by Leah Raeder
sweet_ophelia: squeeze your tits
sweet_ophelia: good
sweet_ophelia: now put your hands around your neck
* * *
Dane took the yacht out Friday morning to ferry our guests over from the mainland. In the house, Frankie barked orders at the crew, prepping the dining room for her conference. I grabbed my camera and sneaked out the back door.
Fuck that corporate bullshit. I intended to remain a worker drone mindlessly serving the queen bee. The less I had to think, the better.
Chebeague was a small wooded island ten miles off the coast of Portland, with a year-round population of three-hundred-something souls. Those who wanted more quiet and isolation than the mainland offered, a place to feel away from it all without really being away. Open beach stretched from our front steps to the ocean, but behind the house was a thick quilt of pine, so lush and deep you could walk a dozen feet and feel transported into myth. In the trees the light turned eerie green, pollen sparkling like gold dust. Nymph shadows flickered at the edge of vision. The branches thrived with birds like nerve impulses, swallows in royal and peacock blues, orioles in goldenrod, flashes of intense color. Underfoot the earth was damp and fragrant as coffee grounds.
I followed a deer trail to the coast. Even on the brightest summer days the ocean was a weary gray-blue, an aluminum sheet dented by the sun. Our neighbor islands were dark smudges in the mist. From above, Casco Bay looked like a shattered emerald strewn along the coast of Maine. We were too far from the mainland to hear the city—out here it was only the shriek of seabirds, the sweep and sigh of waves. A distant bell when the ferry docked.
On the stone below me, a seagull pecked at a mound of bloody flesh. There wasn’t enough left to tell what it had been when it lived. I slithered down the rocks, slow and steady, snapping photos. This was the kind of shit I lived for now. Things coming apart. Insides, stuffing and stitching. Undoings.
The gull spooked and flapped off. I got in close for a macro shot of mangled meat glistening in the sun. Not sure, but that small red lump might be a heart.
The hair rose on the back of my neck. I slowed my breathing until my pulse echoed in my ears.
Red, wet meat. Like Ryan’s broken skull, gray matter bathed in blood. Like the bone jutting through my skin as my arm went numb, forever.
Look at it, I told myself. Stop being a little bitch. Face it.
Face what you did.
I felt like I was going to puke.
Breathe.
Waves on stone. Spray and fizz. Far off, a bell and a foghorn. Eternal, unchanging.
Instead of backtracking through the woods, I made my way down to the shore and followed it around the island, a slog through wet sand. My running shoes filled with muck and I was sweaty and the sun was directly overhead by the time the house came into view.
I needed to talk to someone. I didn’t care about interrupting Frankie’s meeting. What would she do, fire her highest earner?
I just needed to talk. To get out of my own head for a minute.
I flung open the French doors and stormed into the dining room. Everyone turned.
Frankie sat on one side of the table, black curls in a springy nimbus around her head, eyebrows raised. Dane slouched beside her, and then our lawyer, tapping on an iPad. Across from them sat a handful of guys I’d never seen before, in slacks and collared shirts. And at the foot of the table, right in front of me, was—
My chest went tight as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” Frankie said.
Dane waved me over, pulling up a chair.
If I hadn’t barged in I could’ve backed out, but it was too late now. I sat down. Their stares weighed on me, one heavier than all the others combined. The last person I wanted to see. Sitting five feet away. In my house. In my life.
“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Frankie said. “Our highest earner, Morgan. Morgan, this is blah, blah, blah—”
I heard nothing, saw nothing except that face. The one that stared back, reflecting my shock. Wide eyes the color of sun filtering through leaves, a green haze speckled with gold.
“And this,” Frankie said, “is—”
“Ellis Carraway,” I finished, my voice flat. “We’ve met.”
* * *
Here’s how the meeting went.
FRANKIE: So. Expansion. We’re opening new houses.
DANE: I’ll be heading up our first branch.
VADA: [Glares at Ellis.]
ELLIS: [Stares at the table.]
FRANKIE: And I want to experiment with new tiers of service. Private group sessions, subscription plans. Can we add that to the existing infrastructure?
ELLIS: [Still facing the tabletop.] Sure. But it’s better if you start with a clean slate. I had a look at your code. It’s a mess.
FRANKIE: Does it matter?
ELLIS: [Shrugs.] You want to build new levels atop a house of cards. Eventually it’ll crash. Then you’ll have to rebuild anyway, and your business might be offline until you do. Huge waste of resources.
FRANKIE: Okay. We’ll do it your way. Clean slate.
VADA: She’s going to redo the entire site? That’s a huge waste of resources. It works fine as is.
ELLIS: [Finally looks at Vada.] Sometimes you think it’s working fine as is, when it’s really falling apart.
VADA: So you want to raze it to the ground. Destroy everything and rebuild it to fit your vision, not ours.
ELLIS: If you build on top of a collapsing foundation, it won’t last anyway.
VADA: Maybe it isn’t meant to last. We’re not even sure it’s what we want long term. But you want us to commit everything. Risk it all.
ELLIS: So think it over. You shouldn’t commit to something you’re not really serious about.
VADA: And you shouldn’t push us to take the next step before we’re ready.
FRANKIE: [Glances at Vada, then Elle.]
DANE: What the hell are they talking about?
FRANKIE: Enough. We’ve heard both sides. Let’s vote. All in favor of a rebuild?
[FRANKIE, DANE, and the LAWYER raise their hands. VADA folds her arms and scowls.]
FRANKIE: The ayes have it. Morgan, your petulance is noted.
DANE: [Snorts.]
VADA: Do you even know what that word means, Dane?
DANE: Does it mean you’re kind of a bitch?
ELLIS: [Covers her mouth, hiding a smile.]
FRANKIE: Darlings. Save the foreplay for the clients. Now, let’s talk search engine visibility. How can we . . .
* * *
The discussion continued while I sat there and seethed, not parsing another word till people scooted their chairs back and said their good-byes. Dane touched my arm. I eyed his hand as if it were a leech.
“I’m taking her to the mainland,” he said, nodding at Ellis. “The boys have their own ride.”
I started to stand and he gripped tighter.
“Come with.”
“No chance.”
“Don’t you want to catch up?”
I didn’t know where to begin with that. Instead I said, “You told me you were meeting ‘some web guy.’ ”
“I thought ‘Ellis’ was a guy.”
I groaned. My shoes felt full of quicksand. I was still disgusting from the hike.
“I need a shower,” I said. “And I’ve got stuff to do.”
“More important stuff than seeing your best friend?”
I’d avoided looking at her, but now I forced myself. She stood at the edge of the room, tall and lanky and awkward, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She wore a gingham button-up with skinny jeans and black Chucks. As I watched, she spun a long bang around one finger, over and over, until it wound so tight she gave a start. Nervous habit. Sometimes she’d done it with my hair, not realizing.
My heart clenched.
“Come on,” Dane cooed. “Don’t be so stubborn. Besides, do you real
ly want to leave me alone with her? I’m a predator.”
“You’re as dangerous as a teddy bear.”
But I ended up on the yacht anyway, Dane in the upper-deck captain’s chair, me and Ellis at the stern rail.
The boat was old yet in good repair, a gleaming white fang cutting smoothly through the water. Dane coasted along slowly. Giving us time to catch up. In my head I went back to last night and held him under till he stopped struggling.
Elle kept shooting glances at me, but averted her face when I glanced back. Wind whipped her shirt and traced the outline of those thin bird bones. Against the ocean blue her hair looked redder, the only living thing in a drowned world. A freighter in the distance gave a mournful bellow, like whalesong.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing.”
“Then stop staring at me.”
Her hands curled around the rail. “This is all so—it’s so weird.”
“Yeah, must be weird seeing someone you never wanted to see again, right in your fucking workplace. Wonder how that feels.”
No response.
Foam trailed in our wake, scarves of air rustling through the water.
“You’re a cam girl,” Ellis said finally.
“Are you judging me?”
“It just doesn’t seem like you.”
“It’s not.” I smiled. “I’m not me anymore. You don’t know me.”
“I guess not, ‘Morgan.’ ”
My smile fell. I called out to Dane, “Can we hurry the fuck up, please?”
His aviator sunglasses flashed. He caressed the wheel, unhurried.
I couldn’t take this. I headed down to the cabin and paced to the bow, not seeing any of the leather furniture, the polished wood and glass. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and my first instinct was to go down, not up.
Elle followed. I knew she would.
I rounded on her and said, “Don’t take this job.”
Out of Dane’s sight, we both let the pretense of ambivalence drop. Her jaw locked, rouge rising into her cheeks.
“I need it,” she said. “I’m broke, too.”
“Did Mommy’s money finally run out?”
“Stop it. Stop trying to push me away instead of talking it through.”
“What’s there to talk about? You made it pretty clear what you want.”
“I was hurt. I was trying to make the pain stop, same as you.”
I tried to smirk but it came out more of a sneer. “Gee, sure hope your pain stopped, because everything stopped for me. My heart. My entire fucking world.”
Ellis winced, her hand half rising in supplication. I should have left then, but I could never walk away from a fight. Something in me craved damage. To myself, to others.
“You were treating me like dirt,” she said plaintively. “What was I supposed to do?”
“It’s called depression, Elle. It sorta happens when you kill somebody and lose everything. Sorry I wasn’t a model human being while I was depressed.”
“Before then. It was before then, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already seen this episode. Spoiler alert: it ends with us realizing we hate each other.”
“You hate me but you’re calling yourself Morgan? You let guys call you that while you get off? Strange way of hating someone.”
“Well, I’ve changed. You wouldn’t want to know me anymore.”
“You haven’t changed that much. You’re still a total bitch.”
Despite myself, I laughed. So rare to hear her swear. I was really pressing her buttons.
My laughter made something flicker in her eyes. Something soft.
I looked away. “This job is a mistake. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?”
“We’re just going to hurt each other again. You were right about the clean break.”
“No, I wasn’t. I’ve been miserable and lonely and depressed. Just like you.”
“You don’t know shit about how I’ve been.”
She stepped closer. We were practically the same height, and for once she stood straight, meeting me eye-to-eye. “You looked so tired, so hollow, but when you saw me your eyes went bright. Like you were waking up.”
“It’s moot. I’m not the person you knew. She’s gone.”
“You still have her face, and her voice. I missed them so much.”
Every word chipped into the walls inside me. “Listen, Ellis. I’m a cam girl now. A well-paid Internet whore. I do filthy, fucked-up things for money, and I like it. I’m not your princess anymore. Take me off the pedestal.”
“It’s still you. Just a different part of you.”
“Stop being so fucking understanding. It’s exhausting.” My good hand curled in and out of a fist. “You were right to move on. I was an asshole. Still am.”
“I didn’t move on.”
“Then who was in your house?”
She shook her head. “We haven’t seen each other in months and that’s what you want to know? Not if I’m okay, but if I’ve replaced you?”
“Did you miss the ‘I’m an asshole’ part?”
“You’re still doing it. Pushing me away because you’re scared.”
“No shit I’m scared.” I leaned closer. It took monstrous self-discipline to keep my hands still. To not put them on her. “You know what I learned in all these months? That I built my whole fucking life around you. My entire adult life. Five years. I’m totally lost on my own. You know how terrifying it is, to be that dependent on someone?”
“Yeah, I do. I was that dependent on you.” Her hand floated toward me again, grazed my forearm, my fingers. “You’re all I had.”
“I made you miserable.”
“I’m miserable without you, too. We both are.”
I would’ve killed for something to hold. A beer, a cigarette. Her. “I begged you. I never beg anyone, but I begged you for another chance. And you let me go. It fucking broke me.” Stay hard. Stay cold. “Go home, Elle. Go find another job. Go live in your nice house with your new friend.”
“You don’t give up on someone you love. I learned that from you.”
The meanness in me rose, and I let it loose.
“All you learned from me,” I said, “is how to be a fucking doormat.”
Her eyes glossed with tears. If she started crying I was going to cry, too, because I didn’t mean this. I hated hurting her. But I couldn’t do this again. Not when I still hadn’t put all the pieces of me back together.
To my surprise, she said, “Fuck you.”
Then she started laughing, that sweet voice turning bitter.
“Vada, you’re so full of it. You lash out when you’re hurt and scared. I know you. You didn’t become some total stranger just because you’re camming. And this?” She pressed her palm to the center of my chest. “This is probably the hardest your heart’s beaten in months. The most alive you’ve felt.”
I swatted her hand away, but she grabbed my wrist.
“You’re right. I can be a doormat sometimes.” Ellis leaned close enough that I could feel her breath. “But at least I’m not a coward.”
I was weak. I was weak and I touched her, because my hands were shaking so hard I thought my bones would crack, that I’d crumble inside. They snapped to her shoulders. Before I could stop myself I shoved her to the cabin wall, knocking her breathless. She grasped the neck of my shirt but I held her down.
“It’s so fucking easy for you,” I hissed into her face. “You know exactly who you are. Exactly who you want.”
“It’s not that simple.”
I thumped her shoulders against the wall. “Who the fuck do you think you are, calling me a coward? Because I don’t fit into some neat category? This relationship has always been easy for you. You never struggled with it.”
“You don’t know what I struggled with.”
“Not this. And I hated it. I hated how disappointed you were when I got scared. I hated the way people assumed things about me. Sometim
es I even hated you, too.”
Air rushed through her bared teeth and she twisted my collar, pulled my face closer, and I knew it was going to happen again, just like that night.
Then Dane was in the doorway, giving a time-out whistle.
“Hey,” he said. “No blood on my carpet. I just had it steamed.”
We stumbled away from each other. My limbs tingled, numb with adrenaline.
Ellis hung her head, glanced at Dane, then whirled around and left us in the cabin.
“What the hell was that?” he said.
I smoothed my shirt and gave him a dry smile. “Just catching up.”
* * *
Incoming video call from BigDeezy.
ACCEPT.
“Hi, baby.”
BigDeezy: clothes off
Okay then. All business.
I took them off dutifully, but without rushing. Tossed my hair, slid my palms up my chest to cup my breasts and massage them. “What should I call you, Big?”
BigDeezy: Mark
“Hi, Mark.” For a second I thought of that B movie The Room and tried not to snicker. “Are you feeling naughty tonight?”
BigDeezy: get on your hands and knees
BigDeezy: ass to the camera
He knew what he wanted.
I positioned myself, glancing back over my shoulder. Ran a hand over my butt and gave a light slap. On-screen I looked like every generic tan piece of ass ever, a pink slit of pussy, anonymous. Interchangeable.
BigDeezy: jiggle it
BigDeezy: faster
BigDeezy: put a tie on
BigDeezy: pull it from behind
BigDeezy: moan
BigDeezy: louder
Camming was usually more complex than this. Men wanted to get off, obviously, but if they only wanted to get off there was an Internet full of free porn out there. What camming offered was companionship. A dialogue. Interaction. Even if it was illusory, it fulfilled some social need.
Men like Mark didn’t want companionship, though. They wanted a living doll. Something to pose and fuck and discard. It was more a power fantasy for him than an erotic one.
These strictly pornographic sessions depressed me. Mark was never impolite, but he was utterly impersonal. It was a relief when the chat ended.
