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“How did they find me?” I asked Law. He shook his head, trying to block me from the swarm. There were no rules in a situation like that. The reporters didn’t ask nicely. They didn’t care if they hurt you trying to get a photo. All bets were off.
“Miss DeGrace what do you have to say about the recent allegations?” I shoved the nosy reporter aside as Law and I made our way to his car. Just as I made space to move, another one popped up.
“In light of Becca Riley’s suicide, are you going to ask the police to reopen your case?”
“No comment,” I growled. I slammed the car door shut, wishing I could slam it on their fingers. Before all of this had happened, I hadn’t been a violent person. I was actually quite a pacifist. Shit, I’d studied peace & conflict for fucks sake. Now, I carried a gun and envisioned slamming car doors on people. My mind jumped to Becca. It hadn’t even been a year and I could feel myself molding to fit my environment. She’d had years of it. No wonder she had become the monster she was.
Law wove in and out of the reporters. They chased the car, not caring if they hurt themselves in the process. Their bulbs flashed against the window, the bright lights like dying stars. When we finally pulled into The Bell Jar it felt like we’d been through a war.
“Did they follow us?” I asked Law as I stepped out of the door he’d opened for me. Law glanced down the street. It wasn’t empty, seeing as it was just about dinnertime, but there wasn’t a swarm of story-hungry reporters there either.
“I don’t think so.” Law’s voice was heavy as he shut the door behind me. Together we walked into The Bell Jar and we seated ourselves just like the first time we’d come. Unlike the first time, though, I wasn’t thinking of ways to leave. He had been a mystery then and I hadn’t trusted him.
There were still parts of Law that were a mystery to me, though, and maybe there always would be. Law was not the kind of person you got to know over dates and movies. Like diamond, Law was revealed through challenging circumstance. At first he appeared black and callous, but as you got to know him you saw what he truly was: sparkling, tough, and unbreakable. Law was one of a kind.
We both ordered the chicken and waffles (mine sans chicken), eating in silence for a bit. The day had spoken enough for the both of us. I reached for the water I’d ordered, a far cry from the whiskey I’d drunk to oblivion nearly a month before, and swished it around in my mouth, pondering. Not much time had passed, yet it felt like eons. It was nice to sit and have a meal with Law, just the two of us. It almost felt normal. So of course something had to interrupt.
“Breaking news as more information sheds light on the late Becca Riley’s allegations.” Law and I both set our forks down, our attention now held by the small TV set in the corner of the bar. A newswoman talked about Morris while information about him scrolled across the scene. It was a national news station, meaning Morris’s scandal was no longer local.
“Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Matthew Jameson has just released a story,” the newswoman continued. “In it Jameson alleges that not only are Riley’s accusations true, but that the accusations of one Nami DeGrace are also true. If you’ll remember, we did a brief story about her. She was a volunteer on his campaign some months ago and accused Morris of sexual harassment.” I scoffed. I had accused him of rape, but that was a nice spin. I glared at the blonde, somber-looking newswoman, wishing I could reach into the TV and slap her. Did she not realize the people she reported on were actually real? Instead I swallowed the bile building up in my throat and listened as she went into more detail.
“Jameson goes on to detail some quite shocking things that, if they are true, will not just mean resignation for Senator Morris, but quite possibly jail time.” Appetite now lost, I stared transfixed as the news story unfolded. Law appeared just as hypnotized as me.
“The Morris campaign, still reeling from the pushback from their senior campaign manager’s suicide, has yet to comment on Jameson’s allegations. Do you have anything to comment, Allison?” The screen split in half and another woman appeared who had cropped blonde hair and a perfectly made up face. I immediately recognized her as one of the reporters who had lynched me. I remembered her calling me a slut and liar only months before.
“Thank you, Candace. It’s clear to see that Senator Morris’s career is over. What is more interesting, though, is whether or not this new information will bring about formal charges. I’ve heard talk on the hill that formal sanctions are in order, but we’re still not sure if he will do any hard time, as they say. One thing’s for certain, Candace: I wouldn’t want to be him right now.”
A ridiculous commercial about hot dogs came on, which made it easier to turn my mind away from the news that had just broken. Slowly Law and I turned our attentions back to each other.
“Wow…” I said at last.
“I told you Jameson was more than the snapshot you saw.” Law’s words weren’t tinged with any arrogance or smugness. If anything, he sounded remorseful. We both knew that by breaking the story, Jameson would face repercussions. Most likely, he would be ostracized from the community. He might even need to move.
“Yeah…” I took another breath. “I guess I just…” I tried to find the words, but I was totally without. “I just, I mean you hope for something to happen, and then it happens. I don’t know what to feel right now.”
Law reached across and held my hand. “You’re in shock.”
I nodded. “I’m in shock but I’m also…uncertain? I don’t know if that’s the right word. I feel like I should be more happy, you know? I should be ecstatic, but I just feel…numb.” Law squeezed my hand and I lifted my eyes to his, grateful for him and his comfort. No sooner had my mind eased than my phone started to buzz. I looked at it like it was a venomous snake.
“What?” Law asked, removing his grip from mine.
“It’s my phone.” I picked it up, eyeing the unknown number. “It’s ringing.”
Law still didn’t understand. “And?”
“You, Tony, and Jameson are the only ones with this number.”
Law raised his brows, indicating his interest, but shrugged. “Maybe it’s a wrong number.”
“Maybe…” I let the phone ring itself out and then set it back down on the table. Our chicken and waffles were cold now. The night was growing longer and people were starting to leave, but I felt like Law and I were just getting started. Even though it was nearly ruined, I still wanted this night for us: a semi-normal dinner. Just as I was settling back into the booth, a notification appeared.
“What is it?” Law asked.
“A voicemail,” I replied, stupefied. I hadn’t had a voicemail in nearly a year. I picked it up and pressed play.
“Hey Nami, it’s Effie—” I hung up as soon as I heard my ex-best friend’s voice on the receiver. Law perked up, watching my reaction.
Before he could ask, I explained, “It was Effie, my old friend. She stopped talking to me when the media started covering me. All of my friends did…” I looked away. It still hurt thinking about how all of my “friends” couldn’t be arsed to listen to my side of the story, much less believe me.
