Everything hurt, and I mean everything. My toenails throbbed. My kneecaps twinged. My stomach roiled. Even my teeth ached. I could barely move my head to look around. Even my eyeballs hurt. “The last thing I remember…”

  “Was me saving you?” Law supplied.

  “I didn’t need to be saved,” I ground out. “I had everything under control.”

  “Sure you did.” Law picked me up without asking and carried me like I weighed nothing. I let my arm hang loosely, grasping feebly at the covers that had briefly cocooned me from the world.

  “What are you doing?” I protested weakly as Law carried me from the bedroom to an adjoining bath.

  “Giving you a bath,” he replied. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

  “You are not giving me a bath,” I growled, twisting in his hold—Ow… Should not have done that. Unfazed, Law carried me into the bathroom. It was steamy and smelled delicious, like him. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to give in at that moment. A warm bath sounded like heaven.

  “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” Law grinned. I geared up for a fight, but deflated. What was the point? I’d been raped. I’d been mugged. Clearly the universe was trying to tell me something. “Nami DeGrace,” it said, “You were not meant to be here.”

  “Whatever,” I replied. “Do whatever you want.” I felt his hand on my cheek and flinched involuntarily. He pulled it back. My stupid, useless heart revolted. Somewhere in the black mass it wanted his warmth.

  “Hey,” Law said, his voice low. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”

  “Like I said, whatever.” I pressed my face deep into his chest, trying not to look at him. My next words were smothered through the cloth of his shirt. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter,” Law said, voice firm. “You matter. You are important.” I didn’t respond, because what was there to say?

  “You’re covered in bruises and cuts and—I think—vomit. I think you should get cleaned up, but can you stand? Can you do it on your own?” No, I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t do it on my own. I was so utterly exhausted, not just physically, but mentally. My willpower had miraculously stayed in tact after Morris, even after the multiple violations publicly and privately, I still wanted to live. Despite that, it just seemed like something out there didn’t want me around. Something in the universe really wanted Nami DeGrace to give the fuck up.

  “I’m sorry I’m getting you and your bed dirty,” I said. “You can put me on the floor.” I was loathe to be on the floor. Not because the bed was more uncomfortable, but because the sheets had smelled like him, like campfire and cardamom. I’d awakened blissfully. For the few brief seconds before the pain hit, I’d smelled him. I felt badly for staining it with my filth.

  “I don’t give a fuck about my bed. I care about you.” Law grabbed my chin and forced my face out of his chest. I had to look him in the eyes. I was acutely aware that I was bloody and covered in vomit, while he was clean and beautiful.

  “This won’t be sexual, Nami.” Law’s whiskey eyes made me drunk. “It’s to get you better.” Of course it wouldn’t be sexual. I was basically a child in his arms, unable to care for myself. Shame colored me, but I said, “Okay.”

  Law set me down on the cool marble tile but held me with one arm by the waist. He carefully removed my shirt first. It stuck to me by caked blood. I winced as he pulled it over my head.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” Law said with a frown before tossing the bloody shirt on the ground.

  “It’s fine,” I responded automatically. It wasn’t fine. It hurt terribly. I was sure I was bruised. I probably should have gone to the hospital, but that meant dealing with the police, and I never wanted to deal with them again.

  Next Law undid the button of my pants. I cringed and looked for a spot on the wall to stare at, just like I had with Morris.

  “You okay?” he asked. I wasn’t okay. I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I was in excruciating pain. “Nami, look at me.” Reluctantly, I looked at Law. His forehead was pressed in concern and his eyes were dark with some emotion I couldn’t place.

  “No,” I replied, surprised by my own honesty. “I’m not okay.”

  “I have EMT training, Nami. Just think of me like a doctor.” Law held my gaze for a good thirty seconds as we waited together for my response. I was equally in the dark as to what I would say. With Law I was unpredictable. The walls I built seemed to fail. The rules I constructed went out the window. At last I nodded, slowly and with careful determination.

  I didn’t agree to let Law undress me because he had EMT training. It wasn’t because I viewed him as a doctor. If I was being honest, I agreed because he was Law. Utterly, irrevocably himself, and that held more sway with me than I cared to admit.

  I lifted my legs to let Law slip me out of my pants. I was only in my underwear now. I waited, dread filling me up like a cement-filled balloon, for him to take those off too. Instead, Law led me over to the bath. It was filled to the brim with bubbles and smelled of him.

  “What about my underwear?” I asked. I expected him to make some quip like he usually did.

  “You don’t have to take those off. I imagine it will make you more comfortable.” His concern left me speechless. Still holding me, Law bent down to test the water. “It’s ready.” Law helped me into the bath, the hot water instantly alleviating my pain. I let out a long sigh.

  Kneeling next to the porcelain tub, Law reached for a cloth. I watched, mesmerized, as he brought the cloth to my skin and gently started rubbing off the caked blood. It was such an intimate action. Bits and pieces of my psyche screamed at me to push him away. My body clenched with tension. Yet, it felt good. I couldn’t deny that.

  Law had stayed true to his word: he wasn’t being sexual. He was merely trying to heal me. As he moved the washcloth down my arm, he continued to clean off the blood with the same gentle precision as a doctor would. I slowly relaxed, allowing him the freedom to touch me.

  “It was lucky I found you,” Law murmured as he dipped the cloth back into the water.

  “Was it luck?” I asked, turning to face him.

  “Maybe not.” Law stopped rubbing the cloth, his arms hanging limply over the side of the tub. I would never admit it out loud, but I missed his touch. I missed the feel of the cloth cleaning me. “I followed you out of the bar. I lost track of you for a few hours and it was luck that I found you, because I was about to call it a night, assuming you’d gone home.”

  So quiet I barely heard myself, I whispered, “I went after Morris.”

  “What?” Law asked.

  “Nothing.” Law raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press. After a few minutes of silence, he stood up and reached for a towel.

  “Can you stand?” The bath had made me feel much better so I tested my legs. I was still wobbly, but I could stand. I stepped out of the tub, the bubbles sliding off my legs and onto the floor. I walked into the towel Law held out for me.

  We stood still, caught again in the potent, feverous force that always seemed to trap us. Water dripped from my skin, making a puddle on the white marble floor. I tightened my grip on the towel. Law tightened his jaw. We both stared, eyes locked, our voices apparently trapped in the same force that had captured our movement.

  “You can borrow some of my clothes,” Law stated and spun around, heading back to the bedroom. I watched him, my vocal chords frozen. I needed to thank him. I had to say something.

  “Law!” Law stopped at my voice and cocked his head slightly. “I…I…” I froze, paralyzed.

  “You’re welcome,” Law said, before continuing on his way.

  I fell asleep in Law’s bed. He was awake, listening to some late night comedian while sitting on the couch in the living room. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I meant to get up and go home, but the blankets were so warm and they smelled so nice. For the first time in months I felt safe, really and truly safe.
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  Normally I woke startled and afraid, as if a threat was about to make itself known. This time, I let light slowly filter through my lids. I let the softness of the blankets warm around my skin. I let everything slowly come to me. I was safe; there was no need to be afraid. When I was ready, I sat up, the sheets curled around my shoulders.

  Law was awake at the desk, typing something on his computer. Light spilled through the curtains but I couldn’t tell what time it was, maybe afternoon. I coughed to make myself known. With careful precision, Law stopped what he was doing and shut the computer. He slowly stood up off the chair and came over to me. I watched his movements, captivated.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Law asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  Law reached across the bed and grabbed my hand. I let him hold it, but only a moment. As wonderful as it felt to have my hand enclosed in his, I couldn’t get used to the feeling. I let the sheets fall and stood off the bed.

  “What are you doing?” Law asked, standing with me.

  “I’m leaving.” My voice was quiet.

  “Let me drive you home.”

  “Look, Law. I’m damaged goods.” I glanced down at my bruised and battered body and laughed. “Literally. This… Whatever this is, between you and me, it can’t work. It won’t work.”

  I was feeling better now. My ribs hurt and my body was bruised, but nothing was broken. I was lucky. I had thought I would die out there on the street, but Law had saved me. I owed him enough to save him from the likes of me.

  “Nami—” I raised my hand up to cut him off. It hurt to lift my arm, probably because my ribs were bruised.

  “Thank you Law.” I reached for my blood-caked and dirt-matted clothes, putting them on as gently as I could. The cloth hurt my skin, unlike his sheets had. “Truly, thank you.”

  “At least borrow some clothes.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes as he spoke. Something had happened between us the night before. Law had kindled and lit a part of me I had thought dead and buried.

  “No…” I shook my head. “No that’s… I’m fine, thank you.” I quickly rushed out of the room, shutting the door just as more words left his mouth. I was afraid to hear them, afraid that if he asked me to stay, I would agree.

  Beyond the mystery of Law, beyond the lies and secrecy lay a person I thought I could fall in love with. Yet, I didn’t belong to myself any more. I didn’t have the choice to love. I belonged to my mission. The sickening reality was, I still belonged to Morris.

  The moment I entered my apartment I crumbled on the couch, still in pain from the night before. I didn’t bother taking off my clothes and placed a blanket down to keep the blood off. I may have found the couch on the side of the road, but it had served me well these past months. Raskol immediately jumped on my head, his excitement the exact opposite of what I needed right then.

  “Raskol, no,” I mumbled, trying to push him off of me. He was so excited to see me, but I was completely falling apart. I couldn’t even pinpoint what was tearing apart my insides, there were too many to choose from: Law, the mugging, the confrontation with Morris, my fucking life.

  I started to hyperventilate and my vision blurred to black and white spots. I reached for a paper bag of leftover takeout, dumping the styrofoam contents to floor. As I breathed into it, my own breathing settled with the smell of Thai.

  It was too much. I was in so over my head I couldn’t see the sun any more. What had I been thinking, taking this on? I wanted everything to go back to normal. I wanted to be able to eat without questioning if I liked the food. I wanted to be able to watch TV without feeling disconnected. I just wanted to do something for me. But I didn’t know who “me” was any more.

  I had started reading and commenting on rape recovery forums, but even those weren’t helping. The biggest problem I had was that I didn’t know who I was. I felt like an amorphous blob of feelings and ambitions with only one connector: Mitch Morris. I missed the days when I did and felt things for me and me only. Despite knowing this and wanting this, it didn’t change anything. I could scream that I wanted to be me again until I was blue in the face, but I still felt and did things for Mitch Morris.

  I set the paper bag down next to me and stared at the black screen of my TV. Raskol immediately forgot the task of sitting on my head, deciding instead to investigate whatever was inside the paper bag. Feeling no desire to ruin another of my favorite TV shows, I reached for my laptop. As I began to input a name into the search bar, the computer automatically filled in another website for me. I froze. The last time I’d gone to that website had been while working for Morris. Memories drowned me faster than a flash flood.

  I glanced at the clock: it was well past ten at night. Everyone had gone home but I had stayed to finish mailing flyers. As I sat in the small cubicle, I stared at my blank computer screen. No one was around; it was just me in the office. I’d been doing some reading and I was so curious. What could it hurt to go to the website?

  I’d always been curious about kink. The thought of being tied down turned me on. I used to tie my Barbies up when I was little. I never could find a partner who was into that, or at least a partner that was actually as into it as me, not just for a onetime thing to do on Valentine’s Day.

  I input the website and signed up for an account. It was overwhelming at first. There was so much I didn’t know. I had thought I knew everything, but I was way out of my league. That didn’t scare me though—in fact it did the opposite. I was so excited. There were people openly talking about their kinks. There was no judgment. There were even people posting nude pictures.

  I opened up a picture of a woman tied up and suspended from the ceiling. The caption read “for Sir”.

  “Interesting.” I jumped at the voice, closed the website, and turned around to see Senator Morris looking over my shoulder. He had a peculiar expression on his face. Later, I would come to recognize that expression as guile.

  “I was just…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain myself. Morris only chuckled and walked off. I was so embarrassed that he’d seen me looking at the website. So embarrassed that I’d been looking up my fetish at his office. I didn’t realize that I needed to be wary, that I needed to be watchful. Morris had seen something that made him think I was asking for it.

  I stared at the website name, ready to open with a single click. I hated that Morris had taken that part of me. He had taken it before I even got to explore. Instead of feeling excitement, I felt dread. I was about to give up and close my laptop, when the website loaded on its own. I must have accidentally clicked, or perhaps fate intervened. The website opened and I stared at the sign-in page. I shook my head at it, prepared to close my laptop, when I found myself inputting my sign-in information.

  What had drawn me to the website in the beginning had been its anonymity. Everyone acted under aliases (mine had been RecklessDream) and only gave out as much information as they wanted. There was even a built in app on the website called “Secrets”. The idea of “Secrets” was to post your most intimate secrets anonymously.

  I had so many secrets. So many things I wanted to tell the world. Where did I start? Before my brain could process what was happening, I was typing in the small text box the app allowed.

  “I’m afraid I’ll never be myself again.” Wow. That felt really good. Sending my most private thoughts into cyberspace was terrifying but completely freeing. The best part was knowing no one knew who I was. No journalists would overanalyze the meaning. No one would make a meme of it. It was my secret out in the world, but it was completely free of Nami DeGrace.

  I posted another: “I’m afraid I’ll never love, but I’m really afraid I’ll never have good sex again.” I giggled when I hit send and Raskol popped his head out of the bag, giving me a curious look. I felt giddy. I hadn’t felt giddy in a long time. I was about to post another one when a text bubble appeared unwanted on my screen.

  “U want some fuck?”

 
My eyes widened. I was about to respond unkindly to the person when another bubble appeared, overlapping the previous.

  “I’ll give you good sex.”

  Shit. What had I done? I’d had no idea about the message feature. Apparently my confession was an opening to every horny person out there. I looked at the message center, watching my unread messages rise from one to twenty in less than two minutes. My heart sank. I just wanted to send my confessions into the wind. I was naive.

  Again.

  Deciding to delete my secret, I returned to the home screen. Just as my finger rested on delete, I received another message.

  “The darker the night, the brighter the stars.”

  I smiled in surprise. The person had quoted Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. It was one of my favorite novels, obviously; I mean my dog was named Raskolnikov. Removing my finger from the delete icon, I went back into the app and replied, “The deeper the grief, the closer is God.”

  I waited patiently for the person to respond, ignoring all the other messages that were popping up with some variation of “sex” or “fuck”. While I was waiting I clicked on the person’s info. His alias on the site was “Scarred” but that was about all the information he’d provided. There was no picture and the only information he shared was that he was male and straight. I couldn’t really complain, though, because all the information I’d given was that I was female.

  At last Scarred responded and I clicked out of his bare profile. “You sounded like you could use a little Dostoyevsky. I assume you’re getting a lot of dick pics right now, too. So, you could definitely use some Dosto.”

  I smiled. “No dick picks yet…wait.” I looked at the app’s notification center and saw a picture. “Never mind.”

  “Saying sex on the internet is like yelling free beer at Oktoberfest,” Scarred replied.