She hit you, I yelled at myself. She wasn’t talking about forgetting our anniversary or not bringing me flowers often enough. She’d cracked my head against the wall.
But only once… once in three years, and the rest had been so good. And it’d been an accident, hadn’t it? She hadn’t meant to draw blood…
I shook my head, hating the road my thoughts were leading down. The counselors at Open Heart had warned me about this, and so had Sydney. “I can’t get back with you,” I whispered. “I just can’t.”
“But you want to, don’t you?” She reached for my hand, and this time I didn’t pull away. She looked so sincere, so vulnerable.
The feel of her skin on mine made my heart race, and another tear fell down my cheek. “I can’t do this.”
“I understand.” She let my hand go, leaving me feeling cold and alone. “Let’s not force anything. Let’s just spend a little time together and see how things go.”
“What, like… you want to be friends?”
She nodded, still staring deeply into my eyes. “You know I want to be with you, and I always will, but I’m willing to take things at your pace. As long as I get to see you, I’ll be happy. Whenever you’re ready to take things back to the way they were, I’m ready.”
I bit my lip. “I have my own place now.”
“Keep it. Whenever you want to move back in with me, you can break your lease. I’ll pay whatever fee they charge.”
“You’d do that for me?”
She leaned in closer. “I’d do anything for you.”
Against my best efforts, I found myself leaning in, too. Our faces were close enough that I could actually feel her breath against my skin. With the way she was gazing at me, I wondered if she’d close the gap between us and kiss me. God help me, did I want her to? My eyes fluttered shut for the briefest second…
The air moved around me, and I instantly opened my eyes. She’d sat back in her chair, grabbing her knife and fork. “Are you going to finish your food?” she asked, gesturing at my half-eaten salmon.
“No, I don’t think so.” I forced a laugh. “You know me too well. I still don’t really like it.”
She was looking down at her steak, but her lips turned up in a smirk. “And some things don’t ever change.”
Fourteen – Sydney
“Please read the excerpt from Angela Davis and write a response to it.” I watched my third-year seminar students pack their bags. “You can write any length, even just a paragraph, but be sure to give your own personal answer to the question that the title of her book poses. Are prisons obsolete?”
I doubted anyone was listening to me anymore. It was five o’clock on a Friday, and attendance had been low every week this semester. I wished the administration hadn’t picked this time for my seminar – students always found excuses to skip when a class interfered with their social lives. If I was lucky, two or three of them might submit responses at the next class, and roughly zero would volunteer to read them aloud.
“I’m only going to say this one more time,” I said, raising my voice. “Write a response to the Angela Davis reading, due next week. Three percent of your grade.”
That caught the attention of a few girls in the front row. “Sorry, Dr. Burgin, could you repeat that?”
Sighing, I did my best to get the message across as the rest of the students filed out.
It was a shame that more students didn’t take their work seriously. They’d chosen to be here, and they were paying good money to be here – or their families were. Someone like Lora would’ve not only done the assignment, but also written a response to another chapter, too – just because she cared about the material.
I laughed to myself as I packed my laptop into my briefcase. Maybe I was idealizing Lora. After all, she’d missed a class here and there, and that was as a grad student. Maybe I needed to take it easier on these undergrads. I was at risk of turning into a crotchety old professor.
“What’s so funny?” a familiar voice asked. Karen walked up to me, a laptop bag slung fashionably over her shoulder.
“Just thinking about what a grumpy old woman I’ve turned into.” I gave her a quick hug. “What are you doing here? You don’t have a class in this room, do you?”
She perched on the first-row table, spreading her legs and placing one hand in the middle to hold down her skirt. “No. There’s no class in here right now, actually.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Thought you were mad at me for supposedly being a horrible person.”
“Nah, word on the street says Chantel got the story wrong.”
“You’re on a first-name basis now?”
Karen shrugged. “Bayridge is a small town. Lesbians know each other.”
“So you know her personally?”
“We’ve met a few times. She’s a friend of some friends.” She nodded at me, gesturing with her head for me to come closer. “So how about it?”
I came down to sit beside her, my nerves tingling. “How about what, exactly?”
She glanced around the empty lecture hall. “Haven’t you ever wanted to do it in a classroom?”
“You have a short memory.” We’d had some fun in one when we’d ditched that first Christmas party all those years ago.
She giggled, her hand finding my thigh. “Haven’t you ever wanted to do it in one again?”
My body wanted to say yes… but my mind just wasn’t there. I needed more than a straightforward “wanna fuck?” There was nothing romantic about this.
If we were to have sex, I knew we’d both have a few orgasms, and then we’d go on with our lives and maybe hook up again in a few months. I’d never seen anything wrong with that, and I still found the prospect a little appealing, but… somehow, at the moment, I just wanted more. And not from Karen, either.
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking her hand off my leg. I had to nip this in the bud. “I didn’t mean to flirt with you. The thing is, I just haven’t been into the casual thing lately. It’s not about you at all.”
She gave me a look of disbelief. “The ol’ ‘it’s not me, it’s you’?”
I grimaced. “It’s true, though. I’m just not up for it right now. You’re still a beautiful, sexy, seductive woman, and I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding somebody else.”
“No worries about that.” She brushed back a strand of hair, smiling. “It’s not a big deal. I’m glad you were honest with me. I won’t push you anymore… although if you ever feel like picking up where we left off…”
“I’ll know where to find you.” I got off the table, offering her a hand to help her up as well.
“Tell me one thing, though.” She held onto my hand a moment longer than she needed to. “Is this ‘not up for it’ thing because of Lora?”
“No. Of course not.” I took a step back. “I’m not seeing her now, and I never was seeing her. She’s a friend, and that’s all.”
“Are you sure? Because we all know how close lesbian friendships tend to go.”
My cheeks heated. “I’m sure. She’s far too young for me, and too vulnerable…” I stopped myself before I gave away anything Lora wanted to keep private.
Karen didn’t seem to notice my near-slip. “That’s good. Just speaking as a friend, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
I was back at the lecture podium in the middle of picking up my briefcase, and I whirled around to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if Lora’s told you this, but she and Chantel are dating again.”
I sucked in a breath, actually feeling the blood drain out of my face.
Karen gave me a sympathetic look. “Just friends, huh?”
“That’s not it.” I hurried toward the door. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Except, as I rushed toward the parking lot, I knew there was more truth to her assumption than I wanted to admit.
*
Rather than driving home, I drove to the grocery store where Lora worked. She’d told me sh
e had a shift today, like she told me everything in her life… or so I’d thought.
Was I overstepping my bounds by showing up at her workplace? She was a grown woman, and she was free to make her own decisions. But if she’d made one this poor, I just… I wanted to know.
Spotting her behind a register, I grabbed a bottle of Coke at the end of her check-out lane and lined up behind a few other people. Too late, I realized the other people’s carts were stuffed. Apparently this was the hour when people bought enough food to feed a family of four for a week.
Another loaded-down woman was already in line behind me. “You could use the express lane, you know.”
“That’s okay.” I’d have to make this quick.
Between scanning items, Lora caught my eye. Panic appeared on her face – maybe she could already guess why I was here. Standing taller, I clutched the Coke bottle. I didn’t want to make her feel bad, but if I had any chance of talking sense into her, I had to take it.
I kept staring hard at her as the line proceeded, although my eyes darted away every time she glanced at me. She looked different from usual – her hair swept back in a strict bun, and the dark blue store uniform didn’t do any favors for her complexion. She was still breathtakingly beautiful, and I hated that I could see nervousness written all over her features.
At last she scanned the last person’s final item and turned to me as the woman fumbled for her credit card. “Sydney,” she said. “You came a long way for a Coke.”
“I came to see you.” I spoke quickly, since she was already finishing with the last woman. “Someone told me you’re getting back with Chantel.”
Her eyes stayed on the Coke as she scanned it. “Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter. Is it true?”
Her eyes met mine. “Do you have a points card?”
“No. Is it true?”
“Air Miles?”
“No.” I waited.
“That’ll be one seventy-nine, please.” She pointed to the credit terminal. “And we’re not back together. We’re hanging out. As friends.”
“Lora, you know that’s a terrible idea.”
She looked past me. “Next person in line, please.”
“You can’t be friends with your abuser!” My voice rose higher than I meant it to.
Pressing the button to move the conveyor belt forward, she gave me one last scathing glance. “I appreciate your concern, Sydney, but it’s really not your business.” She grabbed a box of cereal and scanned. “Chantel warned me you might try to get between us.”
“Well, yeah, I do have a problem with you hanging out with your abuser!”
Lora’s eyes were redder than they had been, even as she continued to look anywhere but at me. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered. “And since you’ve completed your purchase, please make room for other customers.”
This wasn’t over – but for now, there was nothing more I could do.
Gripping my Coke so tightly I thought the cap might shoot off, I walked away.
Fifteen – Lora
At home, I picked Virginia up and held her to my chest. The kitten was getting bigger every day, and soon she’d be a full-fledged cat. She still hadn’t developed any liking for affection, and after a few seconds of letting me hold her, she squirmed to be put down.
I lay down on the mattress, staring wistfully at her as she made herself comfortable on the floor. “Did I do the right thing, Virginia?” I asked. “I feel like I was too harsh on Sydney.”
She made no response – of course.
“I still don’t think my relationship with Chantel is any of her business,” I said. “She has no idea how much Chantel’s changed, so I can see why she thinks it’s a bad idea. But we’re just friends anyway. How could Chantel hurt me if we’re just friends?”
I reached down to caress the kitten’s soft ears. “I know she’s just looking out for me, even if she’s wrong. She’s been so good to me ever since the break-up. She’s been like a guardian angel. I definitely need to apologize.”
Somewhere deep in Virginia’s chest, a purr rumbled softly. I took that as a “yes.”
“Should I call her right now?”
The purr got louder.
“All right, I will.” I grabbed my phone.
Sydney picked up almost immediately. “Lora, I’m so sorry I barged in on you at work today. I was out of line.”
“No!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry I got angry at you. I was ungrateful for everything you’ve done for me.”
“It’s just that I know what abusers are like,” she said. “Chantel’s convinced you that you can maintain a friendship… that she loves you too much to just let your relationship go. Right? Did she convince you that she’s changed, and that things will be different now?”
My stomach churned. “Well…”
“You don’t have to answer,” she quickly said. “I’m just giving you things to think about, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know.”
“Would you do me one favor, honey? Would you go back to Open Heart for some group counseling before you see Chantel again?”
I bit my lip. I could already imagine how it’d go if I told the group about staying friends with my ex. But things were different for lesbians, for one thing – all the other women at the shelter had been escaping male abusers. Lesbians stayed friends after break-ups more often than straight people. And I really did think Chantel had changed… even if I knew no one at a group counseling session would ever believe me.
“I’ll think about it.” I knew I wouldn’t actually go. “I only hung out with Chantel a couple times, by the way. And now I’m thinking maybe I’ll keep it to texting and phone calls for the moment. We don’t have to be best friends. Maybe we’ll only see each other once in a while.”
“Great.”
I could tell from her voice that she didn’t think that was good enough. Still, it was my life, not hers. “Well, it was good talking to you,” I said. “It really did give me some perspective.” I got ready to hang up, then stopped myself. “Listen, do you want to hang out sometime?”
Sydney sounded surprised. “Sure. We could keep talking about your career stuff.”
Right… my career stuff. “Sure.” I tried to sound neutral, but there was a note of inexplicable disappointment in my voice. “Text me and we’ll make plans.”
“Sounds good. Take care of yourself, Lora.”
“I will.” I wondered if I was making a promise I couldn’t keep.
*
The more I thought about Chantel, the more confused I became. Although I couldn’t deal with the prospect of group counseling, I knew some outside perspective would help. Even Sydney was too close to be completely objective. So I called Open Heart to see if I could make an appointment with my one-on-one counselor, Trudy.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said when I arrived for my appointment. “How have you been?”
I grabbed the box of Kleenex from her side table, just to be prepared, as I dropped onto the plush armchair across from her. “Not so great.”
I told her all about reconnecting with Chantel, how good it felt to be around her, and how I felt lost without her. “I feel like she has some kind of hold on me,” I said. “Like I can’t quite get her out of my head. My life just doesn’t feel complete when she’s not around.”
“Do you think that might be because of the psychological damage she did to you?” Trudy asked.
I fidgeted with the edge of a tissue. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
I gave half a laugh. “No.”
“This is what I’m seeing,” Trudy said, peering at me through her thick glasses. “She’s broken you down to the point where you’ve lost faith in yourself. You’ve become reliant on her for approval, so that when she gives you any bit of praise or appreciation, it feels better than when anyone else does.”
“Maybe.”
“You were s
tarting to feel better when you cut her out of her life. The initial break was painful, but once you got through, you began to heal.”
I nodded. This was starting to sound a little too accurate.
“By seeing her again, even as a ‘friend,’ you ripped the scab off the wound. To mix metaphors, you’d been closing the door to her, and now you’ve opened it again. That’s why she’s back in your head.”
“But she was never out of it.” I pulled a tissue free, feeling like I was about to need it. “She’s in my head because I love her. She was my partner for three years. She’s the love of my life.”
“Is she?” Trudy pulled off her glasses, and for the first time, I saw her eyes clearly. “Would the love of your life really act the way that she did?”
Rather than responding, I dabbed at my eyes.
“Let’s go back to the day of your break-up. Walk me again through what happened.”
I sighed. We’d talked about this before, and I already knew her thoughts about it. “We both got home from work. Chantel was about to start making dinner. She looked for the knife, and it was in the drawer, not the knife block, where it was supposed to be.”
“And who made the rule that it was supposed to go in the knife block?”
“It’s just common sense.”
“Not that common, since you put it in the drawer.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I’ll ask again, who made the rule?”
“I messed up when I put it in the drawer. I knew it was supposed to go in the block.”
“Lora.” She stopped drumming abruptly, and her tone was almost irritated. “Who made the rule?”
I dropped my gaze. I knew what answer she wanted to hear, even if I still didn’t quite agree. “Chantel,” I mumbled.
“And who made most of the rules in your home?”
“Chantel.”
“Why did she get to make the rules? Did you ever disagree?”
I knew what she was getting at, so I simply shook my head. These were rhetorical questions.
“Did you ever make a rule in your home? And if you did, how did you act when she broke it?”
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