by Shayne Ford
I lower my head and give him a soft nod.
“I’m gonna be okay,” I say.
As the door closes behind them, I crash into a nearby chair, weighed down by the stark reality.
Violet
Hiding behind sunglasses, I slice my way through throngs of people who fill the lobby. I wear a short sleeve, buttoned down, white shirt, navy pencil skirt, and a tangerine scarf around my neck to hide my bruises.
Remotely, I register the humming of the voices, the empty smiles, the angst filling people’s eyes. The place feels smaller, the walls closer, the air not enough.
Numb, I head for the elevator, running an empty gaze over the small crowd in the hallway.
From a distant corner of my memory, a different kind of imagery and sounds emerge. Vibrant. Enrapturing. The melody of the crashing waves, the softness of the sand, the warmth of their eyes, and lips and bodies, the manly beauty of their faces.
Everything throbbing with life.
Ding.
The sound of the elevator drills a hole in my brain, turning off the paradise. Silent I take the ride up, and moments later, I walk through the doors of Rapt, praying for a miracle.
I greet Roxane with a soft nod, and then a few other people as I cross paths with them. I make a turn for my office, drop my purse onto a chair, grab a bottle of water, and squeeze behind my desk. I pull my laptop open and set my coffee next to the water.
Head down, I cover my eyes, warm tears dripping on the keyboard.
“Is everything okay?”
I flick my gaze up, instantly flashing a clownish smile, and flicking tears off my face as if they’re flecks of dust.
Instantly, a lie comes out of my mouth.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I think I’m allergic to something,” I say, and I almost chuckle as I realize how much truth lies in my words.
Jonas strides to the middle of the room, his eyes roaming on me, curious.
Nervous, I start mumbling.
“The articles are up to date. Everything was scheduled to be published in advance. I’m catching up on the other work,” I say mechanically.
“Sounds good...” he says.
He nears my desk and leans against it, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“I called you...” he says quietly and with a different voice, studying my eyes.
I look up at him, gingerly fluffing up my scarf to make sure the marks on my neck are not visible. We connect eyes, and a shiver shakes my shoulders.
Shit. I completely forgot about his proposal.
Fog fills my brain, and the harder I try to come up with an explanation, the emptier my mind spins. Just when I think this moment can’t get any worse, Jagger swings by the open door, his eyes sweeping my office briefly, taking note of Jonas’ casual posture, his butt sitting on my desk only inches away from me.
An instant reaction flits through Jagger’s eyes, a mix of suspicion and anger. Keeping his eyes on Jonas, he stops not far from my office, pretending he’s checking his phone.
I sweat bullets.
Fuck.
Slow and useless, my mind struggles. The only way to make Jonas get his ass off my desk and out of my office is to give him some sort of answer.
“I know. Listen... Let’s discuss this over dinner,” I say, and his eyes light up.
He straightens his back.
“What do you have in mind?” he asks gallantly.
“This week is busy for me,” I say, improvising. “What about next Friday?”
“Sounds good,” he says, making a few steps toward the door.
“Let me know if you have a favorite place.”
“I will,” I say and train my eyes on the screen.
Swiftly he vanishes out the door, and I let out a silent exhale.
“What was that all about?”
Jagger’s voice falls on me like a bucket of ice.
He glues to the desk in the same place where Jonas stood moments ago, and I have a hard time raising my eyes. He knows me too damn well, and I’m pretty certain he knows why I’m avoiding his gaze.
It’s my fault.
In my defense, I haven’t had the chance to talk to him about Jonas’ invitation. First of all, I forgot about it, and even if I didn’t, telling him would’ve made him nervous and suspicious.
I cut my eyes up, struggling to hold his gaze.
“Nothing. He wanted to know what happened.”
His eyes bore into mine, and I feel him inside me, a whisper away from the truth.
He cocks his head to the side, waiting.
“He wanted to know why I was late for work.”
“Hmm... And what did you tell him?”
“That we’ll discuss it some other time. Right now I’m busy, catching up...” I say,
He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the desk. My heart hammers in my chest.
As if he senses my nervousness, he studies me a moment longer.
“What are you writing?”
My eyes fall on the first headline, and before I could put a stop to it, the words fly out of my mouth.
“Five reasons threesomes go bad.”
My breath jams in my throat, my face burning with a blush. His eyes narrow with a grin.
“Are you serious?”
I smile.
“Did you pick this one on purpose?” he asks jokingly, and I shake my head, my smile fading away.
He registers the shift in my expression and tips his chin down, his eyes boring into mine.
“So... What are those reasons?”
I look back at the screen.
“I don’t think I have five... but one I know for sure can mess things up.”
“What’s that?”
I flick my eyes up.
“Love,” I say softly, and my heart beats faster.
Holding my eyes, he erases the little space between us, his back blocking my view of the door. He runs his fingers on my arm, stroking my skin slowly, his eyes observing mine.
“Why is that a bad thing, Violet?”
I look down briefly.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “I don’t know much about it. Do you?”
“No, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” he says, his fingers sliding into my hair. “Aren’t you curious?” he asks. I dip my gaze into his mesmerizing eyes. “To see how it is?” he murmurs.
He runs the back of his knuckles over my jawline, his touch light as a feather.
“I am, but I’m also scared,” I say.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he says, his eyes glinting with a smile.
“We might screw up.”
He nods. Once.
“Yes, we might,” he admits, his lips curving into a slow smile. I examine him, surprised. “But if we don’t, there can’t be anything better than that.”
He slides his fingers down my arm.
“We’re not even there, baby. You’re worrying for nothing.”
He straightens as if he wants to leave, and my hand cuffs his wrist.
“What do you mean?”
He flashes a playful smile.
“I don’t mean anything.”
“Yes, you do,” I say stubbornly.
His hand slides on top of mine.
“There are a lot of things we have to figure out first. That’s what I meant,” he says, smiling.
“What if one of us has to choose?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes, pondering for a moment.
“There’s nothing to choose. But any of us can walk away at any given time,” he says, gently caressing my skin. “Although I hope none of us will,” he continues.
I swing my eyes to the window and a few moments of silence slip by.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I have a hard time to go back to my old life,” I mutter.
He smiles, melancholic.
“I feel the same.”
“Do you think there’s a way out of this?” I ask, lifting my chin up, and pointing to the
office.
His eyes sparkle.
“There’s always a way out. The question is, are you willing to do what it takes?”
He fans his fingers over my face, his eyes warm and tender. His touch makes me feel good, yet his words render me sad.
Despite what he says, there’s no easy way out.
Voices travel from the hallway, and his fingers tear away from my face.
“Do you want me to wait for you?” he asks, walking backwards toward the door.
“No. I’ll see you tonight,” I say, my eyes darting to the hallway as footsteps echo closer.
He winks at me and makes a step to the side while Roxane slips inside.
“Mail for you, Violet,” she says and deposits an envelope on my desk.
Jagger gives me a soft nod and walks away, my eyes following his tall silhouette all the way to the end of the corridor.
12
VIOLET
Dear Violet,
Today is not the best day to ask for your forgiveness. It’s too soon, and everything is still too dark. You may not be able to hear what I have to say, and I understand that. I sincerely regret what happened last night. That pathetic ending is not worthy of us. I hope you’ll not remember me by that sad moment of my life. I wish I could take those words back and spare you seeing the worst of me. My words were bred in anger. No matter how we judge our marriage, I hope you agree that it made sense at that time since we were two different people. I can’t dictate your life more than I can mine. We are who we are, and we should gracefully accept that. I hope you’ll find the path to your true happiness.
Please accept my sincere apologies,
Brad
The phone beeps with a message.
Liv: What’s up with the high traffic in your office?
Me: It’s clear, now.
Liv: Things good?
Me: I guess, considering...
The phone goes silent. A moment later, she peeks through the open door. Glancing over her shoulder, she steps inside.
Curls gone, she fashions straight hair, and more makeup. She’s also ditched the flower power look for a slim cut, burgundy shift dress and three-inch heels.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“What’s up with the new look?”
“I borrowed it from your book,” she says, flashing a naughty smile.
“Seriously, now.”
“I’m going to an art gallery opening tonight.”
I grin.
“And?”
“And nothing,” she says, running her hand over her dress, and then gingerly lowering herself into the chair.
I whip my eyes to the laptop screen.
“Who is he?” I ask, and she stays quiet.
I look up.
“He’s a sculptor.”
“Mmm...”
“There’s no mmm... yet.”
“You seem happy, though. Without the mmm.”
She blushes.
“Yeah. I can’t complain. He’s funny, and witty. What about you? Any news?”
She pulls her chair closer, and my smile withers away.
So does hers.
“What happened?”
“A lot,” I say.
“Are things okay with Jagger?”
“Yeah... I think they are.”
“You think?”
“No, no... They are. We had a great time. The problem is, we’re back, and here I am, chained to the desk with Jonas on my back. And the latest thing is...” I say, and pause for a moment, “Jagger is actively looking for work in Europe.”
“Oh...”
“Yeah, so right now, everything is up in the air. We kinda want to live together, but that’s something hypothetical so far. I doubt his parents, his mom to be exact, would entertain the idea of him hooking up with someone like me, so we’re not officially a couple. He, on the other hand, would like to call his own shots. That’s why he needs the money, and he wants more than he makes in this job. Understandably so. That’s why he’s looking for DJ gigs overseas. So yeah... That’s the gist of it.”
“Give it some time. Things will sort themselves out in the end. They always do.”
I let out a sad chuckle.
“Oh, yeah... Of course, they do, but never for the better.”
We lock eyes for a moment, and then I swing my gaze back to the laptop.
“I dare you to show me one good thing that happens on its own, without a mountain of effort, a string of obstacles that need to be pulled out of the way, or some stupid sacrifice, and I can give you a ton of examples of shitty things that happen without an ounce of sweat. That’s how life sorts things out... And that’s how this thing will sort out,” I say, so pissed, my pen is about to snap in my hand.
I throw it on the desk and pull the laptop shut.
She watches me in silence.
I check the time.
“I’m ready to go home,” I say running my hand over my eyes.
“What happened to your neck?”
I pull my scarf up.
“My ex-husband happened.”
“Are you serious?”
“I sure am,” I say, balling his letter and throwing it to the garbage bin.
It falls on the floor.
“Is he...? Are you okay? Other than that.”
“I’m mighty fine.”
“Shit, Violet. Did you call the police?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You should’ve.”
“I know. I just didn’t want to deal with all that crap any more than I already have. Seemingly, he’s learned his lesson. He sent me a written apology.”
I motion to the piece of paper sitting next to the garbage bin.
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, it is what it is. He saw me and, um... Jagger. He didn’t like the way I was dressed.”
“That’s not his damn business.”
“That’s what I told him, but the argument heated up. In the end it got physical, and that’s how I ended up with the souvenir on my neck.”
She rests her elbows on my desk, her chin propped on her clasped fingers. The tears I’ve been pushing back the whole morning build up in my voice.
“Things have gotten complicated lately...” I murmur. “It feels as if my life has turned upside down. And if things weren’t bad enough, I’m going through another fall out with my family. In addition to this, things I’ve always wanted, like this stupid promotion, for instance, turn out to be something I no longer care for. It’s all a fucking mess. Now I have Jonas in the middle of everything asking me out, and he’s not gonna like it when I push him back, and then there’s Jagger watching him like a hawk... So in the end, I might lose my job, or Jagger, or both. That’s how life sorts things out.”
“I think you should go home,” she says, motherly.
We share a small laughter.
“Yeah, I think that too, but then I might lose my job sooner than I thought.”
I pull the laptop open.
“Maybe I should just get back to work,” I mutter.
“What are you working on?”
“Threesomes gone badly,” I say, the irony of it hitting me so hard, laughter crawls up my throat, exploding on my lips, filling the room.
VIOLET
“Not now, Lorraine,” I growl, my attention split between the road, my purse, and the phone. “Can I call you later?”
“I’m sorry,” she says as if she didn’t even hear me.
“About what?”
“What I said before.”
“Give me a second.” I take the first exit and take a secondary road. “You were saying?”
“I know what happened,” she says, her words punching me in the stomach.
“What are you talking about?”
“I know what happened between Brad and you this past Tuesday. I’m truly sorry. You should’ve told us, Violet.”
A long silence crawls between us.
“There was nothing
to tell,” I say, my voice frosted.
“That’s not nothing, Violet.”
“It is now. I don’t want to talk about it. Just give it a rest. How do you know anyway?”
“He told me. Not then. He called me last night and told me,” she mutters. “And I feel horrible. It was my idea, and mom asked him to go to your place and talk to you, but I never thought things would escalate between the two of you to the point he’d get violent. I’m really sorry, and he regrets it as well. I can’t tell you how bad I feel about it.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing... I don’t expect anything. I just wanted to say it wasn’t my intention to create this rift between the two of you, make things worse than they were before.”
“It doesn’t matter, Lorraine,” I say, irritated. “He doesn’t mean anything to me. There is no rift. He has his own life like you have yours, and mom should have hers, and yet, seemingly all of you have nothing better to do than plot and come up with these stupid plans and interventions. I’m not sixteen, Lorraine, and even if I were, I’d need to learn those life lessons on my own like everybody else, not from people who have nothing better to do than mind everybody else’s business.”
She goes quiet again.
“You’re angry.”
“You think?! I’ve been angry since the first months of my marriage when Brad started to tell me how to dress, and how to behave, and what friends I should have, and what was appropriate for me and what not. I was a barely nineteen. I’d never done anything inappropriate in my entire life, and there he was with his long list of grievances as if I needed a fucking makeover.”
“Violet?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Lorraine. I’m sorry if my words offend you, but it’s not the words you should be offended by. It’s what I’m trying to relay. Seemingly, nobody is offended by that. You keep acting as if I’m this ungrateful person, who’s had a perfect life. It wasn’t my perfect life. It was mom’s and Brad’s and perhaps even yours. You liked the idea that for a while I had followed in your shoes. In a sense, I’d validated your life choices, and as I’ve told you a hundred times before, I’m happy things have worked out for you and Tom, and I hope it’s the real thing, but if you harbor any doubts, you should explore them on your own. Don’t make me a part of your make believe. You keep saying I’ve screwed things up. Mom keeps pushing me to another Brad whereas my genius ex-husband is using me to feel good about himself, to cover up his own mess and show off his moral outrage. He likes to think the reason I filed for a divorce was because I wanted to be with other men... He said it in despicable words to me, but I’m gonna spare you those words. This version of reality is preferable to him than the ugly truth. We weren’t a good match. But, hey... If it makes him sleep easier at night, he can say whatever the hell he wants to say, and why not? It’s easier to live with the idea that I’m an easy woman than with the fact that he is a self-absorbed prick, who can’t let go of me as if I’m some sort of fiefdom or a fucking given...”