Jane Doe

by Victoria Helen Stone

  I should be spending time manipulating Steven, but I’m so glad I met Luke for lunch instead. Something about this day has thrown me off, and I’m not sure what it is.

  “My mom called this morning,” I say abruptly. “She asked for money and I sent it. Why do I send her money when I don’t even like her?”

  “Guilt,” Luke suggested immediately.

  “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “It’s a pretty strong emotion. We’re supposed to care about our families no matter how bad they are. So even if you feel like you don’t want to help, you’ve been told your whole life that you should.”

  That’s true. I take my behavioral cues from others. It’s my way of flying under the radar and fitting in.

  “I don’t feel guilty,” I say, not sure how to explain that without telling the truth. “I mostly just want her to go away.”

  He nods. “Sure. You’ve learned that it’s easier to give her what she wants.”

  “But if I don’t give her what she wants, she’ll eventually go away altogether, right? And that would be better. So why do I accommodate her?”

  “Do you really want her to go away forever? It would be walking away from the first eighteen years of your life. We all want a foundation, I think, even if it’s cracked and damaged. We want proof of where we came from even if we’re running away from it.”

  “Maybe.” Do I need a foundation? I feel like I’m utterly independent. But I obviously want something from those people. Am I still waiting to feel like I’m the same as other humans? That I have a family and connections and a heart? Do I keep my family in my life so I can pretend I’m normal?

  “I haven’t spoken to my mom in five years,” Luke says, “but I still check her Facebook page. Same thing, I’m sure.”

  “Do you love her?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “Yes. She’s my mom.” He shrugs and shakes his head. “We’re all idiots, I guess.”

  “What did she do?” Even I understand this isn’t a question I should ask. Not here and not now, but I want to know.

  He sighs and finishes chewing a bite of food. “It’s a long story. Suffice to say she’s easily riled up.”

  He’s already told me no one ever hit him, so I’m not sure what he means, but it’s getting late, and he doesn’t look like he wants to say more anyway.

  “I’d better get going,” I say. “Your place at seven?”

  Luke stands when I do and says he’ll get the check.

  I feel calmer as I walk back to the office. A few fat snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, but nothing much happens after that. I hope it snows more later. I like the picture Luke has painted for me. A warm, cozy blanket, his leather couch and hot body, buildings exploding on the screen. I think it will feel real, and I don’t get to feel real very often.

  Steven is waiting for me when I get off the elevator. He herds me toward the break room, but there are two women eating there, so he moves farther down the hall toward the supply closet. “Where’d you go?” He keeps his voice low, but he’s radiating secrets and scandal for anyone who sees us talking.

  “Out,” I answer.

  “I was going to take you to lunch.”

  “Were you going to walk me back afterward or put me in a car by myself?”

  “Oh, come on!” He tips his head back and rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “Are you kidding me? I’d had, like, four beers!”

  It was six, actually. “Sure. I get it.”

  “You get it, but you’re going to treat me like crap anyway?”

  “I went out for lunch, Steven. How is that about you?”

  “And the way you’re acting now isn’t about me?”

  “How do you expect me to feel? I did . . . that, and you made me feel like a call girl afterward!”

  “You said you needed to go! How is that my fault?”

  “I don’t just sleep with anyone, you know.” I cover my face as if I’m crying. I can go through the motions, but I’m not always good at making my eyes water. “I’m a nice girl. I really am. And when we do those things . . . I just . . . Do you even like me?”

  “Hey, come on. Don’t cry. Of course I like you. I took you to my dad’s church! You’re being really silly about this. Maybe it’s PMS.”

  “It’s not PMS! I feel like . . . I feel like I’m being dirty.”

  “Come on. You’ve done that with other boyfriends.”

  “Yes, but . . . I don’t even know if you’re really my boyfriend.”

  “Of course I’m your boyfriend.”

  “You didn’t ask me to spend the night.”

  “I’m sorry. I should have.”

  I sniff and let out a shuddery breath. “Really?”

  “Really. I like you a lot, Jane. I don’t want to make you feel that way.”

  Funny, because I can see he has an erection right now. My shame is a huge turn-on for old Steven. What a piece of work.

  “You don’t think I’m a slut?” I whisper.

  Steven chuckles. “Would I take you to my dad’s party if I thought you were a slut?”

  I peek up between my fingers. “Are we going?”

  “Yeah. It’s tomorrow night. Are you free?” He asks that like he’s teasing me. Like it’s a joke that I might have something else to do.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Good. And listen . . .” He glances over his shoulder to be sure no one else is in the hallway before he leans close. “Last night was so damn good, baby.”

  “Shh!”

  “I hope it’s not dirty if I’m your boyfriend, because . . .”

  “It is dirty!” But I’m giggling a little now. “Stop it. You said you wanted a nice Christian girl, and I’m trying to live right.”

  “As long as you’re trying, that’s what counts.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He smiles down at me. “I talked you into it, so you don’t have to feel bad.”

  “It’s still a sin.”

  “It is, but you made your man happy, and that’s part of living right, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  He winks. “Want me to ask my dad about it?”

  I squeal and shove him away. “You’re awful.”

  “Maybe, but I got you to smile again. Feel better?”

  “I do.”

  “So do you have time to see your new boyfriend tonight, sweetheart?”

  He’s teasing again, but I’ll be busy having sex with another man tonight, so too bad. “I can’t. I booked a haircut to make myself feel better.”

  Steven throws back his head and laughs. “Girls,” he says with exasperation.

  He won’t notice that I didn’t get a trim. He won’t notice Luke’s smell on me either. If I seem happier tomorrow, he’ll assume it’s because he’s informed me we’re officially going steady.

  Girls. So easy to please.

  CHAPTER 26

  I haven’t returned my rental car yet and it feels good to drive myself around for a change. I’m in control, even in the wet, heavy snow that starts falling before I get to Luke’s condo. I spent my youth driving in Oklahoma ice storms and then Minnesota winters. Fresh snow is no problem for me.

  Luke greets me with a kiss, and we order pizza and pile covers over our bodies on the couch as promised. He downloads a new action blockbuster I haven’t seen, and I snuggle close to him. I don’t get as close as another girl would, but my knee rests comfortably against his and his arm brushes mine every time he moves.

  It feels nice and almost normal. But the truth is that I can’t stop wondering what it should feel like and whether I’m acting the way a normal person would. We finish the pizza and have a couple of beers, but I can’t lose myself in the movie. I can’t be normal. I know there’s only one way for me to stop pretending.

  As a train derails in the movie and crashes into a high-rise, I slide my hand up Luke’s thigh. He lets me tease him for a long while before he finally gives in with a deep groan and drags me onto his lap. Buildings
fall on screen as we disappear beneath the covers. I finally stop thinking. Mostly.

  The movie eventually goes silent. Luke strokes the sweat-damp hair from my face. He kisses my nose. “You should stay the night,” he murmurs. “It’s still snowing.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Because you’re seeing someone else?”

  Instead of answering, I press my head to his chest and listen to the thump thump of his heart. The human body is such a strange puzzle of mechanical parts. So delicate and close to giving out at any moment. The tiniest weak link will bring everything tumbling down, yet we all walk around like we’re unbreakable. It’s odd.

  “I just want to know if I have a chance,” he says, the words rumbling through my cheek.

  “I’m pretty confident I’m what’s called a sure thing.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  I cross my arms over his chest and raise my head to look at him. “Actually, I don’t know. What do you mean?”

  “I want to know if there’s a chance for something serious.”

  “I’m only here temporarily.”

  “So you’re definitely going back to Malaysia afterward?”

  “Yes.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You just adopted a cat. Can you take her overseas?”

  “Probably.”

  “If you haven’t even checked into it, I wonder if you’re not so certain about your plans.”

  Is he right? I don’t think so.

  “Listen, I’m not saying let’s be exclusive and start plotting out a future together. We’ve seen each other a few times now. I just want to know if you’re about to get engaged to this other guy and start blocking my texts.”

  I actually snort at the idea that I would choose Steven and reject Luke. He smiles slowly at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “I’m not about to get engaged and start blocking your texts.”

  “Okay, good. But it’s still . . . complicated?”

  He’s not being too pushy, and I like that. He’s not trying to claim me as his personal property after one week of sex. I can’t tell him the truth, but I can offer him a reasonable lie.

  “I’m seeing my boss. The guy who hired me for this project.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “No. It’s not serious. But breaking it off would cause tension I don’t need. And you and I . . . we just met, Luke.”

  “Well, technically we are old friends.”

  He’s teasing. His eyes are still smiling. His arms hold me loosely, as if he knows I may get up and leave at any moment, and he’s fine with that.

  “I’m not really a relationship type of girl,” I tell him.

  “How so?”

  “I’m just not good at that stuff.” I don’t know how to say more than that, so I lay my head back on his chest.

  “Because of your family?”

  Well, yes. I suppose. The latest research on sociopathy hands some blame to genes and some to environment. My parents’ behavior suggests pathological levels of selfishness and carelessness on both their parts. They combined their shitty genes and then ladled on hefty doses of neglect and emotional abuse, and here I am.

  “My family is pretty special,” I finally answer.

  “Any more trouble from them?” he asks.

  “Not tonight.”

  “Good.” He kisses the top of my head and we lie comfortably together for a few minutes before I get restless and slide back to my side of the couch.

  “You can stay,” he says again.

  I don’t like staying. I prefer to leave as soon as the sex is done, yet I’m strangely lethargic and comfortable and I don’t want to get dressed. But we just finished having sex and it’s not time for bed. “What would we do?”

  “Anything. Watch another movie? Eat ice cream? Talk?”

  I look around and spy a big bookshelf. “Could we just read?”

  “Read?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sure. You want to pick one of my books?”

  “I have one with me.”

  Luke smiles. “Then we’ll read.”

  “Okay, but we can still have ice cream.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And . . .” I glance toward his bathroom. “I noticed you have a big tub. I really miss my big bathtub in Malaysia.”

  He waves a hand. “Bathe away.”

  I might invite him to join me. I haven’t decided yet. It might be more fun to let him listen to me splash around hot and naked and then tease the hell out of him until he grabs my wet body and throws me onto the bed.

  But, for now, we both curl under the covers and read. I don’t have to think of the right things to say and do. I can just observe others from the distance of the page. I relax and lose myself. Occasionally Luke strokes my foot. I feel like my cat. I like it.

  CHAPTER 27

  I get up early and sneak away before Luke wakes up. The spell is broken. I’m not a real girl and this coziness was only temporary.

  I need to return the rental car today. I can afford to keep it as long as I like, but there’s always the chance Steven will see me driving and ask questions.

  He texted at 9:00 last night, but I ignored it. As soon as I get into my apartment, I text back. Sorry, I went to bed early. Just for fun I add: I fell asleep listening to Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul. It’s really good.

  Hey! I’m just waking up. Wish you were here.

  I could make you breakfast!

  That’s not really what I was thinking of.

  I send back a goofy-faced emoji. Is that all you think about?

  You’re just so sexy, baby.

  I think you need to learn more about resisting temptation.

  Sure. Send me a pic and I’ll see if I can stay strong.

  Pervert!

  Send a pic.

  I’m not sending a pic! I’m seeing your family tonight!!!

  I promise not to show them.

  Shut up.

  He sends me three pink heart emojis and I guess I’m supposed to melt at that. Whatever. I imagine sending Steven a pic of what Luke did to me after that bath last night, and I giggle so hard, I snort. If I did, Steven would break it off, but let’s be honest, it would turn him on too.

  I text him a big, fat red heart and tell him I’ll see him later. Then I turn on my laptop and watch as he masturbates in bed.

  He’s looking at his phone as he furiously takes care of business, and I know damn well he isn’t using our text conversation to get off. I wonder what kind of porn he’s into. I’m sure he’ll make me watch it at some point.

  After he tugs his pajama pants back up, I review the night’s videos. There’s nothing interesting. He came home and changed into shorts before disappearing into his workout room. When he reappeared, he made a sandwich and then watched TV for a long time.

  At 8:30 he got a phone call, and I listen to him counsel one of the parishioners, hoping there will be juicy details, but it’s just a lot of scripture talk about walking alongside Jesus and being a rod of strength for his family even in a financial crisis.

  Boring. Still, he’s good at talking the talk. In fact, I think his religious beliefs are sincere. He seems to genuinely care about the parishioner on the other end of the phone. Steven’s problem area is women. And hypocrisy.

  I watch as Steven gets off the call and scrolls through something on his screen. God, I hope I learn something useful soon. I’m unsure about how to accelerate my plan, and I’m not used to uncertainty.

  I should do some laundry and go grocery shopping, but I’m bored with the idea of chores and bored with watching Steven groom himself. I click around on my computer a little and then open my file full of Meg’s pictures.

  She sent me selfies all the time, but my folder is also full of photos she posted to Facebook. Photos of her laughing, smiling, looking sexy. There are photos of us together too, but I’m not worried Steven will recognize me from Meg’s social media. When I’m myself, my hair
is dark, nearly black, and my makeup as well. If he were a woman—or just a man who took care with others—he might recognize my features despite the frosty pink makeup and the lightened layers of grown-out bangs. Luke recognized me, after all. But Steven doesn’t care about others enough to see the woman beneath the stupid pastel dresses and shimmery blush.

  I click through the pictures, though I’ve long since memorized each one. Here’s Meg in a bikini making a silly face. Here she is dressed up in snowboarding gear and beaming past her scarf. And here’s a profile picture of her staring into the distance, looking a little sad and lost.

  After she died, I backed up every photograph, because I was terrified I’d lose my phone and Meg would be gone forever.

  I know she really is gone forever. I know that. She’s no longer in the world, and all I have are pictures. So I’m alone.

  I’ve been alone before. I walk away from people. I leave them behind. But I’m the one left behind now.

  I open a picture of her grinning into the camera, her blond hair pulled by the wind into streamers that stand up from her head. It was taken at the lake on my last visit, and the next picture is both of us together. I’m tan and smiling, my arm around her, and she’s leaning her head on my shoulder. Normally she shines next to me, but we were both trying to fake smiles that day. Me because it’s what I know, and Meg because her heart was breaking over Steven.

  I can still smell her shampoo as the wind whipped her hair over my face. It was a good day, a really good day, but not good enough, apparently.

  I want it back.

  If this is what love is, it’s terrible. Why do people seek it out? And why have I ever wished to be like everyone else? Meg felt this pain when Steven stopped answering her calls. She felt this way when her grandfather died. I held her when she cried about it, though I’d been completely baffled by her weakness.

  And that’s what this is. Love. It’s weakness. Vulnerability. It’s waiting for an inevitable wound and then praying it will someday heal.

  I don’t pray, and I hate waiting.

  I open the picture I’ve moved down to the very bottom of the file. It’s a selfie of Meg. She’s holding her phone out, arm stretched as far as it will go so she can get Steven in the picture too. She’s kissing his cheek, her eyes crinkled with a smile while Steven smirks at the camera.