Resist (Songs of Submission #6)(26)
Author: C.D. Reiss

“You know, I think—”

I didn’t let her finish. “Jessica’s family, too. My father put hers in his grave. And when I married her, she was cut off. Then she became this thing that tries to squeeze me.”

“Jonathan, listen—”

“And Kevin. I mean douchebag, yes. I had my chance to hit him on the head with a cinderblock, but that somehow wasn’t permanent enough. I needed him wiped off the map of Los Angeles. So I had his warrants checked at the border. I needed his career with you to be over, so I made sure the last page of the commercial invoice was missing.”

The look of shock on her face, the feel of her limbs tightening made me want to reassure her at the same time as it strengthened my resolve. “I mean, look at you. You’re surprised. You can’t believe I’d do something like that, right? You knew it was true, but you can’t believe it. Say it.”

“I believe it.” Her voice was soft and low, as if she was telling herself more than me.

“And you still love me? Because you believe in my innate goodness?”

She rolled off my lap and sat next to me, looking into the empty, diagonal street. “You hurt me too, when you did that. With the invoice. Any box could have been held up. I might not have been able to figure it out.”

“I didn’t care. Don’t you get it? I wanted to possess you, and I didn’t want Kevin in my way. And you love me, Monica? Do you still love me? Are you that naïve?”

“I still love you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Look what I’ve done to you already. You’re stealing things and drugging me. What are you turning into?”

“You’re turning into a dick.”

“I’m not turning into anything. What I am now, I’ve always been. I can’t believe you can hear this story and sit there as if it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” She pulled her knees up to her chin, a defensive posture if I ever saw one. “Did you want me to judge you?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Don’t martyr yourself to me.”

“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?”

“Your decency is endearing, but it’s already dying.” I stood up, my course of action set. I felt that tightness in my chest again but ignored it. “At least with Jessica, she knew what she was getting, and she could handle it. I can’t say the same for you.”

That hurt her, as it was meant to. The urge to gather her in my arms and say I was sorry was overwhelming. I had a moment where I could have done that, explained it all away, but that would be an act of a cowardice. I refused to allow another woman to be ruined because of me.

“Get out,” she said, feet on the swing, curled and tangled at the ankles. “Just go.”

“Your car is fixed,” I said, scooping Jessica’s phone and envelope.

I walked off the porch without looking back. The slap of the car door seemed final. The roar of the engine and backing onto her sheer drop of a street seemed like continued punctuations in an ever long sentence. I rounded the corner, then another, up a hill, until I was at the top of hers again. If I went back around and she was still on the porch, I’d grovel. I’d pour my heart out to her. If I told her I was afraid of corrupting her, exposing her to my family, turning her into an unscrupulous monster, killing her, maybe she’d prove me wrong.

But she was gone. Part of me was glad she was protected from truths that could be used to draw forgiveness and love from her. But the rest of me felt cracked down the middle.

I parked the car at the side of the road by the freeway entrance because the crack had opened into a void, and I was falling into it. I couldn’t drive. I knew I’d done what I had to. I knew I’d been a man. Done it right. Taken responsibility. I vowed that my single life wasn’t going to be what it had been before. I wasn’t going to bed whoever caught my fancy. I would play it straight. No looking. No dating. No casual f**king.

Because who else did I want? Who else fit so right? Who else could heal me? Who else could I damage as deeply, hurt as fully? Who needed more protection from me?

Right there, in my car, I said good-bye to a piece of myself. I gave up on it because doing so saved Monica from being the third in line for ruination. Saving her was a dark glow at the edge of the void, and that void… My God, that void was endless, lonely, black with loathing, and I clutched the wheel, white-knuckled, as I fell down it.

Chapter 25.

MONICA

That was bullshit.

That was a guy who felt responsible for his first love dying.

The choice was clear. I could get upset or not. I could disregard everything we’d been through already and write him off, or I could do him the favor he did me when I walked away and be ready for his return.

I opened my text messenger to let him know I was there for him when he came to his senses. I didn’t hit send. The send button would deliver an immediate ding across the city, and he’d answer it (or not) and then we’d bounce texts (or not) but nothing would be solved. I’d prolong whatever agony he was going through.

I was fully awake, and though my second wind would be short, I had enough in me to give him something with the ghost of a chance of truly comforting him. I wanted to sing him a song. Make him music, and one ding wouldn’t cut it. He needed more dings. A chorus of them. A symphony. His phone needed to light up and make music.

I crawled out of bed and got my metronome. After placing it on the night table and setting it mid-tempo, I broke down a song into the beats of a send button without sending it.

I_a

m_h

er

e_und

er_

the

_r

ains

If each letter became the tap of a beat, time taken, and the send button punctuated each line, assuming the network functioned properly, his phone should ding to the rhythms of my hurt and my steadfast concern. Three/three/two/five/three. Sixteen beats. Four measures. No downbeats or dynamics with a phone ding, but I could play with the timing and give every fourth a dotted quarter for umph if I needed it.

I set the metronome and practiced tapping into my phone. I used the enter key instead of the send button. An hour later, I felt like I’d nailed it, and my second wind was wearing down. Now or never. I cracked my knuckles and began.

Chapter 26.

JONATHAN

Two in the morning. Still raining. I could have called any Asia office and caught them in time for a good balling-out over whatever. God help them if they called me with some crap they could manage themselves.