Shatter Me

by Kim Hartfield

  Noticing the last message was only from half an hour ago, I gave her a call.

  “Hey,” she said, sounding concerned. “What’s going on?”

  “I had to go in to work. It’s been a long day.” I stared at the busy parking lot outside of my windshield. “How are you? And Virginia?”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ve just been so worried. When I didn’t see you today, I thought maybe you’d decided to go back…”

  “Of course not.” I decided not to mention how I’d been reading Chantel’s text messages. “I’m not that kind of… victim. I left her because it’s over.” My voice was barely audible by the last word. I was sure Sydney could hear my lack of conviction.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she said warmly. “Listen, are you nearby? If you’re around, maybe we could grab a coffee. I’d like to see you for myself, make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m not,” I said with a humorless laugh. “I can tell you that much.”

  She was so kind, though. I wondered if she was this nice to all the women who came to Open Heart, or just the ones she personally knew.

  I might’ve actually taken her up on the offer if she hadn’t been who she was. I’d already been humiliated in front of her enough. She’d seen me at my lowest point, sobbing and begging. As much as I admired her – because I admired her – I hoped I wouldn’t see her again until I was back on my feet.

  I closed my eyes and envisioned a day sometime in the future. Me, a few years into a tenured position at some university, coming back to Bayridge for an academic conference. I’d spot the esteemed Dr. Sydney Burgin at the other end of the conference hall, and we’d nod to each other. Totally professional, one equal to the other. No sympathy in her eyes, only respect.

  Maybe I’d even have a beautiful woman on my arm – a girlfriend or a wife. The nameless, faceless silhouette in my imagination made my throat choke up. She wouldn’t be Chantel…

  “Call me if you need anything,” Sydney said, breaking me out of my reverie. “Anything at all. Even if you just want to talk to Virginia on speakerphone. Or if you want me to send you pictures of her. I’ve taken a few.”

  “I will.”

  We hung up, and I stared at my steering wheel. I was going to drive back to the shelter… right after I looked at these texts from Chantel.

  Six – Sydney

  I settled onto the couch, placing my glass of wine on the coffee table. After flipping on the TV, I grabbed the bag of treats and called Virginia over. She still wasn’t the most affectionate kitten, but bribing her seemed to be a sure way to get some attention.

  I held the kibble a few inches out of Virginia’s reach, forcing her to jump onto my lap if she wanted it. With visible reluctance, she jumped on, and immediately hopped back off again. She sat at my feet and munched on her prize.

  I bent down to scratch her head. “I’m going to make you love me eventually, kitty. You might as well give in now.”

  Actually, I hoped I’d have her long enough to make her love me. Not that I wanted Lora to stay in the shelter a minute longer, but I really was enjoying having Virginia around. Now that she was visiting, I realized how much life my quiet condo had been lacking.

  I took a sip of wine and glanced at the TV. I seemed to have tuned in halfway through a cheesy rom-com I’d seen a million times. I took a moment to appreciate the wine’s fruity undertones, debating whether I wanted to watch the movie again or not. It always did make me smile – rom-coms were my guilty pleasure. But for some reason, I was antsy. It didn’t take long for me to reach for my phone.

  I wasn’t like those millennials with their phones practically surgically implanted into their hands. For years, I’d held off on getting a smartphone at all. Normally I checked mine only when I needed it.

  Although I wasn’t expecting any calls or texts now, there turned out to be a single message. Hey babe, still want to catch up? Let me know when you’re free! It was from Karen.

  I drummed my fingers on my thigh. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to see an old friend. It wasn’t like I had anything else going on.

  Free now? I replied. I have a bottle of wine with your name on it.

  She answered affirmatively, and half an hour later, she was at my door.

  She was dressed in a relaxed-sexy manner, with a loose knee-length sundress I could just picture myself hiking up. Her make-up was minimal, her hair swept into a messy updo. I pecked her on the cheek and invited her in.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve been over here,” she said, moving through the hallway to the living room. “Where’s this cat you told me about?”

  I pointed to Virginia, who was currently blending into the white blanket folded on the couch. Karen gasped and put her hands to her heart. “She’s a darling! Why are you babysitting, again?”

  I gave her the short version of what’d happened – a former student coming to the shelter and trying to sneak her pet in. Karen tried to hide her surprise, but her eyes widened. I could tell she’d never imagined a graduate from a women’s studies masters program being put in that position.

  “Well, I adore this little girl,” she said. “If your former student can’t find a pet-friendly apartment, maybe you’ll get to keep her.”

  To keep Lora? My heart stuttered, and it took me a second to realize she was talking about Virginia. “That’d be nice, but I’d rather her go back to her actual owner.” I nudged Virginia with the back of my hand. “Maybe I’ll think about getting my own pet when this is over, though.”

  We sat on the couch a few inches apart, and Karen picked up the glass I’d already poured for her. Her lips turned upward, her eyelashes fluttering.

  She definitely was a beautiful woman, and in a way, she’d been my longest relationship. Our first intimate encounter had happened five or six years ago. I’d never forget the faculty mixer where she’d cornered me and we’d finally followed through on all of the flirtatious glances we’d been exchanging.

  Neither of us had ever pushed for it to be more than an occasional rendezvous. We took care of each other’s needs, and that was all. We only had our “dates” a few times a year, if we both felt like it and neither of us was seeing anyone else. It could hardly be considered a relationship – but then, none of mine had been much more serious.

  I’d been exclusive with a few other women, and it’d been nice to have someone I could call my partner. But my work and volunteer schedule was packed, and with the tiny amount of queer women in Bayridge, I’d usually ended up dating long-distance. Most of my relationships had been weekends-only, and even the most successful had ended up fading out after six or eight months.

  “And you?” I asked. “What have you been up to?”

  Karen’s face brightened, and she launched into a story about the next article she’d be submitting to a journal. Her research was interesting… at least for the first five minutes of her monologue about it. I nodded politely, sinking into the couch. Now I remembered why our meetings were usually more sexual than personal, and why I’d never been tempted to ask her on a real date.

  Eventually she started winding down her speech. She was still talking, but her hand was on my thigh, and she looked meaningfully into my eyes. “I’m really going to break down the gender representation in Titus Andronicus.” She squeezed my leg. “That kind of analysis is severely lacking for Shakespeare’s lesser-known plays.”

  “It sounds fascinating,” I said – somewhat truthfully. I’d probably read the article when it came out, but I’d fall asleep if Karen kept going about it a minute longer. I took her hand off my thigh, gently setting it down next to me. “I kind of just want to catch up tonight, to be honest.”

  She frowned. “Oh… I just assumed…”

  “I know. I guess I’m not feeling it.”

  Her head tilted questioningly. She knew that normally, I was always feeling it. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Have you met someone else?”

&
nbsp; “No.”

  Lora’s tear-stained face flashed through my mind, and I quickly pushed it out. The fact that I thought about her a lot lately didn’t mean I had feelings for her. She’d just left an abusive relationship, for heaven’s sake. Going for her would’ve been the worst idea in the history of humanity.

  “Well, it’s fine,” Karen said, although she didn’t sound too sure about it. “We can just hang out, if that’s what you want to do.” She fidgeted, and the hem of her sundress slid an inch up her thigh. “Is there anything on TV?”

  Not reacting to the skin she’d revealed, I grabbed the remote. The first cheesy rom-com was just ending, and a second was coming on. “How about this?”

  “Sure, yeah.”

  A crinkling sound came from the floor. Virginia had discovered the bag of treats was still there, and she gnawed at the package, trying to get in.

  Laughing, I picked her up and set her on my lap. Even without sex, tonight could still be fun.

  Seven – Lora

  After days of trying to avoid it, I’d gotten roped into a one-on-one counseling session. My counselor, Trudy, looked about seventy, and her eyes were so small behind her thick glasses that I wondered if she could see me at all.

  “Don’t expect me to get much out of this,” I warned her right off the bat. “I know all about abuse, in theory. It’s different when you’re living it.”

  “How about this?” she asked. “Instead of worrying about what you’ll get out of it, just start with a blank slate and see what happens. Even if you don’t learn anything, you might still feel better after talking through things.”

  Reluctantly, I nodded. I definitely did have a gaping hole in my life where “someone to talk to” should’ve been. I had friends, and my family, but I hadn’t even told them I’d left Chantel. I couldn’t bear to face their responses.

  It wasn’t that they’d blame me or anything like that. I feared their pity more. They’d see me as weak, vulnerable. And I’d be humiliated when they found out my relationship had failed. They all loved Chantel, so how had I brought this horrible side out of her?

  Maybe they wouldn’t believe me, come to think about it. She kept her mean side for when we were alone. To everyone else, she was a princess. She was always friendly to everyone, buying drinks for my friends and remembering my family members’ birthdays. If I hadn’t seen her cruelty for myself, I never would’ve thought it was possible.

  “Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Trudy asked. “Tell me about the start of your relationship with Chantel.”

  “It was great,” I said flatly. “I’d recently come out of the closet, and she swept me off my feet. We met at a bar and started making out, and she insisted on taking me out to dinner the next day.”

  Trudy asked about how our relationship had progressed, and how the abuse had started. I reached for a tissue as soon as she used that word. Even though logically I knew it was the correct term, I still felt strange about using it. Chantel had never punched me or kicked me, and the times she’d gotten physical at all were so rare. But I knew that even without any physical aspect, our relationship had been emotionally abusive.

  “Did Chantel ever isolate you from others?” Trudy asked. “For example, was she jealous about who you’d see, or did she try to prevent you from contacting your friends or family?”

  “No.” My throat tightened. Maybe she was going to say I hadn’t been abused after all. She’d send me away and give her time to an actual victim.

  “Did she pressure you to have sex, or withhold sex to punish you?”

  “No.”

  “Did she take control of your financial situation?” she asked. “Control the money and make you ask for it?”

  “No.” We’d never combined our finances, thankfully – but now I felt less and less like I had the right to be here. “Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.” My voice faltered, and Trudy’s hazy eyes fixed on me.

  “Every abuser is different,” she said kindly. “I’m trying to determine exactly what type she was so that I know how best to help you. There’s no doubt that she did abuse you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did she treat you like you were inferior, or make demands as if you were a servant?”

  “Um… yes.” I crumpled and uncrumpled the tissue in my hand. I could still hear her yelling at me about the knives in the drawer. Why had I never been able to get it right?

  “Did she use anger and intimidation? Change her mood suddenly, give you the silent treatment, or stomp out of the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “And emotional abuse? Did she put down your intelligence, call you names, swear at you, or call you crazy or irrational?”

  “God, yes.” I brought the tissue to my eyes. “She was right about some of those things, though.”

  “I highly doubt that.” The sympathetic look Trudy gave me made me squirm. “We’re going to work through all of these things in our next few sessions and get your self-esteem back on track. I’ll go through some options with you, and we’ll make a safety plan to help you protect yourself.”

  “Sounds great.” I was willing to say whatever it took to be able to leave. I couldn’t take much more of her pity. Her only saving grace was that she was a stranger. I could open up to her more easily than I could to, say, my parents.

  I headed back to my room, grabbing my phone as soon as I saw it on my dresser. Chantel was still messaging me, and I still hadn’t replied to her. Sydney had also texted me to check in, and I decided to call her back.

  “How are you?” I asked when she picked up. “How’s Virginia?”

  “We’re both doing fine,” she said. “In fact, I was just thinking about you.”

  “Only good things, I hope.” More likely she’d been thinking something like poor Lora, I wonder how I can help her.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to come visit Virginia,” she said. “You must miss her.”

  “I do, but…”

  I hesitated, unsure of why I was about to decline the invitation. I’d be overjoyed to see Virginia again – I could use some unconditional love in my life, or rather, some reluctantly-given affection. And while I still wasn’t completely ready to see Sydney, at least she knew what was going on with me lately. I’d been avoiding my friends, not wanting to explain what’d happened, which meant that every day, I got more and more lonely.

  “Okay,” I said. “When should I come over?”

  *

  Sydney’s condo was large and airy, with picture windows overlooking the lake. Her walls were decorated with abstract paintings of the female form and a giant cross-stitch reading “Smash the Patriarchy.” I wondered how much she’d paid for this place – I didn’t think professors made too much.

  Before I’d finished looking around, Virginia skittered up to me. My heart swelled at the sight of her. She was even cuter and fluffier than I remembered, and I could’ve sworn she’d grown in the past few days.

  “You remember me!” I said, scooping her up.

  “Of course she does,” Sydney said from behind me. “Cats are pretty smart, you know.”

  “I’ve never had one before,” I said, holding the kitten to my chest. “I always wanted one.” I held back from getting teary over Chantel again. I still didn’t completely have a lid on my emotions, but I was getting there.

  “I had one for fifteen years,” Sydney said. “His name was Jamieson. He was my best friend, and I was a wreck when he passed away. I swore I’d never go through that heartache again.”

  “I can’t even think about Virginia passing away.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you think about that. I was just going to say, having this sweet baby in my life has made me think maybe it’d be worth it to adopt another cat. All of the joy he gave me for fifteen years was worth more than the anguish when he died.” Sydney touched my arm gently. “Anyway, I’ll get you a drink.”

  She headed into her kitchen, and I followed her. As she opened the cupboard
, I noticed two wine glasses on the counter next to the sink.

  “Oh, I need to wash those,” she said, putting them in the sink. “I’m not a messy person, but I’ve been tired all day.”

  “Did you have a date?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  Her cheeks went pink. “I just had a friend over.”

  Both of the glasses had lipstick prints on them. I didn’t usually wear lipstick for a laid-back hangout at a friend’s place. Maybe Sydney did, but the look on her face said otherwise.

  “Tell me more,” I teased. “Is it serious?”

  “It’s nothing.” She opened the fridge and gestured at the inside. “What would you like? I have white wine, rosé, orange juice…”

  “I’ll take some juice,” I said, setting the squirming kitten down on the floor. “Save the wine for your next date.”

  She poured me a glass, still avoiding my eyes. I decided I’d leave the subject alone – it wasn’t my business if she was seeing someone. Good for her, in fact. I’d always vaguely wondered why she was single. I didn’t remember seeing or hearing about a partner of hers during the two years of my master’s degree.

  She was definitely attractive, even if she was quite a bit older than me. Her features were classically beautiful, and thick blonde hair framed her face. She was a hundred percent feminine, yet something about the set of her eyes screamed “gay.” Only the fine lines at her temples betrayed that she wasn’t still twenty-five.

  “Anyway, how was your day?” she asked, bringing me back to the living room.

  “Not so good.” I dropped onto the couch and took a long sip of juice. “I started looking for apartments, but none of them want me. I don’t have enough for the security deposit, and they’re not willing to only take me without it. I think I’m going to have to get a payday loan. It’s just going to take me months and months to pay off.”

  “Better than staying in the shelter,” Sydney said quietly.

  “Exactly.”