Watch Me

by Jody Gehrman

  If you want to get away with it, though, you’ve got to think it through.

  I’m a very good premeditator.

  Raul leaves your home with a smug, self-satisfied grin. Through my binoculars, it’s easy to see him shooting his cuff links like a gigolo. I watch the bastard, my jaw tense, my stomach churning. He strolls down the sidewalk. The dickwad’s singing something in Spanish. God, I hate people who sing on the street. So gay. His limbs are loose as he climbs into his Range Rover. I hate people who drive Range Rovers. From my position in your narrow side yard, I tighten my binoculars on his profile. He’s sitting behind the wheel, grinning at the windshield like a man who has just been fucked.

  The sick, twisted feeling in my gut gets worse.

  It’s true what they say about the first one being the hardest. Eva bothered me for weeks. My insomnia, a looming threat even in the best of times, became intolerable. I went forty-eight-hour stretches without sleeping. Her face haunted me. Her voice—soft, imploring—echoed through my nightmares.

  This time, I’m confident I’ll enjoy myself.

  When he pulls away from the curb, I dash for my Honda and follow him. It takes me a minute to catch up, but soon I’m trailing him through the deepening dusk. He wasn’t at your place long. He didn’t have any stamina. The guy just had sex with you—without any style, from what I could see—and took off. I take cold satisfaction in knowing you didn’t enjoy yourself. These guys, with their big cars and their tailored suits—they don’t have any idea what to do with you.

  The first time I fuck you, Kate, I promise it will take hours.

  The second time we’ll take even longer, and you’ll wonder how you ever put up with the Rauls and the Pablos of this world.

  He rounds a corner toward downtown. I leave one car between us, but it’s a Mini Cooper, so it’s easy to see his hulking tank lumbering up ahead. Even the way he drives pisses me off. He’s texting. His swerving inattention’s proof. Either that or he’s drunk. Eliminating this guy should earn me a medal. I’m saving the lives of Ohio motorists and their innocent children.

  When he pulls up in the parking lot of The Woods, I groan. What a cliché. He samples the finest piece of ass in a thousand-mile radius, then he heads for Slutville, hoping to get another blow job from some BAG. Dude’s your classic player. He doesn’t deserve to live.

  I’m going to love offing this guy; the truth fills my broken heart like a shot of heroin.

  I’m doing it for you. I hope you know that.

  And it did break my heart. There’s no getting around that. Today, in your office, I know you felt it. The dark heat that pushed down on us both, pinning us to the moment. The humid pulse of the air. The thick silence that descended as my hand floated toward your neck. When I kissed your mouth I felt you writhe beneath me, your whole body stiff yet supple. You understand what it is between us. You felt it.

  You had to feel it. And yet you fucked this sorry excuse for a man.

  I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were making progress. Your judgment showed slow but steady improvement.

  This is a big step back.

  I’m going to fix it. For you. For us. I’m going to fix everything.

  Raul’s inside the club now. I think through my plan, double back to the trouble spots, go over it again. I make revisions. You’re always saying revision is key.

  KATE

  I smoke a joint on my balcony. I rarely allow myself to smoke. Right now I feel so drained, I need something to smooth my pulse, steady my breath. I pinch the blunt between two fingers. I’m wearing slippers and a bathrobe, cradling a G & T. I feel like a 1950s housewife coming down from diet pills.

  Raul is the first person I’ve had sex with since Pablo. My breathing isn’t ragged because of pleasure. Far from it. It’s because of the gasping emptiness inside me.

  I’ve never had sex with anyone I felt so profoundly disconnected from.

  Sex with Pablo meant wrestling, biting, struggling for dominance. I loved the muscular dance of our limbs, the sweaty aggression of it. At the center of it, no matter how hard we fought, we loved each other. At least I think we did.

  Sex with Raul was more like making a long-distance phone call and getting nothing but static.

  My thoughts drift stubbornly back to my office. Sam’s body so close. The moment before Frances walked in. The delicious silence that fell around us like snow. The taut suspension between us. How he smelled. Sweat. Lemons. Sap. The scent of fresh new life.

  That kiss, so rich and textured. If Raul’s kiss was a long-distance call, Sam’s kiss was a thick voice whispering in your ear. His hands felt so hot through my blouse, as if he intended to brand me. I take another drag off my joint. His eyes, so blue—dragonfly wings and icicles, delphinium, flames.

  The impossibility of my situation looms before me. I’m falling for someone I can’t fuck, and I’m fucking someone I can’t fall for.

  SAM

  After Eva, I had terrible dreams for six nights. They were bad, I don’t mind admitting. I’m sensitive, as I said. On the seventh night, though, after barely sleeping all week, I got drunk, passed out, and woke up fifteen hours later in the hospital, my wrists sewn with jagged Frankenstein stitches. Since then, I almost never dream of her. She’s a faint scar on my psyche, a blemish so razor-thin it’s invisible.

  She had to go. I knew that.

  I suppose she could be called innocent. That was just it, though. Her inability to perceive evil, to fathom the depths of human depravity—that was her crime. Her childlike naïveté is what doomed her.

  Raul drinks at The Woods for a couple hours. He makes out with an ugly cow, another BAG, for half an hour in the parking lot. Then she drives off in a pickup truck, and he climbs into his Range Rover. I’m relieved to see him head in the opposite direction. If he followed the BAG home, I’d have to wait around some more, and I’m almost out of patience.

  Fog winds around the trees as I follow his taillights out of town. I don’t bother keeping a car between us now that it’s dark. Even if he does notice me, it’s not an issue. Dead men tell no tales.

  There’s a sickle-shaped moon in my rearview mirror. I roll down the windows and breathe in the damp, grassy air. Out here, driving through fields, the world seems far away. The fresh, cold air, the stars, make me think of Eva. Her gypsy-black eyes. She had a favorite spot at the very top of the tallest hill. She called it Mount Mercury. It was the darkest place on a moonless night. From there, the stars were so vast and clear, so close, it felt like you could reach up and pluck one from the void.

  Like the gods wouldn’t even notice.

  They do notice, though.

  Eva was so in love with me. I was in love with her, too. The night she told me she hadn’t bled for two months, and what did it mean, and could I help her—that’s what changed things.

  I believed the baby was mine. That’s what she wanted me to think. We’d had sex just once, and it seemed unlikely, but of course it was possible—these things happen. I was deep in that magical state, that first-love bliss, when everything about this person seems made for you, and everything they say is ripe with significance.

  Then, one moonless night, I went to her yurt, hoping she’d walk with me to Mount Mercury and look at the stars. We needed to plan our escape. I knew we had to leave. She could have the baby, or she could get rid of it—whichever she wanted. Either way, we needed to ditch the Mercury Ranch and its web of anarchic danger. All these aging hippies, these radical burnouts, were dragging us down. I had a guitar. We could busker at first, work bus stations and make our way out to New York. She had this thing about New York. She’d been there once as a child, and she’d grown up watching an old VHS tape of the movie Fame. She believed in New York. She’d get a job teaching dance, start her own dance company. I would write and tend bar, and we’d worm our way into the sweet, fleshy center of our Big Apple–flavored dreams.

  That night, I stood on her rotting redwood porch for a long time, listening t
o the sounds within. Their yurt had canvas walls, so I could hear everything. There was the tinkling bell of her childlike laughter. Then the low, grunting sound of her mom’s boyfriend, Troll. His nickname was earned. Hearing him in there with her made me tense up right away. I never trusted the frenetic light in his pale blue eyes, the wiry power in his thick arms, his short, stunted legs. He was only about five feet tall but there were rumors he’d killed a man twice his size using nothing but a shoelace. I believed it.

  I listened, my stomach clenching, as Eva’s laughter grew more hysterical. Soon I could hear the distinct, rhythmic pounding, the whining bedsprings of sex. I didn’t want to believe my ears, but the evidence was undeniable. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I burst through the door. Eva was on all fours atop the bed. She arched her back as Troll thrust into her from behind. I clawed at his shirt, tore him off her. Then I grabbed her by her nightgown, which was damp with sweat, and tried to pull her outside, into the cool night. I had a vague notion we could make our escape right then.

  “What are you doing?” She looked mystified.

  “He was raping you.” It was part answer, part question.

  The look she gave me was full of pity. Like I didn’t understand anything.

  That’s when knowledge crashed over me like a terrible wave. This wasn’t the first time Troll had done this to her. The baby growing inside her was his, not mine. I’d provided her with a convenient scapegoat, someone to deflect the shame of giving birth to a troll baby.

  It’s ridiculous that I’m the one who could go to jail, when she’s the criminal. She’s the one who burrowed into my heart like a ferret, rodent claws scratching away until she found my darkest pit.

  That darkness is mine. Nobody can force their way inside it.

  Someday I’ll share it with you, Kate. Until then, it’s off limits.

  Raul’s black beast lumbers through the fog. My hatred for him seethes through me, a tingly sensation. Pleasure and pain compete inside my body. It’s like that moment when you know you’re going to come, but you put it off as long as you can, riding the edge. Raul’s taillights dance before me, trying to get away. It’s obvious I’m following him now; he turns onto a small country highway, and I stick close.

  When at last he pulls up to a solitary house at the top of a steep driveway, I stop right behind him and put the Honda in park. This is not a complicated plan. It’s simple. Since nobody’s here waiting for him and his closest neighbor’s at least half a mile away, it’s even simpler. No need to lure him anywhere. I couldn’t ask for a better spot.

  The house is very eighties, with big ski chalet windows and a killer wraparound deck. Bet he’s had some sick parties here. This is the kind of place where coke flows without restraint. The A-frame’s built into the hill, with a spectacular view of Blackwood Valley. A hot tub steams in one corner of the deck. Not a bad place to crash.

  He gets out of his car and regards me. I get out, too, feeling loose-limbed and drunk on adrenaline.

  “What’s going on here?” His voice sounds tight. The pussy. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Sam. This where you live?”

  He looks from the house to me, his big forehead creased with confusion. “Yeah. Why?”

  I don’t hesitate. My fist hits his face with such bone-splintering force, he goes down on the first punch.

  For you, Kate. Because he was a lousy fuck.

  * * *

  When Raul opens his eyes, I have him duct-taped to a chair. It’s an arty, pretentious chair, the kind nobody ever wants to sit in. It’s made of cowhide and its seat is so narrow, I can barely squeeze him into it. Why some people feel compelled to pay extra for qualities that render a thing useless eludes me.

  “Do you know who I am?” I’m crouched in front of him, hands on my knees.

  His dark eyes regard me with dazed fear. “I saw you at The Woods.”

  “Very good. Do you have any idea why I’m here?”

  He thinks about it. Shakes his head no.

  “You just had sex with Kate Youngblood.” Saying the words out loud makes me see red. That’s a very real thing, by the way—seeing red. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. Maybe you don’t. It’s like a dark red stain over your vision. A pounding in the ears. It makes you light-headed, makes everything seem like it’s happening underwater.

  A look of slow realization seeps through the terror in his eyes. “You’re her student—from that night at the play. Look, if you want her, she’s yours.”

  I slap him hard across the face. He reels backward. He almost falls over, but the ugly chair rights itself. I pace around his expansive living room. It’s like a stage, with the massive windows and the deck stretching out into the darkness. I imagine the audience out there, watching us. They know I’m doing this for you. I’m the good guy.

  I lean forward until my face is inches from his. I wait until he opens his eyes. “Kate Youngblood is not yours to give away.”

  “No! Of course not.” He tries to seem contrite. It’s not a good look on him. “I am sure whatever I did to offend you, we can discuss. I don’t want trouble. Kate is a lovely—”

  “Don’t fucking say her name.” My voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

  He flinches. “I’m sorry.”

  “Here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to give you a chance to make me hate you a little less. Give me three reasons you should continue to inhabit the planet.”

  He squints in confusion.

  I sigh. “Why should you live? Don’t think about it, just tell me.”

  “Because I love my daughters very much. They will miss me.”

  “Okay, fine. Number two?”

  “Because they need my support to get through college, to pursue their dreams.” He looks so earnest, so eager, like a child trying to find the right answer.

  “Other than your daughters, you got nothing? Because, news flash! They’ll inherit all this.” I sweep my arm around the house. “They can probably manage to squeak through college on the sale of this place alone.”

  “I am in debt.”

  I study him. He looks smaller than he did in the club. Like he’s shrunken two inches since I taped him to that chair. “Is that your third reason? You’re in debt?”

  “My girls will inherit only debt.” His eyes fill with tears.

  I shrug. “Scholarships. If they’ve got their shit together, they’ll figure out a way.”

  “I don’t want to die,” he whispers. “Please.”

  I pull my gun from the waistband of my pants and point it at his head. I’m a Glock man. Everyone has their go-to weapon. “Sorry, Raul. I’m afraid those answers are insufficient.”

  “Please,” he whimpers. “Madre de dios, por favor.”

  “You can start over. Clean slate.”

  “Start over?”

  “In death. Everything starts over in death.”

  “Ay, por favor!”

  I click the safety off, watch his eyes as I take a step closer. The muscles in his face twitch with fear.

  This is for you, Kate.

  You’d want it to be quick. Your heart is tender and fresh, alive with empathy. I’ve seen it in your writing, the way you layer your characters with so many shades of humanity. They’re never all good or all bad—they’re complicated, full of contradictions and flaws. Because of that, you wouldn’t want Raul to suffer. You could never see him the way I see him. For you, he’s another character with infinite complexities, a cocktail of nobility and depravity.

  Lucky for you, I’m a Glock man.

  Sure, strangulation is quieter, tidier. You don’t even have a weapon to dispose of later if you do it with your bare hands. That takes serious cojones, though. I don’t mind admitting I’m too sensitive.

  Poison, on the other hand, is a coward’s way out. You could slip something in the guy’s drink and walk away, never even witness his writhing agony. I’m not a big enough pussy for that. Besides, it could all go wrong, fall into the hands o
f someone innocent.

  Whatever scruples I lack, I do have respect for innocent lives.

  No, man, give me a Glock any day of the week. It’s powerful, direct, efficient. You can stand far enough away to get some perspective, but you’ve still got to look at the guy when you do it. It’s the perfect balance between accountability and distance. You can’t shoot somebody and not know it. Still, it won’t fester in your brain, forcing you to relive it for the rest of your life.

  Don’t worry, Kate. This will be over before you know it.

  Raul’s a test, plain and simple. He’s my chance to prove how much you mean to me—how far I’m willing to go to ensure you’re mine. Because you are mine, Kate. Already, the delicate tendons of our souls have started weaving themselves together. We won’t be pulled apart.

  This man can’t live. He’s in the way. His very presence in our story illustrates my level of commitment. My love for you is so pure, so focused. I’m willing to kill without hesitation to prove it.

  “Say your last words,” I say. “Make them good.”

  “Holy fucking shit!” he cries.

  I shoot him in the head.

  “Wouldn’t be my choice,” I say into the silence. “But hey, it’s up to you.”

  KATE

  Zoe’s got a baby in her arms. She’s been in labor for what seems like days. It’s morning, and everyone’s exhausted-drunk and giddy. Zoe screamed, just like in the movies. Somehow that surprised me. I thought that was pure fiction. I usually fast-forward through those scenes, bored by the endless high-angle shots of a woman grunting and sweating, her loved ones gathered round, shouting encouragement like spectators at a baseball game. Come to find out, it’s real. Worse, because there’s shit and viscera and all kinds of horrors they edit out.

  “Look at him.” I lean over and touch his tiny nose. Drew. My godson. He gazes up at me with unfocused eyes, a shriveled old man. He’s wearing oversized mittens on his hands to keep him from scratching himself with his tiny nails. “What a perfect little terror you are.”

  We watch as he raises one eyebrow, exactly the way Zoe does. We both gasp.