I am HER...

by Walker, Sarah Ann

  Putting on my bra and panties, I pause. What am I doing? What am I going to do? What does Z want from me? When is he going back to New York? When is he leaving Chicago? When is he leaving... me?

  Suddenly, I’m overcome with sadness. I'm almost blindsided by the weight on my chest. Z is going to leave, and I'm going to have to go back, and I HATE the thought of going back.

  Running for the toilet, I gag and wretch. Ow. This hurts my empty stomach, and absolutely tortures my spine. Annnnd there’s another gag.

  "What is it? What happened?" I jump at the intensity of his voice.

  "N-nothing. I'm fine. Please leave me alone for a minute." Jeez... some privacy?

  "I don't think so. What happened?"

  "Nothing happened. Honestly. I'm just tired."

  "Bullshit, Sweetheart. I know you well enough to know when you’re deflecting. What were you thinking about that made you this sick? Are you okay with what we did?" DEFLECT!!

  "Can I please have some privacy?" And, there’s another gag for emphasis. Great.

  "What happened? Tell me, NOW!"

  "No. I don't want to. Okay?! Just leave me alone for a minute. Go back and work or something. I just need to get it together, in PRIVATE."

  "This isn't going to work..." What?! Already?

  "I told you it wouldn't work. When are you leaving?" I ask on a moan.

  "What? Oh, that's not what I meant. I only meant you pushing me away wasn’t going to work. I’m here, and you’re going to have to start trusting me, and you had better start communicating with me. So start now. What the hell happened to set you back?"

  Staring at Z, I refuse to budge. I'm not talking. He can't force me to speak, so I'll just wait him out. Except, Z seems to be thinking the same thing as me. Shit. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans against the sink, crosses his ankles, and just smirks at me.

  Rising from the floor, I walk over to the sink, excuse myself, and begin scrubbing my hands with soap. Afterward, brushing my teeth, I stare at Z's naked back through the mirror, while he maintains his static position against the sink. Jerk.

  When there’s a knock on the door, I turn to him, but he doesn't move a muscle.

  "Um, that's probably lunch." Duh.

  "I don't give a fuck about the food. Talk." Wow, he’s really stubborn.

  "No. There’s nothing to talk about. I was nauseous, that's all. It happens. Please stop this."

  "Not until you tell me what you were thinking about." Christ! This is annoying.

  Moving from the sink, I grab my sweater and slacks and head for the main room. Surprised, I actually had that whole conversation in just my bra and panties, hunched over a toilet no less, on the floor. It looks like I've lost all my breeding now. My parents will be so thrilled.

  Z grabs my arms just after I pull on my sweater. "What?! God! Just leave me alone, okay? I'm fine." Wrenching my arms from his grip, I pull on my slacks while he glares at me. Ripping the door open, I startle the poor man behind the door. Smiling, I apologize, accept the food, throw it on the table, and storm back toward the bathroom. Where else can I go? But again Z stops me.

  Snarling right in my face, "What happened? I want to know. NOW!"

  "Fine! I was thinking about you and I this morning and how wonderful I felt, and then I was thinking about the life I have to go back to, and it made me throw-up. Okay? Stop bullying me! If I had wanted to talk to you, I would've, but I didn't and still you got your way. THAT seems to be the story of my life. So, thank you for that. You fit right in- demanding and taking from me like they all do, whenever you want, whether I want it or not!" And slamming the bathroom door closed, I lock it. There!

  "Open the door, Sweetheart. Open it now or I'll break it down, and don't think I won't, because I absolutely will. So, I guess the hotel will be glad they used my credit card as your security deposit then, won’t they?" What? Is he making a joke? I think so. I think I heard his smile-voice.

  "Now, Sweetheart. I want to talk to you, now. If I must, I'll count to three, but be warned, I won't be held accountable for what I do to you if I have to break down the damn door. Open it, now!" He sounds really angry now. Is he going to hit me? How will he punish me?

  Opening the door slowly, I peak my head out tentatively and ask, "Are you going to hit me?" God, I sound like such a child.

  Z staggers back a step looking at me in... what? Shock? "Hit you? Hit you? Jesus Christ! No! I'm not going to hit you. Why would you ask me that?" He looks so offended, I feel bad.

  "Well, you said you were warning me, and that you wouldn't be 'held accountable for what you'd do', so I was nervous you were going to hit me, or, or punish me hard, or slap me or something."

  In the complete silence that follows, Z is just staring at me like I’m insane, or like he’s thinking of what to say, or like I’m INSANE.

  An eternity later, Z finally walks 2 steps closer to me and takes me in his arms. "I'm sorry if I gave you the impression I would hit or punish you. I would NEVER hit you. EVER. I was more joking than anything else. I was thinking about picking you up fully clothed and throwing you in a cold shower until you spoke to me... I was never thinking about hitting you. Sweetheart, where did that come from? Who hits you? Does he hit you, too?" He looks so sad again.

  "No. Not really... "

  "He does, or he doesn't. Which is it?"

  "Um, Marcus slapped me across the face a few times when I was being stupid or something, or acting out, but not too often. I just kind of wait for it though all the time, just in case."

  Z takes another large breath, and as he exhales, he nearly moans, "I will never hit you. Ever. Please trust that, even if you don't fully trust me yet." He looks so sincere; I can't help but believe him.

  "Okay. I'm sorry Z. I just got scared when I wasn't doing what you wanted me to do."

  "Fuck, Sweetheart. Please, don't be afraid of me, ever. That freaks me out." He says with another huffing exhale.

  "I'm really sorry, Z. I didn't mean to upset you. Please don't be mad at me."

  "I'm not mad- it's fine. You didn't know, and now you know. I. Will. Never. Hit. You... No matter what you do, or don't do...."

  "Okay. Sorry... "

  And after another long silence, Z takes my hand and tugs me over to the little table,pulls out the chair, and says‘sit’.

  Removing our lunch from the bags and packages, Z looks around for the little hotel room glasses and pours our drinks from the cans. He is too quiet, but he smiles at me frequently, as if to reassure me that he's not mad at me.

  "After we eat, I'd like to listen to all your voicemails, and then we'll discuss tonight, and the next few days, alright?"

  "Okay, but you really don't have to listen with me. I can handle it by myself."

  "Actually, I want to. Plus, I'll have a better idea of where your husband…" sneer "…and your loving parents…" another sneer "…are headed with you, and this separation."

  "I'm sure they've just threatened to cut me out of their will or something similar to that. Maybe even given me the 'You're a Disgrace' lecture, followed by the 'After All We've Done For You' lecture, topped off with the 'You Are Such A Disappointment' grand finale. Really, it’s all very standard stuff," I say with a little giggle.

  Grinning, he asks, "Heard that often, have you?"

  "Often enough to not have to listen anymore. I can quote the lectures verbatim, if you'd like?"

  "No, thanks. I'd much prefer to hear the live version, if you don't mind. Why spoil the fun with your imitation, though I'm sure it would be wonderful." Now, he's laughing.

  "No problem, Z. I'm sure it will be entertaining for you." I laugh in return.

  ==========

  Sitting down on the bed with our backs against the headboard, we begin. At first I'm a little distracted by my sore back, but Z is listening so intently, it seems rude not to pay close attention as well. Z is even holding my hand.

  The first few calls Friday night, well, actually early Saturday morning, are fair
ly standard from both Marcus and my parents. 'Where are you? Are you okay? What’s going on?' To the slightly more aggressive voicemails later Sunday afternoon 'What have you done? How could you do this? How could you do this to me? How could you do this to Marcus? How could you do this to us?' Blah blah.

  Z and I listen with a sort of comfortable silence. Still holding my hand throughout, he seems relieved that there wasn't any overt threats... yet. I want to warn him that they’re coming.

  "That's only Sunday, Z. They still have today to speak with lawyers, doctors, each other, and anyone else they think could influence me into being good," I sigh.

  "I understand, and I'm waiting for it. Let's listen to Kayla's, okay?" Gulp.

  "I'm sure it will be colorful, at least." Whore!

  "Yes, Kayla does have a way with words doesn't she?" And turning his head to me, Z gives me a tender kiss on the lips.

  Preparing for Kayla's voicemail proves challenging for me, but Z grabs my hand tighter as we begin to listen.

  "Sweetie... I. Am. So. Sorry. That fucking prick told me what he said to you. I am so FUCKING SORRY! I DID sleep with Marcus, ONCE. That's all- One time. I didn't know he was your husband, I swear I didn't. He never told me at the time. He told me Saturday morning that he conveniently forgot to tell you that part Friday night. Dickhead! It was after that Buyers luncheon in Tampa 5 years ago, right after you started at the company. I met Marcus. He told me he was alone, and available. He said he had to make a call and would be right back, and we left together. He had NO wedding ring on, and he didn't tell me he was married, never mind to the new quiet girl I worked with!! Fucking Asshole!"

  I can't help but laugh at her language...

  "… I HAD NO IDEA! After he left that night, I thought I'd never see him again. And, and then the next morning, there you were... together. Both of you having breakfast before we all flew out for Chicago. You even introduced us. Marcus was perfectly polite and calm, and I left to go throw-up. I felt like such a fucking whore... Anyway, Marcus called me two days later, and I screamed bloody murder at him. I was mortified and horrified at what had happened. I insisted he never, EVER call me..."

  Oh, the call ended. Okay... Next voicemail. I find myself grinning, which is weird.

  "FUCK! I hate fucking voicemail. Anyway, I told that ASSHOLE to never call me again. I threatened to tell you, but Marcus gave me this long speech about you being ‘too weak’ to handle something like that, that it would ‘destroy you’, etc. So I decided not to tell you. I didn't want to hurt you, and I didn't even really know you then. You were like this tiny, what? 24 year old girl? You just seemed too quiet or something. I knew your Fuck-Head husband was an asshole, but I didn't know how you would handle finding out, so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry. You were always so polite, and quiet, and nice to everyone. And as far as I knew, you never trashed me behind my back like the other office bitches did, so I decided to be your friend. I wanted to protect you from all the shit in the office, and I think I did. I know you don't want to hear this, but honestly Sweetie, I did protect you, and I did do it because I care for you; though maybe not at first. At first, I was only acting out of guilt, but then I saw how sad you actually were, sometimes looking, really, like lost or something, and I just kind of fell into wanting to protect you, or something, or..."

  Another disconnection. I'm not really grinning anymore.

  "FUCK! I really hate this. I sound all manic over here, because, well, I AM! Sweetie, I really, really am sorry. I would never have fucked that PIG, if I had known he was your husband, and I never would have hurt you intentionally. I think of you as a friend, and I hope you can forgive me someday. And if you need anything from me, I'll do it. ANYTHING. I'll even testify in a divorce hearing that he cheated with me, if you want. I don't care how I look, I just want to help you, to, ah, make this right or something. Oh, and I'm sorry to drop this on you now, but there were others, too. Fuck-Head told me about a few... I would testify to that as well, if you want...though I know it's hearsay, believe me, I would convince the judge to hear me out... Look, I'll shut up now, but, I. Am. Very. Sorry. Please call me if you need a friend, but I won't call you again. I'll just wait for you, if or when you're ready to talk, scream, or punch me. You can you know? You can punch me right in the face. I won't even hit back, I promise. I'm sorry Sweetie. Please forgive me. Um… bye."

  Wow. Punch her in the face? Giggle. Holy shit. Laugh. That is so messed up. But it might be a little fun. I've never punched someone in the face before.

  "How do you punch someone in the face, Z?" And more laughter. I can't hold it in anymore.

  "It's quite simple really. Were you thinking of taking Kayla up on her offer?" Ah, the smile-voice.

  "Maybe." And... more laughter. This is too funny.

  "Well, I have to admit I believe her. Do you?" He asks me through my laughter.

  "Yes. I don't really see Kayla as the home wrecker type, just the easy type. And she really does sound upset, doesn't she?"

  "Yes, Sweetheart, she really does. I'm sorry about all of this for you of course, but I’m sorry for her too. I spoke to her the night she thought you were attacked, and she was absolutely frantic to help you, but Marcus kept blocking her attempts. I believed she was your friend then, and I still do. Do you want to talk to her?"

  "No. Well, not yet anyway. I'm a little too shaken right now, to switch back into thinking of her as my ‘friend’ again. But maybe in a while. I don't know."

  In the silence that follows, I can’t help thinking about ‘manic’ Kayla. God, Kayla sounded really upset and angry about all this. I do actually believe her story. I could see it happening. Actually, if I remember correctly, Marcus did leave me for a few hours when we were in Tampa. He said something about‘talking taxes’ with someone. Taxes? Yeah, right. What an asshole!

  "Sweetheart? Do you want to listen to the rest? Or do you need to stop for awhile?"

  "No. I'm good. What can Marcus really say at this point?" Lots actually. Gulp.

  "Darling, where are you? This is your mother speaking." No shit. "I'm not sure what you think to accomplish from such behavior but it's embarrassing and highly unnecessary. Marcus feels terrible. He told your father and I about his little infidelity, and I have to say, he sounds very apologetic about it. I think you are acting grossly inappropriate, and I would like you to stop it now. You’re lucky to even have someone like Marcus in your life. I know he could find much better than you- Why don’t you think about THAT before throwing your life away. I expect a phone call soon. Your father is very disappointed in your behavior."

  Wow. She cuts deep, doesn't she?

  "Well, your mother certainly is charming." Again, I burst out laughing, as Z pulls me tightly into his arms.

  "Charming, huh? I always thought she was kind of a bitch, myself." More laughter.

  "How the hell did someone as delightful as you come from someone like that?" I. Don't. Know.

  "You’re so warm, Z. I'm a little cold right now, and you feel very nice to snuggle up to."

  "Sweetheart? Are you feeling unwell right now? You sound a little detached and sad."

  "I'm okay. I just wanted to tell you that," I whisper while snuggling in closer to Z.

  "What are you thinking about right now?"

  "Nothing much. But I'm really tired. Do you mind if I have a little nap? I've had a busy morning and afternoon. Is that okay, Z?"

  "You don't have to ask my permission to do anything, love. Yes, nap if you need it. I'll just use your laptop for work while you sleep. We can finish listening when you wake up."

  "Thank you. I really am very tired."

  Sliding down the bed, I pull the covers over my body and try to relax. The clock only reads 1:12, but it feels like midnight. I am so tired.

  Closing my eyes, I hear my mother, of course. Why couldn't I hear Kayla calling Marcus a 'fucking asshole' or a 'fuckhead'? No, I have to fixate on my mother’s voice of disgust and disappointment.

  I have to stop think
ing. 'In' and 'out’... In and out. It's working this time, and I feel my muscles relaxing, and my mind slowing. I'm almost there...

  ==========

  When I wake up, its 5:30 exactly. Z is lying against my back, kissing my cheek and temple. Wow. That feels good. I have never had someone kiss me awake before. I didn’t know how decadent, and romantic it was.

  "Good afternoon, Sweetheart. Did you sleep well? From the sounds of your snoring I would assume so." What?!

  "Are you teasing me? Because if I actually snore, we can just tack that onto the list of 'All Things Wrong With Me'."

  "I'm teasing. You were out like a quiet light." Oh, thank god.

  Minutes later, Z breathes in my ear, "I have to ask you something, and I need you to be calm. I need you to stay calm." Shit. Here we go.

  "Yes?" Be gentle, please be gentle...

  "I have to leave for New York this evening, the red-eye actually, and I would like you to come with me."

  "What?!" Jumping up to face him… OUCH! My back still hurts. FLINCH.

  "Take it easy, Sweetheart. I just want you to stay with me. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to, or you can do anything that you want to. I’d just feel much better if you were with me this week, but there are no strings, if you don't want there to be."

  "Um... I can't. I can't go to New York."

  "Why can't you? You’ll just be thinking here, probably in this very hotel room, or you can think in New York, in my apartment." Oh, I want that.

  "It wouldn't be right."

  "Says who? And you don't have to tell anyone, or you can tell everyone. I don't care one way or the other." There’s another long silence while I reason my arguments.

  "Why though? You don't even know me. I don't want to be a burden in your home. What if you have something to do, you'll feel obligated to take me, or worse, to just stay home. I don't want anything from you, Z. You've been very, um, nice to me, but it was in Chicago."