A Diamond in the Rough

by Elisa Marie Hopkins

  “No, you’re not. Stop saying that. You’re just drunk. It’s Halloween. It’s all going to be okay tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she says in a croaky whisper. “I’m a fucking bitch to you, Soph. I know that. I’m a bitch to everyone. I like being a bitch. I’m good at being a bitch.”

  “Stop talking.” I stand up. “Let me get you some water.”

  I turn around and Madison “Twiggy” Wolfe is leaning against the vanity, coloring her mouth with red lipstick and making kissy faces in the mirror.

  “How’s your friend?” she murmurs all of a sudden.

  “She’ll be fine,” I say.

  I’m the one who’s not fine. I urge half-conscious Stacey to get up from the chair so we can leave.

  Madison stashes her lipstick back in her clutch and a malevolent smirk appears on her face. “He hasn’t told you, has he? Typical Oliver.”

  As her words register in my head, my mind starts racing a hundred miles per second, thinking about whatever it is Oliver supposedly hasn’t told me. I stand in place with Stacey latched onto me like a leech. I stare into Madison’s eyes, her green, avocado eyes. They are full of anticipation and triumph all at once. I understand she’s not playing around.

  I’m in a fog of furious thoughts, when much to my prediction, the alcohol swimming in Stacey’s system surges up into her mouth and out onto Madison’s feet. She heaves and heaves until there is nothing left inside of her. The stench of vomit fills my nostrils, but the sight of it all amuses me.

  ***

  “HOW IS SHE doing?”

  Back at the table, Stacey is throwing her long arms around Luke’s neck and pulling him down into her embrace.

  “She threw up,” I tell him, pushing back a grin. “She’s going to feel a lot better now.”

  Oliver has a look on his face, one that says he’s fretting over something. “Let’s go, Sophie,” he says.

  “Go? Why?”

  “Grab your purse. It’s time to go.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know, Oliver, you used to be arrogant and obnoxious...now you’re just the opposite. You’re obnoxious and arrogant.”

  I don’t say good-bye. We bolt out of the lounge.

  He pushes our floor number on the elevator, then the close door button. The latter he pushes many times like an impatient child. I wonder why he’s in such a mood. The elevator begins to shoot downward. I steal a glance at Oliver, trying to read his expression. He simply stares at the descending numbers flickering above the doors, and I can almost tell he’s urging the elevator to move faster. Just then, the elevator makes a stop before our floor. I step aside so that people can get in, but as soon as the doors open, something grabs my attention.

  It’s the girl from the yacht again, Sarah, standing outside the elevator. She stares at Oliver, he stares back, I stare between them; nobody moves for a second. At first, I don’t make much of the sight of her in a black hoodie, dark jeans, and converse tennis shoes, but then an eerie seriousness settles and I think, what is going on? Her colorless face expresses guilt, terrible guilt, and worry; it is almost suspicious. Oliver just stands there and as far as I can tell, he’s struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. I think about why he left the party for a couple of hours and why he wanted us to leave at once. The air hangs still, silence pervading all around us.

  Sarah storms away all shaken up and spooked. Oliver pushes the close door button furiously. I quickly pry the elevator doors apart and slip through.

  “Sophie, come back here,” Oliver demands, but I’m already out the elevator.

  He keeps calling out my name. Sarah rushes toward the emergency stairs—presumably in hopes of hiding from something, or someone—and I can only think of chasing her, so fast and so far, until I get some answers.

  I pick up my feet and make a dash after her. She looks back over her shoulder and runs faster. I come down the emergency stairs in a hurry, trying to catch up to her. I shove the door out of the way and bolt across the lobby. Out on the street, whizzing by people so fast, I can hear my heavy breathing and my thudding heartbeat. I think about the madness behind what I’m doing, but I need to catch her, I need to know what is going on. So I don’t stop running.

  I manage to yank the hoodie off of her just as she is turning around the corner into an empty alley. Her face is exposed. I pant for air with my eyes wide open.

  “Sarah...” My voice comes out a wheeze. I take a second to catch my breath.

  She puts her arms up in an X covering her face. “Don’t hurt me, Sophie! Please, don’t! I’m sorry!”

  I’m wordless and stunned and confused. I examine her petrified face.

  I blink, trying to focus and hold down the alarm working its way into my brain. She doesn’t dare to look me in the eye, and all I can do is stare at her as if her appearance alone were to give me answers.

  Then I see him, Oliver, or a shadow of him, making an entrance into the alley. I don’t know when, but he’s put on a long, black coat, his hands are inside his pockets, and his stride is too slow as he walks toward me. Following him is Reed. He halts to a stop a distance away like a clockwork soldier.

  “What the hell is going on?” I say.

  “I am so sorry, Oliver,” Sarah mumbles. She looks up at him submissively, pain in her expression. “I thought you had already left. You said five minutes! I didn’t—”

  “You were with her tonight?” I gasp in between words.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “No,” he says again, firmly, as if just realizing what I meant. “Absolutely not. That’s not what this is about. Get up, Sarah.” And she does.

  “I am so sorry,” Sarah keeps on repeating. “I screwed up.”

  I close my eyes, breathing in, breathing out, then open them. “Why were you with her?”

  Both my hands rise to my mouth to cover the sudden rush of terror on my face. The only thing Oliver has to say is, “This is not the time or place for answers.”

  In my head, I can hear a blur of words from Detective Hamilton. Someone you know. Skillful. Very smart. A man and a woman. My breathing is out of control. “You answer me right now, you coward!”

  “Sophie.”

  “Right now!” I scream so loud a pair of cats dash past my feet, out of the alleyway.

  He takes a step forward, and I flinch, putting my arms up in defense. “Stay the hell away from me,” I say in a low voice. “You’re behind everything, aren’t you? You’re in it with her!” I point to Sarah. “You planned all of this!”

  “Just tell her the truth!” Sarah wails. Oliver orders his goon to take her out of there.

  “Sophie, listen to me. I’ll answer all your questions. But we need to leave right now.”

  I pull away from his grip. “Don’t touch me! I’m not going anywhere with you, you fucking monster! Why did you do it? Was it all business? Was any of it true?”

  I’m running out of oxygen. I can feel it. I lean against a dumpster and push my hands down on my stomach.

  Heavy, uncontrolled torrents of emotions engulf my mind. This is nothing but betrayal. It is a pain so unimaginable, like my soul is being torn apart by vicious claws.

  “How could you do this to me? How could I not notice it? How could I be so stupid! You were there when I was first attacked, you were there at the yacht, you wanted to get in my life, you were always there! All those strange calls...all those mysterious exits...”

  “Sophie, I would never hurt you.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “I’ve had the real threat in my bed all along. In my bed!”

  “Please, don’t cry. Please. There are things you should know.”

  “I will never forgive you for this! Do you hear me? Never!” I scream to the depths of hell, dying a thousand deaths. I pound on his chest with my fists.

  I lose consciousness.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  THE SWELTERING RAYS of sunlight fill the room, causing me to stir in bed. Slowly, my vision returns to normal.
<
br />   “Sophie. Thank God,” a familiar voice says, whispering in relief. “You’ve been out of it for almost twelve hours.”

  The familiar aroma of vanilla curls around my nostrils. “Aunt Peg.” My voice comes out low, hoarse, like I’ve just uttered a big word. “Where...what...?” I can barely speak.

  “It’s me, sweetie. It’s okay. You’re home. You’re safe.” She holds my hand.

  I can only see a silhouette of her, cast by the sun shining through her light-brown hair. Before she comes into full view, before my gaze makes out her eyes, her mouth, and her face—for a second I think my mother is sitting on the bed before me, then I shake my head clear, realizing that’s impossible.

  “This isn’t my house,” I tell her. “It’s Oliver’s.”

  She sighs. “How are you feeling?”

  I’m okay. At least I think I’m okay, or rather I’m in that typical place where I’m so upset and so hurt, I behave as if I were okay. My legs, on the other hand, feel like a pair of heavy logs. My arms feel like I just did a hundred push-ups. My head feels twice its normal size. I sit up, pull the bedspread off me, curl into a ball, and prop my back against the headboard.

  “I’m fine,” I say after awhile. “What happened?” Stupid question. I know the answer.

  “Why don’t you try getting some rest? We can talk about this when you’re more comfortable.”

  “Where’s Oliver?”

  “I’m not sure. He must be outside.” Some sort of sadness fills her short words. She pauses and her silence cuts to my heart. “Listen, Sophie...there’s something you should know. There’s really no easy way to say what I’m about to say, but now’s the time to tell you the truth.”

  The truth?

  “Well, as long as now’s the time, don’t let me stop you.” I know instantly from the look in her eyes that my sarcasm hit its mark.

  I suck in a breath. I don’t say anything, even though I am desperate for answers.

  Aunt Peg rises from the bed, crosses the room, and pulls the door wide open.

  At this point I don’t think I can get any more depressed or angry. I remain still—even though I’m mad enough to chew nails and spit rivets—unblinking at the sight of her again. The mystery that is Sarah takes careful steps inside the room. Her hands grip at the ends of her sweater, and her long hair nuzzles her neck underneath a knitted beanie. I absolutely hate the accompanying stiffness that follows her into the room.

  “This is Sarah,” says my aunt.

  “I know her name.”

  “Before I tell you anything, just know that I care about you greatly, Sophie. I realize I should have told you the truth sooner, but everything I did, everything I said, every action, everything was out of love for my family.” She looks at Sarah. “For all...my family.”

  Sarah sighs deeply and raises a hand to remove her beanie. She clears her throat and miniature tears form in her eyes. And then she says the words that make my blood pressure spike again. “My mother was Susan Cavall.”

  A heavy silence falls like a curtain. Then, I start laughing so very maniacally, like I’ve just heard the stupidest joke. I don’t stop. I get up from the bed trying to control this harsh, loud cackle of laughter.

  I collapse into a chair, drowning in tears of amusement. I take deep breaths and slowly the laugh dies down.

  “Tell her, Sarah,” Aunt Peg insists.

  “Susan gave birth to me behind bars, seven months after,” she chokes on the last words and streams of tears crawl down her cheeks like rainfall, “she was arrested.” I stop laughing. I can feel my heart everywhere, every pulse point thumping, on my wrists, on my temples, on my neck.

  “Three years I lived with her in a prison nursery program because Susan wanted to keep me with her. I guess she wanted to have a chance with me. But then she petitioned for my release, saying a prison was no home for a child. She didn’t want for me the life she had given to her other daughter. A prison of some sort, too. And when I was nine...she...just...took her life. She didn’t even say good-bye. I went to see her that day. I got her some chocolates and flowers. It was going to be Mother’s Day soon. Turns out, I didn’t have a mother anymore. And neither did you. Not that you cared. Do you know what I felt? I will never forget it. Never.”

  My insides are burning as if heat has replaced oxygen. I don’t move. I don’t blink. I don’t speak.

  “I was just a little girl. I didn’t deserve that. I hated you because you ruined our lives. You took my mother’s life. You took her away from me. You took everything away from me! Nobody gave me a chance. I spent six years of my life going back and forth to that prison, one hour in the morning, one hour in the evening, just so I could see my own mother in the dumps, locked up, because you put her there! Meanwhile, you’re out here, in magazines and traveling and having the time of your life.”

  Is this really happening? There’s a huge tumor of words deep in my throat. But they won’t come out.

  “You’re doing very well,” Aunt Peg says, looking at Sarah. “But you have to tell her everything. There can’t be anything left unsaid. You need to tell her about John Bridges.”

  John Bridges? I don’t think I can do this. My head is clogged up. The desire to know more is there, but the energy is lacking.

  “About two years year, I entered a...you know...one of those discipline programs in Trenton...Jersey. Bad behavior. I met Johnny while I was there.”

  “John Bridges tried to kidnap you,” Aunt Peg says, her face completely awash in sadness.

  I remember that name from somewhere. It hits me in a second; John Bridges is the man I saw on the news. The one arrested for murder. The one who’s on the loose.

  I feel a punch straight to my gut. Sarah’s eyes dart to the floor as she says, “We did things together. We worked together. We loved each other.” She stops speaking. “I’m sorry...I...I can’t do this,” she says, and snappily heads for the door.

  Aunt Peg catches up to her and grips her lightly. “Don’t leave.” She sits her down in a chair next to the door. Sarah places her elbows on her knees and covers her face with her hands.

  I feel Aunt Peg’s all-pervading stare on me, but I don’t return the look. “I am truly sorry, baby. I didn’t know about Sarah until Susan died. She left a letter for me saying she had given birth to Sarah. All those letters she wrote you, Sophie, were because she wanted to see you, but you never wanted to see her. Maybe she wanted to tell you about Sarah. She was deeply ashamed of what she had done. She really was. I know you never wanted to read the letters, but I still have them. I still have your mother’s letters.”

  That is when I look at her.

  “I know it hurts, Sophie. I know. But you have to know. When I found out about Sarah, I searched for her everywhere. I didn’t know she was tracking you down on her own. I was going to tell you the minute I found her, but not before. I didn’t know where she was, or if she was alive.”

  Aunt Peg’s eyebrows begin to furrow, and I realize my eyes are communicating their intention. The fixed stare I have on her actually means, “I hate you, you lying woman! I don’t believe anything you say! I hate you!”

  “Good Lord, this is harder than I thought it would be. Please, say something, Sophie. Anything.”

  I look at Sarah. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Susan was locked up nineteen years ago. I was six. Your story doesn’t add up.”

  “You’ll be twenty-six in December, Sophie. My birthday was just in July.”

  “I can’t breathe,” I wheeze.

  I make a mad dash toward the bathroom. I drop to my knees and pour out the contents of my stomach. The floor is cold on my legs. In between the gags, uncontrolled thoughts, and bitter pain, I oust my innermost feelings and banish the evil impurities inside me, and two hands gently pull my hair back.

  “Sophie, please forgive Oliver. He only wanted to keep you and me safe. I swear this is all my fault.”

  “Sarah, step outside.” Oliver�
��s low-pitched voice bounces back from the glass envelope of the bathroom interior.

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She will be. Give her some space.”

  I wipe my mouth with my arm and push my wobbling legs off the floor. “Both of you get away!” I yell, sliding away from Oliver’s hold. “I don’t want to see either of you right now. Leave me alone.”

  I walk up to the sink, splash cold water on my face, and grab my toothbrush.

  “Sophie,” is all Oliver says.

  As I scrape my tongue aggressively with the toothbrush, big, demonstrative tears run down my cheeks.

  “Please, just leave me alone,” I say.

  “It’s going to be okay, Sophie.”

  “Is it?” I ask. “Are you sure? Can I get your word on it? ”

  He nods because he knows what he can do for me at the moment. He leaves the bathroom.

  I pull my blood pressure monitor from out of a drawer, walk to the toilet, and sit on it. I give myself exactly five minutes to stew things over, think about how my life has changed while I take my blood pressure. Sister? Is Sarah my sister? Is she my half-sister? I strap the cuff to my left arm. The cuff begins to inflate as I push the start button.

  I come to understand that nothing changed in terms of events. The only thing that happened is that the blindfold tied around my eyes has come off. I can see now. Clearly. That’s what changed. I can’t help but ask myself for the millionth time, who the hell am I? It seems the answer can never stop changing.

  When the machine finishes taking my blood pressure, the cuff begins to deflate, and I get a reading.

  I come out of the bathroom and notice Oliver sitting on the bed with a glass of liquor near his mouth. He rarely gets drunk. He says alcohol kills his brain cells. Instead, he drinks to enjoy a glass, savor the fine taste. He sits up, reaches for a cut-glass decanter next to the bed, and pours himself another glass. It wholly looks like he wants to get drunk.

  Doctor Wu stands right beside Aunt Peg with equally concerned looks on their faces.

  “Good morning, Sophie. How are you feeling?” The doctor asks. “I’m here to take your blood pressure, if that’s all right with you.”