by Vivian Lux
I popped some Tums, but the hollow place was untouched. I nibbled some takeout, but the hollow place refused to be filled. The food roiled in my belly and I swallowed back hot bile that tasted like tears. The hollow place only grew larger. It felt like it had swallowed the whole of me.
I hugged a throw pillow tightly to my chest as I stared at the television, unseeing. Twisting the silk fabric in my fingers, I debated my options. Should I wait for Robert and apologize? Should I stay out of his way? What should I do to make things right?
I didn't want to fight with him. I never wanted to fight. Life in my father's house had taught me this. Fighting only meant I got hurt. It was better to take the blame for whatever I had done and move on. I could absorb his anger. I had done it before.
But the more I told myself this, the more tired I became.
My eyes closed involuntarily and I snapped them open. If I went to bed now, Robert may come home and find me sleeping in the afternoon. That would only earn me more of his wrath.
But I was so tired all of a sudden.
I trudged slowly upstairs. I would just lie down for a bit. I would hear the elevator open if he came home. I would pretend I had been straightening up our bedroom if he asked why I was up here. Or that I was working on my portfolio. That would work.
I sank heavily into our king-sized bed. The hollow place in my belly wouldn't let me stretch out. Instead I curled into a ball on my side. I was asleep immediately.
I don't know what it was that woke me. It could have been a noise from the street. It could have been the building settling. Maybe it was the neighbors downstairs. It could have been a number of different things, but I'm almost sure it was my heart.
I woke with a start, my heart racing in a panic, my mouth flooded with the bright coppery taste of fear. The room was pitch dark. I turned to look at the clock on my bedside table and saw that it was past eleven. I had slept for eight hours without meaning to. I flung out my arm to Robert's side of the bed, reaching for his sleeping form to comfort myself.
There was no one there. The sheets were cool, the pillow was undented. Robert had never come to bed.
He had never come home.
I ran my hand along the sheet, up and down, up and down. Robert's thousand thread count sheets. I still couldn't feel the difference in softness. I wondered if I ever would. Maybe I just wasn't good enough to discern the finer things in life. Maybe I should just accept what Robert said and stop trying second-guess him. Maybe he was wrong, and there really wasn't a difference, he just wanted to feel superior to me.
I swallowed and shoved that thought aside.
Thinking about the sheets was keeping the other thoughts out of my head. That was deliberate. If I thought about the sheets and wondered about the sheets, if I kept my focus on the sheets, then I didn't have to think about why Robert wasn't in bed next to me.
I didn't have to think about where he was or who he was with. Or what perfume she was wearing.
As I thought about the sheets, I felt something tickle my cheek. I brushed my finger across it and was startled to find that it came away wet.
It was only then that I realized I was crying.
I wanted to roll over to his side and bury my face in his pillow. I would have loved to inhale his familiar scent, if I could find it. But the sheets were clean and his smell had been washed away. His side of the bed smelled antiseptic and impersonal. He hadn't been home since we last slept together.
The tears came faster.
The hollow place in my belly suddenly twisted violently. I ran headlong into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before my stomach rejected everything I had eaten today. I hung my head over the toilet bowl, heaving and spitting. The man I loved should be here, rubbing my back. He should be here holding my hair so it didn't fall into the toilet. He wouldn't, but he should. He should be here and he isn't and where the fuck is he anyway?
The hollow place exploded, flooding my whole body with the million little hurts and rejections of my life with Robert.
I took a deep breath and screamed.
Every single word, every single facial expression, every single slight flashed through my head, treating me to a personal slideshow of Hell. My body flooded with adrenaline and I balled my fists, swallowing the bile in the back of my throat.
I felt like I would suffocate. The walls of our airy master suite threatened to close in on me. I splashed water in my face and looked at myself in the mirror.
I needed to get out of here.
But there was something I needed to do first.
Rushing back into the bedroom, I dove headlong to the back of my closet. Shoving past the skirts of the expensive ball gowns Robert had bought me, I unearthed the box of treasures I had rescued from the trash room. My stuff. The stuff that Robert had tried to throw away.
I dug around inside, past the old, threadbare blankets and found what I was looking for. I took out the old T-shirt and cradled it in my arms like a baby.
It was one of my old concert tees. The band had long since broken up, but I had kept it as a memory of the fun I used to have. When I shook it out, I smiled through my tears at what a mess it was and remembered the wild night that Sammie and I had spent in our dorm room. One of the fashion students had lent her a sewing machine, and we had gleefully spent the night drunkenly customizing our wardrobe. I ran my hand over the spangles at the shoulder, laughing grimly as I remembered Robert's horrified reaction when he saw it. I had cut holes in the side and woven strips of leather up like laces. Sammie had sewn an asymmetrical ruffle along the hem. The whole thing was a riot of color and bad taste.
I slipped it over my head. I wondered if it would still fit in spite of my weight loss. But my old friend seemed to remember my body. As if it had never wanted to let me go in the first place. I smoothed my hand over the worn fabric fondly.
Pulling on a pair of jeans, I grabbed my lipstick. Then I ran for the door, leaving the box wide open on the floor. Daring to show that I still had it.
Officer Wilkens was still on duty when I reached the lobby. I blew past him with a wave. I pushed the lobby door open and burst out onto the pavement at a dead run. I sprinted blindly, twisting and turning across the square and through the narrow streets and alleyways of Center City. Adrenaline carried me far and fast. It felt good to run, so I ran further. The ruffle on my shirt fluttered at my waist and my fine hair streamed out behind me, frizzing up in the sudden humidity that marked the start of the Philadelphia summer.
My feet slowed and I leaned against a shop wall, letting the still warm bricks bake my arm. Looking around, I slowly got my bearings. Crowds of people pushed past me. The whole block seemed to be one big party. I had run all the way to South Street.
The realization made me smile, and then laugh out loud. When I had first moved to Philadelphia, it was the gritty exuberance of South Street that had fascinated me the most about my new home. Sammie and I had spent whole days wandering in and out of the shops, marveling at how the seedy bars butted up against the trendy stores, the tattoo parlors coexisted with the ice cream shops. We had bought our art supplies and pooled out meager funds to buy dinner at one of the fancy restaurants that lined the side streets.
I hadn't been here in months. Six months to be exact.
It was the first really warm night of the year, and the crowd was in the mood to party. I could hear music spilling out from the concert hall down the road. I let myself be carried along with the throng, just grateful to be out of the penthouse and among other people. I scanned the crowds, hopeful I might see someone I knew. Maybe they would recognize me, since I looked more like myself than I had in months.
But no one knew me and I was jostled and buffeted. A pair of heavy boots came down on my toe. "Ow!" I yelled. I hurled myself towards the buildings to get out of the way of the crowds.
"I.D.?" The bouncer at the door looked at me expectantly.
I looked up at the bar, confused. Then I smiled. "Okay!"
I hadn't been out for a drink in a bar since I turned twenty-one. The night of my birthday, Robert had bought me a bottle of wine that he ended up drinking most of himself, along with several tumblers of Scotch. It had been enough to loosen him up, and he pounced on me as soon as the bottle was drained. I accepted his desire with surprise and delight.
But my efforts to accommodate him were in vain. He kept going soft. And when I tried to help him, he yelled at me for being a disgusting whore.
He ended up falling asleep with his back to me as I stared at the ceiling, wondering what I had done wrong. His snores kept me up all night.
I think that was the last time we had had sex.
The bouncer was staring at my I.D. quizzically.
"I know, I look really young," I explained.
He only grunted and gestured to another man standing just inside the doorway.
I looked away nervously. Suddenly I wasn't so sure this was what I wanted anymore. There were several motorcycles parked along the street just outside the door.
A stocky biker with a shaved head was leaning against one of the bikes, his leg extended out straight in front of him as if it was painful. He saw me staring at the patch-covered black leather he wore despite the heat and raised a slow hand in greeting. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could feel them all over my body.
"Okay you're in," the bouncer barked at me, startling me out of my reverie.
I took my I.D. back and meekly headed into the door. I would have one quick drink and leave. I didn't want the bouncer thinking I was scared.
The interior of the bar was dark and cool, less crowded than I had expected. I wondered if the bikes outside had anything to do with that.
A cluster of men in leather were laughing in the corner. I seated myself at the farthest edge of the bar away from them, and looked at my hands. They were shaking.
Robert may have come home by now. He would have seen my box in the middle of the floor, and learned I had defied him by keeping it. What had I done? What had I done?
The fear was enough to propel me from my seat and turn me to the door.
"Hey blondie, you just got here, leaving so soon?"
Chapter 9
J.
"Strength doesn’t come from numbers in our world. Strength comes from unity." Teach raised his shotglass to the ceiling, his voice rising triumphantly.
J. nodded back solemnly, holding a straight face for as long as he could. Case elbowed him in the ribs and he had to duck his head so Teach wouldn't see his suppressed smile. That was enough for Case. He burst out in a roar of laughter and lifted his shot over his own head.
"Enough speeches," he cried. "It's time to drink!"
"Fuckin' kids," Teach sighed, and lowered his glass. "Fine. Tonight we drink to Jeremiah Johnson, who is now a free man in every sense of the word. To J. our brother."
He paused.
His mouth twisted into a broad smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Don't fuck this up," he concluded.
"Don't fuck this up!" roared the rest of the Sons of Steel, raising their glasses to their lips.
MacDougal emptied the bourbon down his throat like it was water, slamming the shot glass down with a grunt. Case and Doctor D. followed suit, with Case letting out a whoop. Doctor D. snorted and coughed, then spit something into a napkin.
J. knocked back his own glass and sputtered in surprise. The bourbon tasted like diesel fuel and felt even worse. It slammed into his belly like a bowling ball and he immediately had to suppress a burp.
Case laughed and clapped him on the back,,"Howzit taste, jackass?"
"Like shit," J. grimaced. "Guess freedom tastes like shit. Or are you assholes holding out on me and only getting the cheap stuff?"
"Hey, it's been so long I thought you wouldn't be picky. This is what we get."
J. nodded in understanding. Rosie's Cellar was not on their usual list of hangouts, but Rosie was so grateful to the Sons for keeping her place from getting trashed during the last summer's flash mobs that whenever they showed up now, Sons drank free.
The cheap stuff for free, that is. The harsh taste of the bourbon burned his throat. "Fuck, I think I just got an ulcer," J. choked.
"We gotta get your tolerance back up, man," Case exhorted him, clapping him repeatedly on the back.
J. looked at his pale friend. The flush was already creeping up his bearded cheeks and the dopey smile was in full effect. Four shot glasses were already lined up along the bar in front of him. J. looked down at his own single shot glass and felt the woozy pleasure of a buzz starting to form.
I need to take it easy, he reminded himself. He had no idea how alcohol would affect him now that he could legally drink with his brothers. He hoped he was strong enough to keep the black thoughts and the red rage from taking over.
Case slammed another shot down onto the bar then looked across the room. "Niiiiice," he whistled through his teeth.
J. followed his gaze and then sucked in his own breath too. The sight of her huddled there in the corner hit him like a punch to the gut.
"Wow, you don't see chicks like that at the Dirty Dog," Doctor D. piped up from behind them. The older man licked his lips.
"Back off," Case mocked. "She's not interested in an old fart like you. What're you gonna do, take her back to your shithole of an apartment and introduce your mangy cats?"
"Girls like that, they appreciate a man with experience," Doctor D. shot back, grabbing his crotch. "You wouldn't know the first thing to do with her."
"I could think of a couple things," Case argued.
J. nodded, watching the girl at the corner of the bar. He could think of a few things too. She was gorgeous, but J. could tell she didn't think so. She curled her voluptuous body around herself, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible. Her white-blond hair fell forward as she ducked her head. It hung in curtains across her face, hiding her from him. J. felt himself step forward. He was moving towards her without meaning to. He ached to brush that hair back. Reveal that face. Expose that neck. He wanted bend his lips to her throat and taste that soft skin. In his mind it tasted like cream.
J. stepped back forcibly and hunched over the bar, trying to hide the erection that rose uncomfortably against his jeans. She wasn't just another piece of ass. She was something new. He called Rosie for another shot. A bit of liquid courage.
"You gonna talk to her?" Case wavered in front of him woozily.
J. downed the shot and slammed the glass back on the counter. The bourbon didn't hurt as badly this time, and the fiery warmth helped steel his nerves. Just say hi, he exhorted himself, but the attack of nerves continued.
Prison had been a long drought, and since getting out there had been only a couple of girls. Hangers-on, mostly, girls who came to club parties for the thrill of sleeping with real, live bikers. He had gone to a few parties up at Temple with Crash, who lived up there part of the time, but the girls had all been so wasted it was barely worth it. More than one had passed out on him midway through the act. It hadn't done much for his self-esteem.
Tonight, though, tonight was his night. Flush with the triumph of freedom, J. was feeling good about himself for the first time in years. Possibly in his life. He shot another quick look at the beautiful girl and told his nerves to go fuck themselves. He was going to go for it.
He was just getting up from his stool when the girl suddenly bolted from her spot and ran to the door. J. watched the door open at the same time and cringed as the girl almost crashed into Crash who was coming in from his shift watching the bikes.
"Hey blondie, you just got here, leaving so soon?" Crash leered.
The girl looked up at him, panicked, and J. felt a sudden protective urge. He crossed the floor in three long strides and folded his arms across his chest. He knew his brother was self-conscious about his height, so he drew himself up to his full six feet and crossed his arms.
"Crash, stop being creepy and apologize. You nearly knocked her over."
> "I'm not being creepy. You don't think I'm creepy, do you baby?" Crash put on his best Casanova grin, the kind that worked wonders at sorority parties. J. snorted.
The girl looked from Crash to J, then back to Crash. "Umm..." she wavered.
"Yeah Crash, you're being creepy," Case called from the bar. "Besides, your shift ain't up yet."
"Aw c'mon." Crash's grin faded. "It's hot out there."
"Your shift ain't up," Case repeated.
Crash looked at the girl and then back to J. "Aw fuck it, it's your night man, have fun," he relented and turned back to the door. He stopped momentarily. "And sorry 'bout that," he called contritely over his shoulder.
"Thanks," the girl muttered in a small voice.
J. reached up to touch her arm, but thought better of it. "He comes on strong, sorry."
"I'm okay," she repeated in the same small voice.
"Did you, ah," J. paused, licking his lips. He could smell the soft fragrance of her pale blond hair. It wasn't doing anything for the tightness in his boxers. "Did you need to go or something?"
"I probably should."
J. felt his heart sink. He felt himself talking without realizing what he was saying. "You haven't had anything to drink yet though."
She looked at him sharply. "How do you know?"
J. swallowed. "Guess I noticed you. You kind of stand out in here."
The girl hesitated before breaking out into a soft smile. "I don't actually know what I'm doing here."
"Having a drink with me," J. said with more confidence than he felt.
The girl rocked back and forth on her feet. The sway of her hips sent another jolt to J.'s groin.
"Okay, I will," the girl said suddenly, as if making up her mind on the spot. "I'm Emmy."
J. grasped her small hand in his when she offered it. Her skin was just as soft as he hoped, but her grip was surprisingly strong. She was holding on to him as if unwilling to let him go. "J. Welcome to my party, Emmy."
They turned to the bar. "What're we celebrating, J.?"
J. felt his stomach lurch.