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“And yet you beat her senseless and call it love.”
“Beat her senseless?” I stared at him. “Is that what she tells you?”
“Believe me, she doesn’t have to tell me. I see the welts, the bruises. Everyone does, they’re hard to miss. Whatever. If she likes you to beat her up, that’s her business. But I wouldn’t get all holier-than-thou about knocking her up.”
“She’d just get an abortion.”
He laughed. “Lucy? I don’t think so. She wouldn’t even accept a morning-after pill after the rape. If he’d made her pregnant, she would have carried it.” I heard the words, but they made no sense to me. “Wait, what? What did you say? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She never told you about that?”
“No.” My mind was reeling from all the lying she’d done to me. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“It’s not my place to tell you. Why don’t you ask her?”
“Because she’s fucking passed out on my couch! How the fuck am I supposed to ask? I want you to fucking tell me about this time that Lucy was fucking raped, right now!” I yelled so loud I think it surprised us both that she didn’t wake up.
He sighed heavily. “It was, God, probably three years ago now or more. He beat her up pretty bad. An obsessive fan. He came to her place. He landed her in the hospital. He tied her up and he...” His voice trailed off. “You should ask her. Anyway, that’s why I wonder why she lets you do what you do.”
“I don’t beat her up. Not even close. Nor do I rape her. It’s nothing like that.”
“Sure,” he muttered. “Whatever.”
“Not that I have to explain it to you.”
“Actually, I wish that you wouldn’t. I’d rather not know.” We both turned then and looked at her, and Grégoire said shortly, “Her period was a couple weeks ago, so...”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“I know,” he said. “After ten years, partners know.”
I looked at him, needing help, needing something. The things I learned tonight...The things that she’d kept from me, things that had hurt her. Why? I had asked her point blank to her face, Lucy, will you always be truthful to me? and she’d said, God, yes. Yes, Matthew, I will. What a liar she was.
“I couldn’t do it,” I said, trying to convince myself. “It would be wrong. So totally wrong.”
“She’s going to injure herself soon. Badly.”
“So I’ll make her pregnant? That’s better?”
He got up to leave. “You can do what you want. I’m just telling you. You asked me how to make her stop dancing, and that’s the way. Anyway, I’ll leave you alone.” I didn’t want him to leave. If he left, there was a chance I’d break down and do as he suggested.
“I want to know who gave those pills to her, Grégoire.”
“No. I don’t know anyway.”
I trailed him to the door. “I’ll find out. And believe me, she’s not taking one more fucking pill.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
We stared each other down, scowl for scowl.
“What is she to you, anyway, Grégoire?”
“She’s my friend.”
“Good friend she seems to be with you!” I was bitter, so bitter that he knew more about her than me.
“I’m gay!” he snapped. “If you’re insinuating what I think.”
“Gay, that’s convenient,” I said, but I knew I was being ridiculous.
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, listen, I’m out of here. Call me if she gets any worse. If you’re too embarrassed to take her to the hospital with all those marks on her ass, I’ll do it.” I wanted to punch his fucking lights out. I really did. But he had been a friend to her for many, many years, and at one time, long ago, we had spoken as friends too.
“Good night, Grégoire,” I ground out. “Thanks for coming over tonight.”
“Good night,” he replied, equally grudgingly, and then left me alone with his evil, evil idea.
What if I did manage to make her pregnant? The idea both attracted and terrified me in its simple grace. My mind was reeling in a million different directions. It occurred to me that I ought to have talked to Grégoire long ago. Grégoire, the keeper of all her secrets. Pain and drugs and violent rape. I thought of words she’d told me one time. It’s hard to explain, but it makes me feel safe.
I crossed the room and knelt beside her. Her face was so innocent and guileless in sleep.
Someone, some man had raped her, raped her so badly she’d landed in a hospital bed. What had he done to her? Held her down? Hurt her? Fucked her hard? All the things she liked me from me.
She wanted me to do them, because I wasn’t him. Because when I did what I did to her, I cared about her, I wasn’t her rapist. It suddenly occurred to me that that’s all I was to her. Her anti-rape hero, her mental defense against what happened to her. I was the way to make it okay. So what was so bad about that? What was so bad was that she’d never told me.
I remembered how skittish she was when I first followed her. An obsessive fan. He came to her place. How defensive she’d been, how upset that I followed her around. Now, it all became perfectly clear.
I remembered with crystal clarity when I’d said to her, how long have you wanted it? To get tied up, and beaten, and fucked? She’d shaken her head. She wouldn’t answer me. Then a few moments later, she’d said, “How did you know? ” And she hadn’t meant, how did you know, how did you know that’s what I want? No, I think now she meant, how did you know? How did you know that’s what I need to feel safe again?
I shook her gently with a lump in my throat. “Lucy. Lucy, wake up.” I shook her harder.
“Please wake up. God damn it, please!”
She barely responded, turning her head with a sigh, not even coming to consciousness.
Then I stood up, still looking down at her, and slowly unbuckled my belt. I undid my pants, and took out my cock and stroked it, getting it hard. Then I took off her pants and I slipped inside her. I fucked her and came inside her twice, down on the couch, still fully dressed. Then I carried her up to bed and undressed us both, and took her in my arms and came in her once more, and then, half asleep in the middle of the night, I came inside her once more again.
* * *
It was almost noon the next day before she awakened with a groan. She lurched out of bed and just managed to get to the bathroom. She vomited, over and over, then collapsed beside the toilet on the cold tile floor. I lifted her up, brushing her hair from her eyes.
“Okay, Lucy, okay. Better?”
She shook her head. “Nooo...”
She heaved again, but nothing came out, just dry, broken heaves as she held onto her head. I put a wet cloth against her hot forehead.
“Go away!?
?? She pushed weakly at me.
I got up to get her some water, and returned to hold the glass to her lips. She shook her head.
“Drink it!”
“No.”
“Yes.” I got a little bit past her lips, half of which she spit out when she retched again.
“Please, just leave me alone!”
“No.”
She tried to lie down there on the floor, between the toilet and the wall.
“No, Lucy,” I sighed, pulling her up. “Drink some water. A little more.”
“I want to sleep.” Her words were still slurred, her color was still off.
“You’ve been sleeping for twelve hours, you little fuck.” She looked up at me then, at the tone in my voice. “Yes, you’re in trouble.” I picked her up and carried her back to bed. “As soon as you’re healthy enough, I’m going to beat you to within an inch of your life. Now drink some water.”
This time, when I held it to her lips, she drank. I looked down at her with cold recrimination.
“Where did you get those pills?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll beat you right now if you don’t tell me. If you don’t tell me the fucking truth.”
“A dancer. I don’t know her that well. A friend of Remy’s. He’s not even in our company.
He gets them from someone his friend knows. I don’t know...” Her voice trailed off.
“Remy? Who the fuck is Remy?”
“A dancer.”
“A fucking dancer. Thanks for the scoop.”
“What time is it?”
“You’re not dancing today.”
“I have to!”
“You listen to me. You’re going to spend today resting, and tomorrow bent over a fucking ottoman. So lay the fuck down and answer my questions like a fucking good girl, before I tear up your ass!”
“I’m tired,” she said, soft and plaintive. She wasn’t getting any sympathy from me.
“Does your head hurt?”
“No, I’m sleepy.”
“Yes, because you overdosed on pain pills. What the fuck were you thinking? Who the fuck knows what was even in those pills? Why did you do it?” She just moaned.
“Answer me!”
“I don’t know! Because it hurts!”
