Survival Instincts

by Jen Waite

  “We’re not talking about this right now.” Ethan took out his phone and started typing, shifting as far away from Anne as possible in the small back seat.

  “I’m sorry,” Anne whispered.

  That night, Anne woke up at three a.m. to Ethan kissing her shoulder. Even in her half-asleep state, she felt relief course through her body; she could tell by the way Ethan was kissing her shoulder that he knew he’d fucked up. The fight, and his anger, had been fueled by alcohol and stress. She brought his head up to hers and found his lips. They started to kiss softly at first and then Ethan brought his mouth against hers forcefully, pushing his tongue through her lips. He climbed over her and pinned her hands over her head. Before she could react, he used his knee to open her legs and entered her roughly, abruptly. She closed her eyes. He thrust into her sharply, grunting. It was over in a minute. Afterward, he rolled off her and fell asleep immediately. She rubbed her wrists and made no sound at all as tears slid from the corners of her eyes to the pillow.

  The next morning, Ethan kissed her gently before he left for work. “I love you so much. You make everything better.” He didn’t mention the night before and neither did she. They’d both had too much to drink, and in the light of day, she couldn’t even remember what had happened exactly. It all felt like a blur. The next week, her Ethan was back, the guy she fell in love with. He was affectionate and giddy, and the night of Lana’s art show, Ethan surprised her by coming home early with tickets to The Phantom of the Opera. Anne typed out a text to send to Lana and then erased it. She didn’t have a good enough lie and there was a tiny part of her that was angry at Lana, why the fuck had she been talking to Ethan about Drew anyway? She felt sickening guilt but told herself that she had to focus on her marriage right now—her friends were important to her, of course, but Ethan was her life partner. She couldn’t explain to her friends why she kept missing dinners, why she couldn’t meet up with Whitney when she visited the city, and why she’d become unresponsive on text threads.

  Theresa finally called her and demanded to know what was going on. Anne’s face burned as Theresa’s voice blared through the cell phone, finishing with, “We’re really worried, Anne.” So, they’d all been talking about her behind her back. Anne didn’t even try to defend herself. They wouldn’t understand the pressure that Ethan was under at his job and how he needed her undivided attention. Instead she’d replied coldly, “Thanks for your concern, but I just have a lot going on. And, Theresa, you can tell everyone not to worry about my marriage. I can take care of myself.” She’d hung up and cried. When things were truly back to normal and stable, she would reconnect with Lana and Whitney and Theresa. She told herself this over and over, but even so, Anne was lonely and when a Facebook message popped up from an old college friend, a friend who didn’t know Ethan, who she hadn’t spoken to in years, asking if she wanted to grab a coffee, she hungrily accepted.

  She met Joseph for a four-dollar cup of Stumptown coffee in downtown Manhattan. Joseph was tall, lanky, and lean in college. He always walked into their English lit class with his contradictory lazy but purposeful gait. When he made his infrequent comments in class, the whole class sat up straighter and listened. Joseph had a way of seeing not just additional layers or subtext in a piece of writing but another universe, and as soon as he pointed it out, Anne would go back and reread passages, amazed at what she had missed. She’d had a crush on him in college, but they’d been alone a couple of times—studying, walking home from an apartment off campus—and nothing physical had happened, and so they settled into a solid friendship, but still . . . Anne sometimes wondered if Joseph had ever felt the same attraction she had.

  She spotted him right away when she walked through the door of the small coffee shop—still tall, lanky, and lean, his limbs folded on top of each other to fit into a delicate wooden chair. Two coffees sat on a white marble table. She got to him before he could get up and motioned for him to stay sitting. “You’ll upend three tables if you move,” Anne said, leaning down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smelled the same, like oak and pepper (she never knew if this was his body’s natural smell or if he wore some kind of mildly musky cologne), and she felt light-headed as she came away from his cheek.

  “It’s really good to see you.” Joseph smiled.

  “It’s good to see you, too. You look exactly the same.” She scanned him from the top of his head to his feet.

  “Well, how long has it been? Not that long, right? We’re not that old yet.”

  “Four, five years?” She laughed. “No, we’re not that old.” She took him in from across the table. She had such a strong urge to get up and hug him again that her hand shook as she picked up the coffee and brought it to her mouth. “I was happy to hear from you.”

  “I’ve thought about you a bunch since college.”

  Anne felt herself flush. “I know, we shouldn’t have lost touch.”

  “Well, I’ve moved to New York, so now we have no excuse.” He smiled. “So. Anne.”

  “Joseph.”

  “You’re married! How does that feel?”

  It was a chemical reaction, she couldn’t control it; she felt her eyes filling and then tears were making their way from the corner of her eyes down her face. “Oh god, what the fuck, I’m sorry.” She laughed and grabbed a napkin from the table.

  Joseph looked at her. “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know—”

  “Oh no, no, I’m still married. To Ethan. And things are fine, pretty much. I guess just . . . It’s just harder than I thought it would be?” Anne laughed again and felt blood rushing to her face. “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know why I started crying. Honestly. It must be hormones or something. Things are really fine.”

  “Yeah, it looks and sounds like things are just dandy.” Joseph gave a quick grin. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, let’s start with something else, huh? How do you like working for a fancy law firm? I’ll admit I’ve stalked you online a bit,” he said with a smile.

  “Actually.” She thought about lying or stretching the truth for a split second, and then, “I quit a few months ago. I always thought I’d be a lawyer for some reason—I guess just because it seemed like a secure job, a job where, if I worked hard enough, I’d get ahead, you know? A straight line. But Ethan wants me to figure out what I actually want to do and . . . I have no fucking clue.” She laughed and looked down at the table, embarrassed. She must sound like a spoiled brat to Joseph.

  “Jesus.” Joseph paused. “I think that’s partly why I applied to this PhD program. To stall entering the real world for a few more years.” He shook his head, took a gulp of coffee. “I’m not sure anyone really has a clue, if it makes you feel better.”

  They talked for two hours that morning, or sixteen dollars’ worth of fancy coffee. Anne felt that she could be completely herself with Joseph; there was no pretense, nothing to be gained or lost. The ease of their conversation put into sharp contrast Anne’s fraught dynamic with Ethan. They met up for coffee or lunch a half dozen times in May and June. And they really were just friends, Anne told herself. She felt light and good when they were together, but there was no flushing of the cheeks or racing of the heart. Of course, the question must be posed then: Why didn’t she tell Ethan about Joseph?

  The day Ethan found them together was the first time Anne invited Joseph over to the apartment. They were supposed to meet for coffee and a walk, but she woke up to the sun already scorching through the windows at seven a.m. and air-quality alerts flashing on her phone.

  “Unbelievable. It’s not even July yet and it’s supposed to reach the mid-nineties today,” she mumbled to Ethan, reading her phone with one eye open.

  “Stay inside today.” Ethan was already dressed and about to leave for work. He came over to the bed and kissed her on the forehead. “Do you have any plans today?”

  “I’m just going out briefly around nine”—
she yawned—“to meet Nicole for coffee.”

  “Well, stay hydrated.” He paused at the bedroom door. “I’ll see you tonight at eight for dinner. Text me when you decide on a place.”

  “Yes, I will. Can’t wait. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, baby.”

  She stretched in bed for a few minutes, thinking about how Ethan seemed better the past couple of weeks. In fact, she hadn’t seen on-edge Ethan since the beginning of the month. The thought was immediately followed by the anxiety of wondering when the other Ethan would be back. She pushed it out of her mind. Today would be a good day. That was all that mattered. She got up, took a shower, and pulled on a loose dress. She looked at her phone again. Eight a.m. and eighty-two degrees. She was meeting Joseph at nine a.m. near Central Park. She stood in the kitchen, fixing herself a pre-coffee coffee.

  Want to come here instead? It’s going to be hot as balls today. I have air conditioning, and a Nespresso maker. She tapped out her address and pressed Send.

  Joseph replied a few minutes later. On my way ☺

  She gave Joseph the tour of the apartment. The interior was minimalist but inviting with clean lines and a color palette of gray and white. She tried to hide her pride as they walked from the kitchen with a large marble island, over the soft white rug in the living room, down the hallway lined with black-and-white photos and into the master bedroom, sunlight streaming over the tan duvet cover.

  “And then there’s a small guest bedroom as well over there,” she said, pointing farther down the hall.

  “Can I grow up and live in a place like this?” Joseph walked over to the bedside table and picked up the book on top. “Do you like it so far?” He flipped open to the dog-eared page of the The Road. “It’s pretty intense, huh?”

  “It’s good,” Anne agreed. She moved backward out of the bedroom, suddenly dizzy. She couldn’t remember why they were here, in her apartment, in her bedroom. “Do you want a fancy coffee or a regular coffee?” she called to him, making her way to the kitchen.

  “Black coffee is good, thanks.” She heard him moving out of the bedroom and down the hallway. “Your place is really great,” he said again as he walked into the kitchen.

  She turned from the coffee maker to hand him his mug; he was closer than she expected, and she almost bumped into him. “Thanks,” he said. His mug was still in her hand. He took the coffee from her with both hands, brushing her fingers. They took their coffees from the kitchen into the living room. She sat on the far end of the couch and he sat right next to her, so close that their legs touched. A shock went through her body and she drew her legs to her chest and cupped the coffee mug on her knees.

  Joseph turned and met her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to ask you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it. Ever since our first coffee date.” At the word date Anne’s stomach flipped. “Are you doing ok, really?”

  She opened her mouth to laugh and brush his question aside, but when she met his eyes, she said simply, “I’m leaving Ethan.” She didn’t realize it was true until the words were out of her mouth. All of the stress and anxiety she’d been holding in her body the past few months dropped away with the thought that she could simply leave. It would be difficult, but she could, she would leave Ethan. She put her cup down on the coffee table in front of them and took Joseph’s hand. She felt the warmth of his palm and closed her eyes. The air was thick and a slow pulse started in her temple. Joseph leaned closer; she could see him in her mind’s eye, feel his body moving through the heavy air, closer, closer, and then his lips were on hers. She placed one hand against his chest, nudging him backward and his face came away, his eyes wide.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  Before he could finish, she pushed him against the back of the couch and climbed on top of him, pressing herself against him, biting her lip to keep from screaming or groaning or sobbing—one of the sounds buried deep in her stomach, trying to claw its way out. She looked down at him, her eyes open now and laser focused. They watched each other, and then she brought her mouth to his again. His hands moved up her legs, under her dress. She lifted her body so that he could put his hands wherever he wanted. There was so much noise in her ears—the crackling of the air, the blood drumming through her body, their breaths coming fast and strong—that she didn’t hear the door to the apartment building open. She didn’t hear someone clomping up the stairs to the second floor. It wasn’t until the jangling of the keys right outside the front door that her head cleared, her pupils shrank back to their normal size and she jumped off Joseph, whispering, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  “Is that?” The color drained from Joseph’s face.

  “Yes, that’s—” The door swung open and Ethan walked in with force, his face peering down at his phone, swinging his briefcase onto the entry bench.

  “Hi!”

  Ethan snapped his head up and a look of bewilderment mixed with panic flashed on his face.

  “Ethan, this is Joseph, my friend that I was meeting for coffee this morning.” She was talking quickly, stringing words together. “But then it was too hot. You know, the warning? Um, the air-quality warning? Anyway, we decided to meet here instead.” She turned to Joseph and forced her mouth into a smile. “Joseph, this is my husband, Ethan.” She looked from Joseph to Ethan. Her husband had rearranged his face into a neutral expression and he strode over to Joseph and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Joseph. Annie’s told me all about you.”

  “Great to meet you, man. You guys have a beautiful place here.” Joseph shook Ethan’s hand with the hand that had just been inside her dress. She couldn’t look at either of them. She wondered if Ethan could smell the guilt. She willed the blood to flow out of her cheeks downward.

  “Thanks. We know we’re very fortunate.” Ethan smiled at Anne. She smiled back. “Well, I just stopped by to grab this phone charger,” he said, yanking Anne’s phone charger from the wall. “I have to head back to work. Nice to meet you, Joseph. Always nice to meet one of Anne’s friends.” He picked his briefcase back up. “Annie, don’t forget to text me about dinner. I’m really looking forward to it. It’s been so long since I’ve had you all to myself.”

  “Ok, I will,” she stammered. “Love—” The you got lost in the sound of the door slamming shut.

  THE CABIN

  ROSE

  It was getting dark outside. Rose stepped down onto the first step off the cabin porch. She took her time, trying to give Anne time. She saw a rock, the size of a closed fist, near the front door of the cabin as she exited with the man. Anne, she thought, willing her toward the rock in her mind, move. The man yelled at her to hurry up and she picked up her pace a bit, climbing the rest of the way down the stairs. She wanted to draw him out, away from the front door, but as she moved toward the woods, he stayed back and warned, “I have my gun on you. Hurry it up.”

  Fine. She would squat down right there, a few feet from the porch. As she was about to undo her pants, she saw a rock a few steps forward, sticking out of the snow. It was shaped like an Indian artifact. An arrowhead—that’s what her third-grade teacher called a similar-looking rock she found on the playground. She remembered because he had turned it over in his hand. “I’ll ask my friend at the museum about this, Rose.” She had been ecstatic, had seen fame and glory in her near future—only years later did she realize that he had only been kindly humoring her. This one had the same shape—curved on one end, flat and sharp at the other. She unzipped her pants, hunched down, tilted forward, and tumbled.

  “I’m ok,” Rose called over her shoulder. Her fall landed her within reach of the rock. She shimmied her pants down around her ankles and fluffed her coat out behind her so that her backside was covered. She drew in a breath as the cold needled her skin. She used one hand to steady herself, placing it directly over the rock. The urine came fast and strong, surprising her. She didn’t think she would b
e able to go at all. When she finished, she stood slowly, clutching the rock in her hand and tugging her pants up. She clumsily zipped her pants, still grasping the rock in front her body, her back to the cabin. As Rose turned toward the man, she slipped her hands into her coat pockets, opening her palm and letting the rock fall into the bottom of the pocket. She hoped the darkness and the distance were enough of a shield.

  She felt the man’s eyes on her and shivered convincingly. At the bottom step, Rose lifted her foot. It was dark, and the steps to the cabin were coated with a sheen of ice. Her foot came down, half on the step, half off. She wobbled, pulled both hands out of her coat, and just barely caught herself, fingers splayed on the second step. “Oops,” she said loudly. She imagined her daughter inside the cabin.

  The man grabbed Rose by the elbow and pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs and into the cabin. She saw Anne, sitting against the wall at the back of the cabin, eyes closed, in the same position. She could have been sleeping if it weren’t for the flush that Rose could make out, even in the dusk light. She sank to the floor beside her daughter and granddaughter. She felt Anne look at her, but she didn’t meet her daughter’s glance. She thought about Sam telling her that her mind was her most potent weapon. “You need to be one step ahead, always. The ability to surprise your opponent will give you the advantage.” She put her hand into her pocket and rubbed the smooth stone.

  THE CABIN

  THE MAN

  He watched the grandmother with a smirk as she clumsily grabbed hold of the rock and pocketed it. He felt something akin to respect as she moved past him into the cabin. The old woman was angry; she wanted to fight. These were feelings he understood. Maybe he would let her have a go at him—to let her feel that she had tried. The man smiled to himself. He could be generous to the women, even in these circumstances. The anger he felt, the things he had done, it had nothing to do with them—he almost wanted to try to explain to them, that this was fate, it was something being done to all of them. They were all in this together.