Quiet Lies

by R. L. Griffin

  I fall mute.

  “He’s handling it like any thirteen year old boy would, poorly. We’re trying to keep him as shielded from this as we can.” This is a blatant lie. Liar, Liar, pants on fire.

  “I bet,” she nods sympathetically. “Will he be there when you die?”

  The question stuns me and I sit back like I’ve been slapped. Sebastian closes his eyes like he’s in pain. He’s not. “We’re not planning on him being there.” His voice is soft. It’s the voice he uses with me when he is trying to coax me into doing things I don’t want to do. I hate that voice. It used to make my bones liquid and pliable. Now it makes me sit upright and vibrate.

  “And Rebecca what will you do after?” Her plastered over face turns to me and I jut my chin out in defiance. These questions are so hard to answer. I don’t want to be here. I want to be on the beach with my swimsuit full of sand watching the sunrise. The promise of the future that bleeds into everything.

  “I’m not even thinking of that yet.” I’m thinking about blue skies and a world without my husband. “I’m thinking about these last few weeks with Sebastian. I’m not sure I can do it.” Disgust and dread make my voice sound full of emotion.

  “Oh Rebecca, I’m so sorry.” She looks from me to Sebastian and re-crosses her legs. “I’m sure time will help to heal this wound.”

  I blink at her platitudes, tears working their way down my face.

  In a perfect made for TV movie scene, Sebastian leans over and wipes my tears from my cheek and kisses the stain of it on my skin.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  It Changes Nothing, But Everything

  We are America’s latest viral hit—the beautiful couple that is losing everything. It makes me laugh every time I see him kiss my cheek in the interview they keep playing over and over again. I haven’t been on social media because I had over five hundred messages after the interview.

  Sebastian did several more interviews and they put pictures of the three of us on the screen and discussed our perfect life together. They talk about how tragic it is he’s dying. They talk about how much our lives will be lacking without him in it. And I laugh. I laugh at every interview.

  Sebastian and I are getting along better than we have in years, he feels like he got one over on me and I’m just happy he’s going to die. My days are full of me planning for after he dies and my nights are full of refusing to sleep in order to make sure he doesn’t kill me first. I haven’t been this happy in a long time and it’s foreign and cumbersome and I’m not sure I know how to be carefree. The thought freezes my insides. What if when he dies I can never get better? What if he’s ruined me forever, even if he’s gone?

  I realize this is my truth. I will never be okay. I’m ruined.

  Being a horrible person without him will be better than any day when he’s alive. Delusion wraps me in her arms and I snuggle in.

  I’m happy he will die.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Day of the Dead

  I stare into the mirror of the bathroom and I hide my joy. Thirty days was nothing compared to thirteen years I suffered through with Sebastian. Allowing myself a moment a grin spreads across my features and I hardly recognize my face with my lips curving this way. Today is the end of Sebastian. The end of Rebecca Pryor. The end. End.

  I step out of the bathroom with my mask in place. The room is stark white and smells of antiseptic. A camera crew lines the wall, along with my husband’s favorite blond bombshell reporter. I’ve never met this one. It’s so interesting that all of his conquests, lovers, idiots, look the same. Just like me. I didn’t always look like this. My eyes narrow at her.

  “Sebastian. Would you like to say anything else before it’s time?” The bimbo’s voice is soft and elegant. A tear escapes her eye and I know without a doubt he fucked her. I sigh.

  His lips move and I think he’s talking to her, but I don’t care. I look down at the time on my phone. Sebastian made me take him to get a haircut this morning and it’s a little too coiffed for my taste, but to each his own. He prepared a statement, but I don’t listen as the words turn into a drone noise in my ears.

  A red haze breaks into my vision for having to be here, but I’m here for Bash. I’m here for our future. I wonder if that’s really true…

  All I hear is the thrumming of my own heart. When he gets to a certain part of his speech he extends his hand to me, motioning me over to him, wanting me to pretend for the cameras that we still love each other. I am the queen of lies. I sprinkle them behind me where I go like fairy dust, like rose petals, except its poison and I choke on it.

  My footsteps are hesitant as I make my way over to his side at the hospital bed. Then I lean down and bury my mouth in his ear.

  “You ruined my fucking life. I hope you burn in the hell that you created for yourself,” I whisper. Then I lick the shell of his ear and he looks at me like he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t. He created me, but he doesn’t know what he created at all.

  He recovers quickly and trails his fingertips over my jaw line, which twitches at his touch. “I’ll miss tormenting you.” This he says aloud and everyone in the room chuckles, like it’s a fucking joke. This is the first honest thing he’s said today.

  My face screws up and I’m about to start yelling, I cannot contain my anger. Dr. Carroll, the oncologist, walks in suddenly and I’m able to put my emotions in the box labeled ‘motherfucker.’ “So, everyone ready for the day of the dead?”

  I look down at my feet. I want to smile and clap and yell, “Yippee,” but I can’t. The grime on the floor goes in and out of focus.

  “Rebecca, hold my hand?” Sebastian’s voice is uncharacteristically small and lacks his usual commanding tone.

  I shake my head without thinking.

  “It’s too hard for her,” the bimbo says into the microphone.

  Oh the truth and the folly with that statement.

  The doctor looks at the camera and then back at Sebastian. “You ready?”

  I reach out and grab his hand tightly. His thumb skates across the top of my hand. It’s the last time he’ll ever touch me. I fight the revulsion that bubbles up from my gut. The doctor sticks a needle in the IV. I can’t look at him.

  “This will take a few minutes, but you should simply fall asleep.” He looks at the camera again.

  “I’d like the camera to leave now,” I croak.

  Surprisingly, Sebastian nods.

  Part Three

  Deceit. It stays with you. Betrayal. It festers like an infected sore. Vengeance is mine. I keep secrets and I tell lies. Just like he did.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Four Sides to Every Story

  I’ve kept secrets since that first time I saw him with someone else at our wedding, I mean more than the typical person in a couple. Mistakes are like the water that flows from a fire hydrant, once they’re out; there is no putting them back. Honestly, looking back I’m not sure if I thought I deserved what Sebastian did to me or if I just didn’t think I could do any better. While I’m being honest, being accustomed to a certain lifestyle may have factored into my decisions to stay, but because I went along with his little scheme I’ll never have to worry about money, even though I’m not planning on touching it. The scheme he orchestrated expertly to give the impression that we were the perfect couple, family, served me as well.

  As I hit send on the PR statement that Laura from Wunderlust revised yesterday, I take off my glasses and massage my temple. Now my company will be part of the tragic story of Sebastian Pryor. Pushing myself up from the bed, I walk into the closet and run my hands over his clothes. Thoughts of giving them to Goodwill or a homeless shelter filter into my mind. The corners of my lips turn up when I think about how Sebastian would hate to know poor people would have his things. A giggle slips through my lips and echoes in my closet.

  I pull the black sheath dress my mother bought for me from the hanger and over my newly dyed hair. Melinda was baffled when I came back into t
he salon for my ombre look I’m currently sporting. Freedom ripples off my body and it’s unmatched by any exhilaration I’ve had in my entire life. I can almost feel the humid summer breeze blowing my hair when riding my bike on the island when I was young, my hands spread out to the sides grabbing the air. My feet pedaling furiously, I remember tilting my head back and believing that anything in the world is possible. I remember feeling like I could be anything, do anything.

  When the hits of this life started pouring in it was like I was pulled under the water and flipped over and over again by the undertow. My head was shoved into the sand, shells, fish and water filled my mouth. The darkness took over and I didn’t know which way was up, I got confused and tried to swim other directions, but I finally see the surface.

  I reach my arms to my sides and wriggle my fingers, lean my head back and stare at the ceiling. I can breathe. I can fucking breathe.

  My footsteps are harsh as I walk down the hall. I trail my fingertips down the empty wall where family pictures used to be. I finger my pearls and realize I still have on the necklace that I never take off. The one that Sebastian gave me when I was in college, I rip it so hard from my neck that it pops leaving a thick red welt at the back of my neck. The chain falls to the floor. I leave it there and keep walking.

  I stopped taking my medication when I left Portland this last time. How can a place I haven’t been to since I was eighteen be home? I’ve never felt so clear. I have one more hurdle to jump, one more lie to tell and then I can incinerate Rebecca Pryor. I’ve already taken steps to change my name back to Simmons. While I’ll never be able to be the person I was, I don’t want to be me anymore. I’m a monster. My old self would be horrified at the things I’ve done, the lies I’ve told. While it’s true you can’t go back, I want to go anywhere, but here.

  If lies are the only things that hold your world together you become efficient at shoving any morality that threatens to surface into an intricate box in the back of your mind. I did what I needed to do. I’m not sure I believe that either...

  “Are you ready?” My mother takes my hand and shakes me from my thoughts. “Where are your shoes?”

  I look down and realize I forgot to put shoes on. I’m not sure what the expression on my face says to her, but she smiles tightly.

  “I’ll get them. Stay here.”

  She disappears up the stairs and I glance around. The house looks the same as when we left, the same as yesterday, but it feels like a casket and I’m still alive.

  I exhale audibly. I look around and I’m standing in the foyer of the house. My mother comes quickly back down the stairs and I stand there transfixed by the fact that the man that terrorized me for years is really gone. It’s hard to comprehend.

  “Rebecca,” my mother urges and shoves the shoes at me.

  I stare at her, not understanding. She sighs and bends down, putting my shoes right by my feet and nudging me to put my bare feet in them.

  “Are you okay?” she asks. “I mean as much as you can be?”

  “Mom, can I bring my iPad?” Bash asks.

  “No,” I answer them both simultaneously.

  “The limo’s here,” my mother says and hands me my purse.

  The three of us walk out the front door of my pine box. I slip my hand into Bash’s and he tenses then relents. The driver opens the door for us. He gives us a nod. After Bash and my mom get in, the driver’s hand runs over mine quickly as I bend to duck into the limo.

  “This is so cool,” Bash calls and looks over at me.

  Okay, so I did take an Ativan this morning so I’m feeling a bit numb. My mother and son are talking and their voices turn into a soft murmur that I don’t even bother to try to understand. I stare out the window at the blurred view as we make our way to a church that Sebastian never attended.

  I’ve sold jewelry secretly to women all under the guise of not wanting to hurt my husband’s delicate ego. They understood it. “Men,” they’d say and shake their heads with small conspiratorial smiles on their plastic faces. It was one of the best promotion ideas that I could have dreamt up. The rich bitches of Portland loved it. While Sebastian thought he ended my jewelry making with his actions, he really only made me create more and stockpile them in a rented room in a seedy part of town. This is where I met Adrian Carroll. He’s the part of the story I’ve held back, the part that I swore I would never tell.

  Omissions are lies too, sorry about that. I guess old habits die hard.

  I’m designing on my computer, a Mac that Sebastian bought me last year after I had Bash, a push present he’d said it was called. A knock sounds at the door. My eyebrows rise because no one knows I’m here. I push myself out of the chair that I moved in a few months ago and take the two steps over to the door. Cracking it, I lean in to see a man about six feet two inches standing there, wide chocolate eyes, running his hand over his shortly cropped hair. He takes me in then nervously looks behind him.

  “Yes?” I tentatively ask him.

  His head pops back to look at me. He pushes the door open and my heart beats out of my throat. He slams the door and pushes his body against it.

  “What...do you want?” I ask, as I step back, my voice shaking with the fear that is travelling all over my body.

  He doesn’t even acknowledge me.

  “Look I don’t have anything…”

  Quickly and soundlessly he turns and puts his hand over my mouth, quieting me. I clamp my mouth shut and take several steps back. I hear steps outside the door and he closes his eyes, I think he stops breathing. I stop breathing too. Once the steps pass the door, he opens his eyes and takes me in again.

  I pull my tank top away from my body self consciously under his glare.

  “Sorry,” he starts.

  “I don’t have anything,” I say at the same time. I raise my hands.

  “I’m not going to steal from you.” He looks around taking in the storage containers, the torch and the desk. “What is this?” His hands sweep the bare room.

  “I make jewelry.”

  “Really?” He walks over and pulls out a drawer where I keep some metal I bought online. Then he pushes around the papers on my desk with my ideas. “These are good.” He fingers my latest creations. “What happened to your neck?”

  I cover my neck with my hand. Then I grab my hoodie and slide it over my head.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  At first, the question throws me off. I haven’t had anyone ask me that in a very long time. “I don’t know, am I?” I glare at him.

  A smile bursts across his dark features, his eyes are kind and I find myself being drawn into them. “I’m sorry. I’m Adrian Carroll.” He extends his hand to me.

  I reach out my hand and we shake. His hand is enormous compared to mine and his fingers graze my wrist. I blink at him. “Natasha.”

  We stare at each other.

  “So Adrian, what do you do?”

  “I solve problems.” He sits in my only chair indicating he’s not leaving anytime soon.

  “It looks like you’re not too good at your job,” I joke, my eyes going to the door.

  “Oh, I’ll solve that, it’ll just take me a minute.”

  He was right. He solved that problem and most of mine.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Window Pain

  I resume staring out the window of the limousine on the way back to the house. My son is furiously texting on his phone.

  “Can I go to Baxter’s?” His voice is all of a sudden too deep for my thirteen year old and my head snaps up in realization.

  I look at my mother, who is ignoring us both.

  “What?” I ask dazed.

  “Baxter’s. Can I go over there? We’re not having people over, right?” Bash’s tone is hopeful and I’m forced to realize how different this funeral is than for any normal family.

  “Are you sure you want to do that, today?”

  He shrugs. “Why not? I don’t care if he’s dead.”

 
; I blink. I realize the partition is down between us and the front seat. My mother finally looks at Bash then our eyes meet. My eyes fill with unwanted tears. Look at what I’ve done.

  “What?” His tone is defensive.

  “I’m getting you counseling.” I say. I need it too, but I don’t say that.

  “Mom, he was a jerk.”

  “He was still your dad.”

  My mother slides her hand over to mine and grabs it.

  “And now he’s dead. Period. Can I go to Baxter’s?”

  Is now the time to change how I’ve treated him, I’ve allowed him to be this kid, when he’s obviously going through so much?

  “Remember that time we went to Disney and you and I went down early?”

  Bash stares at me.

  “Remember when your dad got there he rode every single ride you wanted and some of them, like seven times.” I don’t want to think about the good times. I don’t want to defend Sebastian Pryor.

  Bash’s head hangs.

  “It was getting late and I was begging to leave, you know how I hate crowds, and your dad talked me into going on Space Mountain. I screamed the whole way and you both just laughed and laughed at me?”

  “Mom,” Bash’s voice is pleading.

  “He bought you a present from Disney everyday because that’s what you wanted,” I press.

  “I remember,” he finally concedes.

  “Remember when you wanted that stupid baseball bat for like $600.00?”

  “Alright,” Bash doesn’t answer the question.

  “He was a good dad to you, right?” I try to use a calm voice, but I’m urging him to have been a good dad. This is more for me than for him. I need him to be a good dad, that’s why I stayed or at least part of the reason because I thought Sebastian was better than nothing as a dad.

  “I remember he bought me the bat. I also remember other things he did.” His eyes pierce me and I go mute. “I’m going to Baxter’s. He said he’d come get me.”