I just nod hesitantly looking in the rearview mirror at the set of eyes examining me.
CHAPTER SIXTY
What is Left of Me
We’re walking toward the front door when my phone buzzes, the June sun shines down on me warming the chill in my blood. I stop walking and pull it out of my purse. Bash and my mother keep walking. My heart soars.
I’ll be back tonight. I hope you’re okay. You’re gorgeous.
I smile down at the phone then at the limo driver who is beaming at me. I hold my hand up in a wave. He winks. Just knowing he was close to me today helped me go through with Sebastian’s plan. I hustle up the stairs to the front door and shut it. My bare feet are light and quick as I run upstairs to change. I have no idea where my shoes are and I don’t even care.
Pulling off my dress, I notice multiple missed calls and dozens of voicemails. I will listen to those in a little bit, I need a drink. After I’m dressed in a t-shirt and yoga pants I turn and face Sebastian’s clothes. I feel nothing right now. I love this feeling.
I fight the old proclivity to go through his things, find his secrets before he gets home. Sebastian’s hubris prevented him from believing I knew anything, would do anything. He underestimated me. I love being underestimated.
I lean into Adrian as he laughs and puts a tender BBQ rib in my mouth.
“You got this off the street?” I ask with my mouth full of yummy smoked meat. I’m incredulous. “This rib rivals some of the ribs I had in South Carolina.”
“You’re from near Charleston right?”
I nod. The little fact that Adrian pays attention to me when I talk is so different than Sebastian, I bask in his presence.
“And you have a three year old?”
“I do.”
His eyes go back to the rib in his hand. “Not off the street baby girl, the cart a few blocks down. Best barbeque in the city,” he answers and wipes my mouth with his napkin.
We’ve become fast friends. You know sometimes when you meet someone and know that they will change you somehow. Adrian reminds me that I have value, even just to talk to about current events. He tells me the best stories as I make jewelry then I give him some of my favorites. I haven’t had a friend in a while and I’m comforted by the fact he’d want to be my friend, even if he thinks my name is Natasha. I bloom with him. I’m me again.
“It’s just a few blocks down?”
“Yep, they have fried okra that will knock your socks off.” He takes a bite and pulls the bone out of his mouth clean of any meat. I examine his lips. “What are you doing with that piece?”
“I’m stock piling all of my pieces right now. I’ll start selling them again soon. I just want to have enough of an inventory that I don’t have to scramble if I get orders.”
“You are one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.” He puts the bone down and wipes his hands on a napkin.
“Why’s that?”
“We’re simple, I like that. I enjoy your company, but there is a storm brewing in your eyes and you’re awfully good at lying, but not as good as I am.”
A stifled silence hangs in the air for a few seconds.
“My name’s Rebecca,” I blurt.
“Now...what else?”
“I hate my husband.”
“Oh, this is some ‘Real Housewives’ shit,” he laughs and grabs another rib cleaning the meat off the bone efficiently.
“Do I look like a real housewife?”
He wipes his hands with a wet nap then inches closer to me on the bench where we are both sitting. Leaning in he uses both hands to slide the wig off my head. He pulls at my rubber band and my hair falls down my back. My eyes stay locked on him. “Baby girl, you’d be the best housewife, you have shit going on that no one would believe.”
“Stop,” I whisper, putting my hands on his that are now grabbing my chin.
“I want to help you.” His lips are close and his breath smells of mustard based barbecue sauce. I close my eyes.
Silence.
I wait for him. I open my eyes.
“I like you. What can I do?”
“You’re doing it. I haven’t had a friend since I was twenty-three.”
His eyes squint at me. “How old are you now?”
“Twenty-six.”
“That’s what it is? You’re just lonely?” he asks as if he doesn’t believe me.
“I wish I was more lonely.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Delusions of Grandeur
My messages are playing as I go to the bathroom. I stare out the window, there are spider webs caked on the right side of the window.
“MOM!” Bash yells from the hall. “I’m leaving.”
“Okay,” I say.
“MOM!”
“OKAY!” I yell so loud my head hurts and I close my eyes.
“Ms. Pryor, we’re so sorry for your loss. We wanted to do a follow up interview with you and possibly your son. Could you call me?”
“No, the fuck, I won’t call you reporter whore,” I answer. Delete. The next message is someone from Bash’s school who took pity to call me. Delete. And on and on…unfortunately for me June is a slow media month. My and Sebastian’s face is all over TV, social media and magazines. They even found Bash. Pictures emerged of him at the beach when his dad was dying. The story was heartbreaking, wrong and didn’t even scratch the surface of the reality of what was happening. I wonder if my life will always be a fabrication or can I peel away this skin and get to me again.
I calm my nerves as I accept a call on Facetime. I stare at the wall while it’s connecting and straighten my wig. This is it. Things are all lining up, I just need the money for the company and then I can finally put my plan in motion.
A beautiful redhead fills the screen, but she’s looking off to the side. “Fuck off, it’s fine,” she says before she looks into my eyes. “Oh, shit. Natasha. Hi.”
A brunette peeks into the frame. “Hi, I’m Laura. Please excuse the cussing.” I’ve been dealing with Laura most of the time. These girls may save my life. I will do whatever it takes to make it happen.
I smile. “No worries. I’ve said worse.” I shrug.
“Delusions of Grandeur, where did you come up with that name?” Megan Walker, the CEO of Wunderlust, my savior in the form of a smartass lucky lottery winner, a company that invests in small companies that can’t get a traditional loan.
“My jewelry takes metals and gems that are nothing and makes them into something that people want to wear, that people think are beautiful. It’s for people who want to be beautiful, but with something that’s not traditional. I want it to give women a feeling they can do anything, be anything.” It’s not the truth. I named my company based on my husband’s compulsion to feel as if he’s entitled to power, to winning. He feels like he’s better, smarter than everyone else.
“I like that,” Laura comments.
Megan doesn’t say anything, but examines me through the computer screen.
I smile uncomfortably into the screen.
“Tell me why you need this?” Megan finally asks.
“Because I have nothing else. My husband ruined me financially, paid every bill in my name late, ran up my credit cards without me knowing. I can’t get the loan I need to make my company successful and he gets off on the fact he made it so I couldn’t. I would love to be able to make it work on my own, but I’ve tried. I just don’t know where else to go.” This the most truth I’ve told anyone, with the exception of Adrian, in years.
“Natasha, your work is amazing. All the rage and turmoil of your pieces makes me want to buy them all because of my emotions.” Laura looks down at her hands. “Then I scroll to the next page and everything is beautiful instead of poignant and I wonder if a different person made it. I’m intrigued by your company.”
“Intrigued enough to give me a loan?” I ask, hopeful. I haven’t had hope in a very long time. It travels over my skin leaving me feeling energized, but empty. It esca
pes my body and scurries across my toe like a spider.
Megan smiles widely and looks at Laura.
“Yes, we are giving you a loan,” Laura nods. “We’ll send you all the paperwork this week. We have some oversight and other rules that we need to run past you, but we’ll send you the contract and then we can talk again.”
I’m stunned. Tears are threatening to burst from my eyes and drown me.
“Natasha?” Megan says waiting for my response.
I don’t respond to that because it’s not my name.
“She’s mental,” Megan says to Laura.
That snaps to my attention. “Oh God, sorry. I’m just so fucking excited I don’t know what to say or do.”
Megan and Laura both lean in the screen and laugh.
“And I probably am mental, have you seen my jewelry?” I chuckle.
They look at each other, clearly amused.
“I can’t thank you enough. You’re changing my life. I’ll be able to pay you back. I’ve gotten a stockpile of gorgeous pieces. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” Megan says. “We’ll send everything to you tonight or tomorrow.”
The screen went black and I close my eyes. I will not celebrate yet; this is just one step in my plan. I will not. I jump up and wave my fist in the air in the one victory I’ve had in over a decade.
I can’t wait to tell Adrian.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Puppet
The funeral was tedious, dealing with people who want the illusion to continue, to be true. Fortunately, it was over fast. I feel lighter. Almost…happy. I crouch down in the middle of the closet and pull up a navy rug. Opening our safe, I sigh in relief as I see my wooden box. There are pieces of my jewelry in here I haven’t worn in years. I pick up a cuff that is a gold leaf with an opening to slip your wrist through shaped like a branch. I slide it on and feel like Wonder Woman, it gives me powers that I’ve missed.
I took metalsmith classes when I was in high school. When I was much younger I would watch my dad bend metal and it made me long to be able to do it myself, but to take something so utilitarian and make it unique and beautiful. To take something that’s dark, natural and many times ugly and make it into something else entirely was my draw. I love working with my hands, my broken nails used to always give me away. I got smarter, started using gel nail polish so you couldn’t tell I’d been working. Falling into creating jewelry occupies my mind when I want to let go of my thoughts. It’s the only place where I could let my mind be quiet. The only time I wasn’t tempted to run through the lists of things to do so that I wouldn’t think of how my life turned out or how much I sometimes hated myself for staying with someone who didn’t or couldn’t love me. It was my safe place.
It started as a hobby, but quickly turned into something I was passionate about. All of my dreams were tied up in being able to create and be able to pay bills with profits. I lived for it.
Sebastian once told me that I’d lose myself if I couldn’t burn things. He was right about that. The flame inside me fizzled out for a while when I was pregnant, but I found it again. The little spark was still there. The trick, I found, is to be able to glow enough for the flame to stay lit, but not enough so that he’d see. I jumped through the fear that he’d find out and started letting out my rage through my jewelry. I made pieces that I’d be scared to wear, skulls, snakes and bullets, but then also delicate and beautiful things that would sell. Peering into the very back of the safe I gasp, I thought he’d thrown this one away. I pull out the blue cuff that matched my bib necklace I wore recently and images float through my mind of what he did with the cuff. Images I don’t want to remember, things I don’t want to revisit mock me. I run my fingers over my scars on my wrist, they are bumpy and chaotic. I throw the cuff back into the safe as if it was on fire. I stand up trying to think of anything to get my mind off the cuff I’d been so proud of that’d been used against me in the worst way, a way I will never talk about.
My hands are shaking as I think back to when I apprenticed with an older man during my time at Clemson. He allowed me to blossom under his tutelage, showing me techniques that I didn’t learn in classes. Air fills my lungs as I inhale, banging in the next room shakes me from my thoughts, my head whips to the wall where the sound comes from. Shakily, I bend down and take in the other contents of the safe. I grab the paper that replaced the cash that was in the safe.
Rebecca,
My wife. I took all of my things out for Tiffany to keep until you keep your end of the bargain.
S
This doesn’t surprise me, he is still fucking things up for me. I wonder when Tiffany will be returning said things. I’m not going to hold my breath. What shocks me to my core is that Sebastian is actually dead. I keep looking around corners waiting for him to pop out and say, “boo” or “got you.”
When I reached in for the paper, my fingers felt something else. So I peer into the dark safe and pull out another cuff. This one is intricate and is connected by five wire pieces that fit on rings for each finger. I’d called it Sebastian, the ultimate puppet maker. This name did not go over well with my husband when he saw the design on my computer. My arm fits perfectly into the cuff and the rings. I wiggle my fingers a bit and one of the wires breaks. Then I spread my fingers hard enough I break them all.
I stand up and walk over to where my legal pad lies, mocking me. What to do, what to do...I vacillate between doing what Sebastian wants or doing what I want. I’ve been doing what he wants for so long I don’t know how not to and then all of my torture would have been for naught.
My eyes grow wet when I look at my words, my truths that I’ve never even allowed myself to think.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
The Monster You Made Me
Sebastian,
You wrecked every inch of space I had in my brain, you reaped such havoc on me that I turned inward. I know this now, after seeing I could live without you even for a few days. I can do it. Not only can I, but I was okay.
I hid in abditory for thirteen years after what you made me into. When I first saw you, I felt the heat of your desire and I burned for it. Lust consumed me and I threw a match on my life. There are no ashes left from what I used to be. It was like I blinked and I was this thing you made me into, a person I’d never met and didn’t even like, not even a little. I blame you. I hate me. I anguish over our son. I think he’s like you. You’re a sociopath.
You manipulated me so well. I’m ashamed to say that you knew me better than I knew myself. You were brilliant in your betrayal and schemes.
I lost friends. I lost myself. You isolated me. My need for my family vanished. All of it stripped away from me in a way that I’ll never get back.
I exploded with need, my need for you to love me. I agreed to be disrespected, degraded and manipulated because you said you loved me, but you never really loved me. You are were incapable of love. Your hair, eyes and dick proved to be such an aphrodisiac that at twenty-one I could see only you.
Then I blinked.
Then I had this other person to take care of and I felt I could only do that if I was home watching after him. He loathes me.
I’m horrified at the things I allowed you to do to me, make me see and accept.
The funny thing is I can’t regret it though, these thirteen years of pain that radiates from my pores. I can’t regret something that gave me Bash. The child I’d convinced myself I could never have because my body wouldn’t work.
I had to tear myself apart to let you go because you had embedded yourself in my bones. My bones were broken for years of my own doing. I have put myself back together, right under your nose. You never thought I could do that. Fuck you. Now I’m stronger than I could’ve ever dreamed. I will never make the same mistakes. I will run from men like you, those with empty eyes and souls as cold as a December windowpane. My breath will never cloud before me in the presence of you.
I’m granite now. You made me that too.
I am liquid metal, I can be melted and mold myself into anything. I learned from you. I’m free after being in a golden cage for too long, my limbs are like jelly but I will learn. I will learn to be without you woven into my life.
I hate you.
I love you.
I miss you.
I hate myself.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
After I allow myself to read through the eulogy for Sebastian that I wrote for myself, the one that I should’ve read, I walk downstairs where my mother is sitting reading a book, something from an author that will be made into a movie. She describes it as just as depressing as my real life. I hate her. Actually, I don’t really know what I feel for her right now. Maybe it’s gratitude for allowing Bash to stay with her for a few weeks. I’ve been so used to not relying on anyone but myself if feels weird for someone to do something for me. Maybe it’s love, but I don’t think so. I don’t even know her anymore. Is there automatic love? Will Bash always love me, no matter what?
Amused by all the media attention, she believes I should do at least one interview. I can’t. I’m so done with this life. I want to escape it and incinerate it. Burn it to the ground. All of a sudden we’re sitting on the back porch and the bottle of pinot noir sits between us on the table. I don’t even remember getting out here. I blink. My eyes feel funny. We quickly drain our glasses.
“I’m sorry,” my mom says still looking into the trees.
“For what? Sebastian?” I take another sip of my wine and finally snap out of my haze.
“I think I need a stronger drink? I’d like a martini, do you have that?” There is something fascinating about the woods behind our house, I follow her eyes and see nothing.
“I’ll go check.” I close the door so I don’t let any bugs in and feel better once I’m alone.
I get the shaker and Grey Goose then look in the fridge for olive juice, I know she likes dirty martinis, or at least she used to. After putting everything in the shaker full of ice, I shake until the entire thing is cold. The door shuts. Pouring the liquid into two martini glasses, I glance at my mom who is staring at me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like martinis, but I’m so used to drinking them I make myself one as well.
Quiet Lies Page 20
