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I felt frozen to my spot. There were two women working the check-in, Effie and another, older-looking woman. I had seen Effie, so
Effie must have seen me. What would we say to each other? It had been months. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe her phone had gotten disconnected. Maybe she had fallen down a well and had to live off of rats.
I kept trying to get her to look at me. I stared, willing her to look my way. It was as if some magical force was keeping her eyes from mine. There wasn’t a magical force, of course, it was just Effie. Effie refusing to look at me.
As the minutes ticked on, it appeared to me like Effie was putting on a play. Her smile was exaggerated. Her laugh was just a little too loud, and the way she touched her coworkers wasn’t out of affection, but to make a point. The point she was making was that she didn’t need me. That she was happy without me.
The woman beside her called me up. I walked forward like a zombie, still watching Effie.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“It’s Nami. I have a two o’clock appointment.” I watched Effie, expecting her to look up at my name. She stared at a stack of papers, either entranced or willingly oblivious. I frowned, turning back to the woman. “What was that?”
“I said you can go have a seat and we’ll call you when we’re ready,” the woman said, smiling.
“Thanks…” I trailed off, walking toward the waiting area. Effie still didn’t look at me. Back when the media was tearing me apart, I had wished for invisibility. Now, as I made my way back without so much as a glance from my (former) best friend, I realized I had wished for the wrong thing.
Leaving the salon gave me new perspective. Seeing Effie made me realize the torch I’d been carrying for our friendship needed to burn out. I didn’t know if I would ever get over the way she’d abandoned me, or if I would ever stop wishing she would call me and say she was sorry and wanted to be friends again. We were sisters, and you didn’t simply stop thinking about your sister. Seeing Effie did make me realize, though, that I had a person in my life who kept trying to be a part of it. Who even said he loved me.
Law.
I kept knocking him away. Out of fear. I realized if I kept pushing maybe a day would come when he wouldn’t push back. So I summoned my newfound clarity, and a little bit of courage I got from my new haircut, and drove to his hotel. I rode the elevator up, trying to keep the new courage on the forefront.
It was the middle of the afternoon and the hallway was empty. Nerves wracked my body like electric shocks. Maybe he wasn’t there. What did Law do, anyway? Besides follow me, that is. He said he worked for GEM and did shady stuff with politics. Before that he had worked for the FBI. There was a good chance he wasn’t home. It was the middle of the day, after all, and guys like Law didn’t sit at home doing nothing. That thought nearly had me spinning around on my heels, but I powered through. I reached his room and knocked on his door, willing my body to stay put. Law said he loved me, and there was a chance that I loved him back.
Sounds were amplified through my anxiety. The sound of footsteps. The sound of the door unlocking. I heard them all through a megaphone. Still, I stayed. It had taken seeing my “best friend” to realize how good Law had been to me. It was time to confront my fears.
When the door opened, I was going to sit down and talk to him. I was going to have a real talk. I was prepared to apologize for kicking him out. I was prepared to tell him I wanted to work on whatever was happening between us, because it was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time.
Then the door opened.
And I died.
Okay, I didn’t die, but it sure felt like it, because the person on the other side of the door was death incarnate. Wearing a scythe, a black hooded cape, and Louboutins, Becca Riley was the last person I expected to see. Quickly, I double-checked the room number. Did I have the right room? Yes, I did. Riley looked almost as surprised to see me as I did her. I was about to say something when I heard Law’s voice.
“Who’s at the door?” Who’s at the door? I’m at the door, the woman you supposedly loved! I couldn’t stop staring at Riley. I had knocked on Law’s door expecting him, expecting the man I might love. Instead I got the Devil’s girl Friday. My brain was short-circuiting. The wires were fraying.
It all happened so quickly I couldn’t control it. I felt nauseated and then the bile rose up, stinging my throat. Then the bile exited my mouth, landing all over Becca Riley’s thousand-dollar pantsuit. I couldn’t even appreciate what had happened, because I was too hurt. Too betrayed.
“What the fuck?” Riley screamed, looking at her now soiled suit.
How had I let this happen? I had known from the beginning he was working for Morris, but I had let him convince me otherwise. I had been swayed by his pretty words, and maybe a little by his pretty face. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three and four and five times? Well fuck.
“What’s going on—Nami?” Law came up behind Riley, looking like a deer caught in headlights. I could see the cogs turning in his head as he prepared some kind of explanation for me. I didn’t want to hear it. I put my hand up, signaling him to stop.
“She fucking threw up on me!” Riley bellowed, making obnoxious hand gestures at her suit.
My brain told me to run away, to sprint from this horrible revelation and get as far away as possible. I was done running, though. I turned and walked away from them, refusing to go any faster than normal. I was through running away from bad people. They were the bad ones, not me. I had done nothing save exist.
“Nami, wait!” Law called after me. I nearly stopped, turned around, and ran back to him. His arms offered the only comfort I’d known in months and I wanted to feel that. Lifting my foot to continue on my way was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. It felt like gravity was conspiring against me.
When I reached the stairway, I pushed the heavy metal door open and let it clang shut behind me. Then I fell to the floor and cried.
Tears hadn’t stained many pillows since my rape. I kept them locked tight inside of me. It had been the same way after my parents died. It was as if crying acknowledged their death. To me, crying was acknowledging the pain and giving credence to the event.
Now I lay on the couch, not even giving a fuck that it reminded me of Law. Everything reminded me of Law. Everything reminded me of Morris. There was no running from reminders when the people who had planted the memories walked around in broad daylight, proud of their ruination.
Staring at the ceiling, tears flowed freely from my lids. I was broken. Congratulations, Mitch Morris, you broke me. Congratulations, Nick Law, you stomped on the broken pieces. Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson’s “Winter Song” played quietly in the background, the melancholy tune and lyrics a match to my soul.
