Mercy

by Annabel Joseph

  “You don’t mean that. You’re angry now, I understand. You just need some time to calm down. I’m sorry, Lucy, that things had to happen this way—”

  “I hate you,” I cut him off.

  “You don’t,” he said after a moment, “and this is the most dishonest conversation we’ve ever had. I’m not sorry, actually. I’m excited that we’re having a baby. And I don’t think you hate me. I know you don’t.”

  “I mean every word I just said to you. You make me sick. You really do. The way you went on and on about how important truth was to you. Do you remember how you felt when you discovered your last girlfriend lied to you for so long? That’s exactly how I feel now. I really, truly do hate you and I’m not going to be in a relationship with you again, and that’s the bitter truth, not that you would recognize truth if it bit you on the ass—”

  “Lucy, enough! You’re tired, you’re angry.”

  “No, I’m not angry, I’m not tired! You know what I am, Matthew? I’m defeated. I’m done.

  My career is over. The love I had for you is gone, completely gone. I’m carrying a baby I don’t want, that I’m probably just going to get rid of, and then I’ll have to live with that guilt my whole fucking life even though it was your fault. But I prefer that to living with you, to having a baby with you after what you did to me, this awful disregard for me, this rape of my life—”

  “Lucy,” he cautioned, “do not. Do not call it that.”

  “That’s what it is, so just...go. I’m done. There were a lot of things you did to me that hurt, but I liked them, I wanted them. But this, I don’t want it. I keep waiting to wake up and find it was all just a dream.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. What I did was wrong, but what’s done is done.

  You know I didn’t do it to hurt you. And I didn’t...I really...I only half thought it would work.”

  “But it didn’t half work, because you didn’t half do it, did you? You did it all the way. You came inside me while I wasn’t even conscious, Matthew! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Four times,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “I came inside you four times, actually.”

  “Oh, four times. That’s just great. Congratulations,” I said sarcastically. “Your guys can swim, you must be so proud. But I’m not having your fucking baby. Not a fucking chance. No.”

  “Grégoire told me you didn’t believe in abortion.”

  “I didn’t, until now. Now I think maybe in cases of rape it’s justified.”

  “I didn’t rape you!”

  “Yes, you did! It sure as hell wasn’t consensual!”

  “Rape is something else, Lucy. It isn’t done with love. It isn’t done to help someone—”

  “I fucking know what rape is! Believe me, I know. No one knows better than me, because I’ve been there, and now I feel like I’m right back there again.”

  “Oh Jesus, Lucy, please.”

  I turned away from him.

  “What can I do?” He tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away, pulled myself as far away from him as I could.

  “Leave or I’ll call the nurse.”

  “Let’s talk about things again in a few days. Things might look different in a few days.”

  “No, things are very clear right now.” I stared at the light blue wallpaper on the wall, the wallpaper that was the same pale blue color as his eyes. “I’m done. I know that. I’m sure of it.

  This has gone too far for me. Mercy, Matthew. Mercy, okay? Mercy makes it end, that’s what you told me once. I want it to end.”

  Again he reached for me, and I pushed the nurse call button.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. But don’t do anything, Lucy. Don’t do anything, okay? Until we talk again.”

  I bit my lip. I was making him no promises after all his lies.

  And no, of course I wasn’t going to have an abortion. I just wanted to hurt him as much as he’d hurt me. Let him believe I was going to get it taken care of, let him feel that pain of cold-hearted betrayal, the same pain I was feeling now. Just one little lie, but everything else I’d said was true. I was done with him, done with his peculiar one-sided brand of honesty. In my mind, it was already completely over. Convincing him would be more difficult, but eventually he’d understand.

  * * *

  A couple hours later, Grégoire mustered up the courage to visit me. He lingered at the door like a repentant puppy, gauging my mood before he dared come near. I wished I had a rolled up newspaper to smack him with.

  “I’ll only come in if you promise to listen to me, to listen to my side of the story.”

  “What other side is there?” I snapped. “I was completely passed out.”

  “His side. What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing. I sent him away. I have less than no interest in what he has to say.”

  “He didn’t explain to you why he did it?” He was still talking to me from the door.

  “I know why he did it, but it was still wrong! And you...he never would have thought of it on his own. So this is as much your fault as his.”

  “God, Lucy. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t stand it, I couldn’t stand it...if you won’t be my friend...”

  Grégoire’s tears finally undid me. I started to cry too. It was all so sad and ugly. My lips trembled and my words came out in a rush.

  “I need you now, G. I need you to be my friend, now more than ever.” I reached out for him and he came to me, enveloping me in his arms. I cried into his shoulder, the shoulder I’d leaned on so many times both in dancing and in life.

  “I can’t believe we’re not going to dance together again. I just can’t believe it’s over,” I sobbed.

  “Aw, Lucy, it’s not over. Don’t say that, not yet.”

  “But it is, isn’t it? I’ll never dance again. I can’t. I’ll miss dancing with you most of all, G.

  How can it be over? Forever? I just wasn’t ready for it to be over!”

  “I know, sweet, I know.” He crooned to me quietly, trying to soothe me. I don’t know what he said. I was crying way too hard to listen. The thought of never again moving across a stage with Grégoire, soaring through space propelled by his agile hands, it killed me. I looked down at his hand patting my leg gently, felt his soft, fine black hair brushing against my cheek. The smell of him, the solid feel of him against me. I knew why I was so sad. I’d lost not one lover, but two.

  Besides that, besides being alone and losing my lovers, I would get fat and awkward when I’d been sleek and graceful all my life. I’d get fat with a baby I didn’t want, that I’d resent, and then I’d have to live with the guilt of giving away my flesh and blood to some strangers because I was too selfish to love it. I felt like my life was over, and nothing in my future seemed worth living for.

  “It will be okay,” he said when I’d calmed down enough to listen. “Everything will be okay.

  Maybe you can become a teacher.”

  “I don’t want to be a teacher.”

  “You say that now, but you’ll miss dancing. You’ll miss it enough to do anything, I think.

  And you’ll have this little one to teach dancing to.” He laid his hand on my belly. “It would be a shame to waste your genes.”

  “No,” I said. “No, never. No child of mine will ever be a dancer—”

  “Lucy. If you hate dance so much, why are you going on and on about how much you’ll miss it?”

  “You know why. You know exactly why.” He fell quiet. He did understand the love/hate relationship we all had with dance. His joints were nowhere near as bad as mine, but the end would come for him too. “I can’t stand to think of this baby going through this pain and loss someday...”

  At that moment, as I said those words, I realized with horror that I was already protecting the thing inside me, and there would be no way to let it go. I was already attached to it, as much as I hated it. Grégoire still had hi
s hand on my stomach, caressing it. He’d known all along.

  “You’ll find something to do with your life besides dance. I’m sure you will. It will just take some time, some courage.” He tilted my head up to his and brushed away the lingering tears.

  “You’re a brave girl. You know that you are. You always have been. And you’ll be a mother now. You’ll be great at it. And you’ll be happy with Matthew, won’t you?”

  “Matthew? No.” I buried my head in my hands. “I can’t...I won’t...G, why did you let me stay with him so long? I can’t go back to him. I shouldn’t. Should I?” He was quiet for a long time.

  “I don’t know, Lucy. I don’t know. I don’t know that whole story, but I can tell he loves you very much.”

  “I sent him away, G,” I whispered in dread. “I told him he was awful and a liar and a hypocrite and that I hated him and never wanted to see him again.” I burst into a fresh torrent of tears. I realized only now how painful it had been to speak to him that way, the man to whom I’d been trained to show respect. How could we ever get past the things we’d done to each other, the words we’d said?

  “I can’t go back to him, G. Don’t let me. Please. Let me come back and stay with you and Georges, please, until I’m back on my feet.” I didn’t stop to wonder why I was begging so hard.

  “Of course you can. You can stay as long as you need to. Maybe you both just need some time.”

  I laughed humorlessly. That was exactly what Matthew had said. It seemed even now the two of them were working in tandem. “You’re so much like him,” I said. “I don’t understand how you two can be so much alike.”

  “I don’t think I’m much like him, Lu. I think we both just care about you.”

  “If he cared about me, he would never have done what you suggested.”

  “But I suggested it, so I’m to blame also. Not that I’m arguing his side. I’m just saying...”

  “Do you think I should go back to him?”

  He looked away, considering. “Just give it time, Lucy. You’ll figure out what to do.

  Sometimes I think maybe, with this, you really do belong together,” he said, pointing to my middle again. “But did he...what you did together...did he abuse you?” I snorted softly. If I was to detail half of what Matthew did to me, Grégoire would have the police down on his head, but I had reveled in all of it, all of it but what had happened at the end.

  Even the misstep with Frank and Byron, while I hadn’t enjoyed it, had brought us closer, helped us find love.

  “He never abused me, no, not in any way I didn’t want. We had a...safe word,” I said, my voice trembling at the end.

  “A safe word?” Grégoire echoed softly.

  For a minute we just sat in silence, the only sound the beep of the monitor and the steady click, click, sigh of the IV.

  “Yes, a safe word,” I finally whispered. “For when he hurt me too bad.” Chapter Fifteen: Truth

  I left that afternoon in a wheelchair to return to Grégoire and Georges’s house. Georges assured me I was welcome to stay as long as I liked, and while I had every intention of landing on my feet and finding something to do to make money and get my own place as soon as possible, it soon became apparent that it was going to take a while. Rehabilitation went slowly, and I hobbled about on crutches, and had terrible nausea and morning sickness and spent many miserable days in bed.

  Sometimes, vowing to pull myself together, I showered and dressed and went with Grégoire to the theater to watch the show from the wings, but it was so painful to be there and not dance, and to endure the sympathetic stares and empty encouragements of the dancers, that I soon swore it off.

  I still saw Dr. Rob every other week for appointments. He came by the apartment personally so I wouldn’t have to limp all the way to his office downtown. The rehabilitation was painful as he manipulated and coaxed my ankle, but even more painful was knowing that Dr. Rob was a direct link to Matthew.

  I knew Matthew paid him for my care, because money never changed hands between us, and I knew also that he reported to Matthew on my progress, however slow. He must have certainly learned through Rob that I was still pregnant, that I hadn’t had an abortion after all. Rob asked me question after question every week, questions that grew more involved and personal, questions I knew came straight from Matthew’s mouth. I answered them, how could I not, grateful as I was for the fading pain and his patient, capable therapy.

  Then one week he said flat out to me, “Matthew misses you.” The words landed on me like a punch in the gut. I’m sure I flinched, but he pretended not to notice. His fingers just kept working, manipulating, stretching my healing tendon just past the point of pain. I stayed silent, partly to pretend he hadn’t just said what he said, and partly because I knew if I spoke I would burst into tears.

  He started to talk, uninvited, about his past with Matthew, all the mysterious and vague details I’d never known. He spoke of the impoverished, damaged family Matthew had come from, and detailed all the chances he’d taken, all the hard work he’d done to rise out of the squalor he’d been born to. He’d truly made something from nothing, built an empire of real estate from an Indiana shack. Dr. Rob had met him in college when Matthew was a struggling freshman, and Rob, a young man of privilege, was wasting his opportunities on women and partying.

  “I almost died one night. Alcohol poisoning,” he said. “He took me to the hospital, got medical care for me. He’s a good man. He takes care of people he cares about. He cares about you.”

  I was really, really trying not to cry, but I was fighting a losing battle.

  He pressed his point. “It’s hard for him when he cares so much about you, to not be here for you. He misses you, he wants to help you. I know he’d like another chance.” I wiped my tears. Through all this, his hands never stopped. The pain, the twinge and pang of him moving my ankle was the only thing that kept me from going totally numb.

  “I know you miss him too, Lucy. You’re not happy. You belong with him, especially now.”

  “Did he tell you to say that?” I scoffed through tears. “They’re the exact words he would use.”

  “He asked me to tell you this, yes. But I’m not saying anything I can’t see for myself.

  You’re unhappy without him, and you miss him terribly. Don’t you?” I would have answered him if I wasn’t suddenly bawling too hard to catch my breath. I did miss Matthew, I missed him like madness. I missed him so I lay in bed every night and cried for an hour. I missed him so that food had no taste and art had no beauty and life had no meaning. I missed him so that I wrapped my hands around my waist a hundred times a day to cradle the only thing of him I had left.

  “What do I do?” I sobbed. “What do I do?”

  “Forgive him. Let him come talk to you at the very least. He wants to see you, but only if you feel in your heart you can give him another chance. He doesn’t want to see you if it’s only to tell him goodbye.”

  “But I don’t know. I don’t know if I can trust him again.”

  “He made a mistake, Lucy, and he knows it. A big mistake, one with a lot of repercussions.

  Lifelong, life changing repercussions, and he’s sorry for it. He’s used to fixing things with money. He’s always been able to do that. This is one situation that can’t be fixed. It’s been difficult for him. He’s as miserable as you are. I’m an outsider, I know. It’s really none of my business, but it seems to me...”

  His magical hands kept massaging and moving my ankle and knee, working the stiffness away.

  “It seems to me that you two being together and having to work through some issues is better than being alone and miserable for the rest of your lives. I mean, you’re both unhappy.

  You’re both lonely. You both miss each other. It seems awfully pointless to me, at least from the outside looking in.”

  “Ouch,” I said softly as he turned my ankle to the right.

  “Nearly forty percent more range on that side. You’re getting b
etter, Lucy. You won’t grace the stage again, I’m afraid, but I promise you, you’ll be able to dance.”

  “I will?”

  “I’m sure of it. Not perfectly, not with the intensity and stamina you used to, but you’ll dance again.”

  He patted my ankle and fixed me with his gaze.

  “Even if it’s not perfect,” he said, “if you enjoy it, if it makes you happy, then it’s a good thing.”

  * * *

  I thought a long time about the things Dr. Rob had told me, and by morning I’d decided to call Matthew, but I didn’t do it that day or even the next. I was afraid of taking that step off the precipice, afraid of trusting him again. But I was just as afraid of living my whole life without him when I needed him so much. I was afraid to call after the things I’d said to him. I was afraid to call because of the chance, however small, that he would not take me back. And I was afraid to call because, suddenly, I was starting to show.

  I know, silly vanity, but what on earth would he think when he saw me? I wasn’t even five months along, but small and slim as I was, I already had a noticeable bump. My slender, muscular body was one of the main things he liked about me, and I was no longer anywhere close to sleek, with my belly sticking out strangely and my muscles weak after months of forced inactivity. Dr. Rob said he still wanted me, that he missed me, but would he really want me like this? I couldn’t even have a few drinks to muster up my courage, so for two nights I just stared at the phone.

  “Call already, Lu,” Grégoire chided me on the third night. “Enough. Pick up the phone and call.”

  “What if he decides he doesn’t want me anymore?”

  He laughed. “For God’s sake, believe me, that’s not going to happen. He wants you back like mad.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know, G? Have you been informing on me too?”

  “He might have called me a few times. Checking up on you. We’ve talked.”

  “You two! You both ought to be ashamed.”

  “Just pick up the damn phone. Do you want me to dial for you?” I sighed. “Yes, actually. I’m shaking too hard to do it myself.” Grégoire picked up the phone and punched in the numbers. It didn’t escape me that he knew them by heart.