Dirty Law

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “Nami? What’s going on inside your head?” I shot him a vicious glare. The minute he pulled the car over I was getting out and running. As if he knew what I was thinking, Law pulled the car over. On the freeway. In the middle of traffic.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, glancing around at the various cars honking and flipping us off.

  “What are you thinking?” Law pressed. “You went from hot to cold.”

  “I was never hot,” I spat.

  “Fine,” Law conceded. “You went from lukewarm to icy.”

  “I don’t trust you,” I stated, biting out each word. “So don’t think you can get one over on me.” Law undid his seatbelt and leaned forward. I pressed my back against the window, refusing to give up an inch of my space. He smelled good again, like that rich, spicy scent mixed with campfire.

  “Nami listen to me.” Even though I was trying not to look at him, Law’s voice held a low, rich quality like melted chocolate and alcohol. If I wasn’t careful, it would get me drunk. I pressed myself farther against the window, hoping the bitter cold seeping through would keep me sane.

  “It’s hard to listen when you’re threatening me,” I snarled. “When you’re violating my personal space and dragging me off to places I did not consent to go.”

  Abruptly Law returned to his seat. He banged the steering wheel so hard there was a honk and cursed, “Dammit!” There was no time to comment on his outburst, because Law started the engine and whipped back into traffic.

  I watched, entranced, as he maneuvered the Range Rover. He illegally crossed lanes until reaching the exit and then turned off the freeway. More honks followed. Once clear of the freeway, Law flipped the car around and drove in the direction of the restaurant.

  In less than five minutes we were pulling back into the parking lot. Law slowed the car down and idled in front of my Honda.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, squinting suspiciously at him. Taking a deep breath, I realized I’d been clutching the leather door handle and slowly released my grip.

  “Get out.” His words were barely above a whisper.

  “What?” I looked around, not sure if he was playing a trick.

  “Get out! I’m not going to take you unwillingly.” I reeled at his choice of words and he noticed. “I mean—dammit, I’m going about this all wrong. All I want to show you, Nami, is that you have a friend. So get out. Go to your car. You can follow me if you want or you can drive home. I’m not going to force you into anything.”

  Slowly I unlatched the car door, keeping my eyes trained on Law. I couldn’t figure him out. He had more heads to him than Hydra. As I got out of the car, I kept my glare focused on him. Did he really think I was going to buy this 180?

  He wanted to be my friend?

  Yeah. Right. And Morris accidentally fell into my vagina.

  From the safety of my car, I watched Law pull out of the parking lot. He’d idled for a good ten minutes, probably waiting for me to pull up behind him.

  Law’s invitation of friendship was tempting; I couldn’t deny that. I hadn’t had someone to talk with in months. Before him, I used to think I was lonely. I’d watch chick flicks and compare myself to the protagonists with their misfortune in love. Now, I knew better.

  I had no one. No one cared about me. No one called.

  I was truly alone.

  “Screw it,” I muttered, putting my car into drive. Just as Law pulled into traffic, I followed. I made sure to stay far enough behind that he couldn’t see me. I wasn’t ready to commit just yet. When Law pulled into the parking lot of a nice hotel, though, it was either continue on or commit.

  I committed.

  I pulled into guest parking and followed Law into the lobby. He said nothing as he made his way to the elevator. Maybe Law knew that if he acknowledged my presence I would dart back to my car and drive the fuck out of there. Either way, I followed him.

  The doors closed, shutting us inside the box. Law pressed the button for the highest floor, still pretending I wasn’t there. A weird sense of safety washed over me. It was much easier to be with Law when he didn’t acknowledge me.

  I stared at the crisscross marble patterns on the floor, at the intricate gold inlay, at the mirrors polished too well—at anything other than Law. The doors opened and Law exited first. I followed like the good ghost I was. Above us crystal chandeliers twinkled and the walls were done in wooden designs. Even though I’d lived in Utah my entire life, I’d never been to this hotel. It was something I could never afford.

  We entered his room and I hung back, trying to stick to the shadows. I tried not to be beguiled by the plush carpet or intricate molding. I’d spent so much time in my apartment, with gray walls and cold floors, that this place looked like heaven. Still, I knew better than to expect anything other than a whited sepulcher.

  Law walked across the room and sat on a chair. First he removed his shoes, then he undid his tie. I watched, fascinated. As Law began to undo his shirt I exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

  “I wasn’t sure how long this charade was going to last,” he said, continuing to unbutton his shirt. “Am I to acknowledge your presence now? Or should I continue to undress like you aren’t here?”

  “Shut up,” I mumbled, folding my arms. “You know I’m here.”

  “Yes, I know that. Do you?” Law stood up, his shirt half buttoned, and studied me. I pretended I didn’t notice the muscles dusted with tufts of hair now evident beneath his undone shirt, like glaring beacons of his raw power. Instead of acknowledging that, I pulled out the desk chair and glared.

  Shrugging my shoulders, I asked, “You have me here. Now what?”

  “Now anything, Nami.” Law did up the buttons once more, and I quickly shot my attention to the floor. “What do you want to do?”

  “I want you to explain why the hell you’re following me,” I said, gaze still pinned on the beige carpet. It looked nice, like it had just been cleaned. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” Law sighed and I looked up to see him lie back on one of the plush, velvety wingback chairs.

  “I told you. I want to be your friend.”

  I knocked a notepad off the desk, watching it slam into the dresser. “If you’re just going to lie to me then I’m leaving. You said you’ve seen my face before. What does that mean?”

  Slowly, Law rose from the chair. He watched me with careful concentration and I squirmed under his gaze. His stare transfixed me. Breathing slow and steady, I felt like some kind of hypnosis was happening. It was a carnal transmogrification of a normal stare. I felt my chest burn and my head go light. The way he watched me was almost painful. I needed to break it. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Law beat me to it. “You know I’m not lying.”

  I thought I did. And that terrified me.

  I stood up quickly, knocking over the chair I was standing in.

  “I need to go.” I had to get out of there. Whatever was happening between me and Law was not good. As I turned to leave, Law grabbed me by the elbow.

  “Why do you need to go?” His gaze pinned me again. It was more than intense; it was brutal. I bit my lip, not sure how to respond. Suddenly I was thinking so many thoughts. So many inappropriate thoughts.

  I couldn’t focus.

  All I saw was Law. I saw his buttoned shirt, but I knew what lay beneath it. I saw his five o’clock shadow on his sharp jaw. I saw his gaze hardened to petrified wood.

  “You don’t want to know,” I spat. He wouldn’t want me. I was ruined. I was used. I didn’t need his confirmation on that. Law loosened his hold on my elbow, but still held me.

  Leaning closer, so close I could smell the mint on his breath, Law said, “Try me.”

  I looked around, searching for anywhere to escape. We were in the living room section of his suite, bracketed by lavish couches and chairs. The balcony was a few feet away and for a moment I contemplated jumping off, because from my position I couldn’t reach the door. Law held me tight and now
his lips were only millimeters away from mine. Law thought he was playing with fire, but he didn’t realize I was just ash. I’d already burned up and out. There was nothing left of me. Once he tasted me, he would see. He would realize I was just ruin and embers.

  With determination, I closed the distance between us and kissed him.

  Amazing was an understatement. It was like pure animalism. For a moment I thought he reignited the fire in me. I thought he turned the ash to kindling, but then Law pulled back. Before he could reject me, I turned away.

  “See?” I said, trying to pull out of his grasp. He didn’t want me. No one would ever want me again. I snapped my arm free and ran past him toward the exit.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Law growled, pushing me against the door.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped as Law spun me around.

  “Kissing you back.” Before I could respond, Law’s mouth was on mine. He tasted even better than he smelled, if that was possible. I expected rough and harsh, but he was sweet. His tongue lightly grazed the seam of my lips, causing me to lean toward him. He nipped at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. I groaned.

  It had been so long since someone had sucked my bottom lip…since someone cared about me. I threw my arms around his neck just as Law said, “I don’t think we should do this.”

  It felt like ice had been dumped into my stomach. I tried to pull my arms back so I could wrap them around myself, but Law held them to his neck. I averted my gaze.

  Slut. Whore. Liar. The words popped into my head unbidden.

  “Nami, look at me,” Law growled. “Nami this has nothing to do with you.” I refused to look at him, keeping my eyes firmly on the floor, until he said, “I’m afraid.”

  I scoffed. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Hurting you.” My eyes darted to his briefly. Was he serious?

  “I can handle it.” If this was how Law planned to hurt me, then it was much better than what I’d imagined. I nipped at his lower lip, trying to show him that I really could take it. Law groaned into my mouth, his palm grasping the back of my skull. I pulled back, saying, “Plus, maybe I want to be hurt. Maybe I don’t want a nice guy. Maybe I don’t want sweet.” Maybe I didn’t deserve any of that.

  Law shook his head, eyes wary. “I’m a nice guy, Nami. Who said I couldn’t be sweet? I’m a perfectly sweet guy. I can worship you like you deserve. Still…” Law trailed off, burden heavy in his gaze.

  “Just kiss me, Law, make me forget.” Law’s face changed at my request. It was subtle, but I caught it. Like I said, I caught everything now. Placing both hands on either side of my face, Law pulled me to him. His lips crushed against mine.

  His tongue waged a war to conquer mine. His breath was hot against my lips and his stubble lightly scratched against my chin. For that brief moment, everything was perfect. It was as if all life ceased the minute we came together.

  His tongue was in my throat. I tried to close my mouth but he was too strong. He shoved it between my teeth, the force reminding me of a dental appointment. I tasted him. It was foreign and wrong.

  I gasped as the memory blasted through me. Shoving off Law, I stood alone, breathing heavily.

  “Nami, what is it?” Law asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?” What was wrong was that Morris was everywhere. I would never escape him. I pulled the door behind me open without a word and dashed out of the room. I heard Law calling after me, but I didn’t respond.

  I couldn’t bear to tell him that his kiss reminded me of the rape.

  I sat in the bar contemplating life. I didn’t go to bars any more, but after my night with Law and my newly formed plan to take Morris down, I needed a drink. The place was an utter dive. Nestled on the wrong end of State Street, no one cared who I was; they were all way past drunk.

  The lights were nearly nonexistent. A couple of hard-looking women played pool in the back. I nursed my drink at a sticky wooden table. If I was going to go through with my plan that night, I needed a dose of liquid courage.

  I eyed two girls in the corner. They stood out in the bar. Wearing fashionable headbands, shirts with sayings like “I woke up like this” and “Call Me Never”, and leggings, they truly seemed out of place. They didn’t appear to mind, though, as they were busy on their phones, probably posting a selfie or some shit.

  I didn’t do social media. After seeing hundreds of memes made about yourself, it gets old. Slut shaming is alive and well, and I was the slut shamed humorously on all the major social media websites.

  Honestly, that’s wasn’t the main reason I left social media. Yeah, it was traumatic and terrible seeing my name and face plastered carelessly for a joke, as if I wasn’t a person but just a thing to laugh at, to get likes and votes. It was…eye opening, to say the least.

  I could handle that, though. I understood it. People didn’t view me as a person. They weren’t making fun of me, they were making fun of the joke. I moved on. What I couldn’t handle any more was the small and supposedly uplifting shit people posted on their walls.

  One thing particularly stood out to me. It was a quote done up in a pretty font with a pastel background. You know the type. It read, “Your naked body should only belong to those who fall in love with your naked soul.” At first glance, it’s a beautiful and pithy saying that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. A bunch of people liked it and all they had to say was “beautiful” or “Love this.”

  The person who had posted it said she only hoped to teach her daughter that one thing.

  At first I shrugged at it then moved on.

  But it gnawed at me.

  And kept gnawing.

  Really, that’s all you want to teach your daughter? All you want to teach your daughter is that her body is sacred? That she absolutely cannot fail at finding someone to honor her body?

  It kept festering inside me. I knew I should just unfollow the chick. She was like everyone else, not realizing how even the simplest of words can shape a person or even an entire generation. I used to think like that. I used to like those photos. And then my naked body was taken by someone who had no intention of loving anything about my soul. He didn’t even love my body.

  And I was the one who felt bad. That was the messed up part of the whole scenario. I was the one made to feel bad. He did the wrongdoing but I felt bad because my body was ruined.

  So naturally I blew up on Facebook. I wrote a long, thought-out argument against slut shaming and how we view women in society and how it needs to change. Her response? “I just liked the words, chill out.”

  I deleted my account that day.

  Taking another swig of whiskey, I focused on the scars in the wood. Little scratches covered the table I sat at. Some were intentional, with etchings that said shit like “Linda and Joey forever,” but others weren’t. Other scars had just happened, marring the wood for life.

  I took another swig.

  “There you are.” I didn’t stop to think how Law had found me because he seemed to have some GPS that pinpointed my exact location. I merely took the final sip of my drink and turned to face him. He looked exactly as I’d left him. Handsome. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect. Internally I screamed.

  “Why did you leave?” he asked. Concern etched his features, but also something else. Was it understanding? No, it couldn’t be. There was no way he could understand.

  I couldn’t tell him that our kiss reminded me of him. That I felt sick to my stomach and didn’t want to admit it. That I felt horrible that he had ruined such a beautiful thing. That I felt horrible that I had let him ruin such a beautiful thing. That it was easier to run away than confront any of it.

  I shrugged and stood up.

  “Nami!” Law grabbed my arm as I made my exit from the bar.

  “What?” I snapped, turning to face him. Why couldn’t he realize I was utterly damaged? I was broken beyond repair. His warm hazel gaze, like melting caramel, needed to fixate on somebody else. Someone who could appreciate it.


  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he replied. I shrugged him off, pushing the bar doors wide open. Oh I was going to do something stupid. I was going to do something really stupid.

  Seven

  Back to where it all began: the campaign office. Banners hung on the walls that said “Morris: More to Hope For” in red, white, and blue. Cardboard boxes filled with buttons and pens to giveaway were stacked haphazardly. Fingering the cool plastic surfaces of the buttons, I remembered my first day like it was yesterday.

  “This will be your cubicle. You share it with two other interns,” some no-name staff coordinator had said, pointing to a depressing looking box. At the time it could have been Oz’s Royal Palace, I was that enamored. The coordinator went over sexual harassment (HA!) and a few other rudimentary things before giving me my task. I was to stamp and mail flyers to campaign supporters.

  The day flew by quickly. I felt like a member of the team. Becca Riley, Morris’s campaign manager and resident rattlesnake, stopped by the desk to wish me luck on my first day. I nearly fainted. Then, as if the day couldn’t get any better for naive me, Morris himself walked in.

  Mitch Morris was an icon. With perfectly maintained dyed blond hair, blue eyes, and an Abercrombie jaw, he was the epitome of the all-American boy. When I thought back on the time, I was sickened by myself. Sickened, because I knew if he’d just asked me to sleep with him, I would have said yes. Instead he’d decided to force it.

  Over the months, I’d felt myself change. I used to be so hopeful and naive. I thought the world could be a better place. I thought we were all working toward the same goal: a better tomorrow. I was an idiot, I guess. Now, I’m still working toward that goal, but I now know you can’t fight evil with good, you have to fight evil with evil.

  I walked along the empty cubicles and desks, the dark night illuminating the surfaces in gray. The lonesome office was such a stark contrast to the day. During the daylight hours the office was a mess of phone calls, yelling, and paper shuffling. Everyone had a job to do; most had multiple jobs to do. It felt like I was walking through a ghost town.