Let Me Know

by Stina Lindenblatt

  Dave enters the office as the video progresses from me kissing the girl to me tearing her clothes off and her doing the same to me. Neither of us looks concerned at our nakedness. Whereas Amber’s still shy with my seeing her naked and vulnerable, which is a complete turn-on, there’s nothing vulnerable about the woman in the video. Her confidence, even in her drunken state, is obvious.

  “Oh, my,” Dave says, which would have been funny if it weren’t for what is happening on the video. My eyes widen as the girl bends over the bed, leaving her ass in the air, and I whip her exposed backside. I didn’t do that. I’m positive. That’s just not me.

  But according to the blurry picture of a guy who could be me, that’s exactly what I did.

  I bury my face in my hands. The girl’s moans of ecstasy reach inside my chest and clench down hard on my heart, killing all hopes of a future with Amber.

  A clicking sound comes from the computer mouse and the moaning ends. I look up to find the video has been closed. But even though I no longer have to look at it, no longer have to see what I did that night, the image is burned in my brain.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Dave says. “But from the looks of it, you weren’t expecting any of that.” He pulls up a chair and sits. “You want to talk about it?”

  Shame at what I did screams at me, and I bury my face once again in my hands. I can’t bear to look at the disapproving expression that is no doubt on Dave’s face. It’s too much to take in as part of my already screwed-up life.

  “I vaguely remember the girl and I vaguely remember us making the video. I was drunk at the time and stupid. But I swear I don’t remember whipping her.” And God knows what else happened after that.

  “When did you make the video? Do you remember?”

  “Last summer.” I remove my hands from my face, but I still can’t look at Dave. I stare at the wallpaper of a dramatic lightning storm on the computer screen. “After Ryan died, I was upset and reckless and got drunk. I met her in a bar and went to her apartment. I don’t get why I don’t remember doing that stuff. It’s not my scene. You’d think I’d remember doing that, wouldn’t you?”

  “What else do you remember about that night?”

  I shrug. “Not too much. It’s not like she was the first girl I’d had sex with. As far as I remember, sex with her wasn’t any different from any other girl I’ve been with. Certainly nothing like in the video.”

  “Has Amber seen it?”

  I let my head hang, elbows on knees, and nod. “She called me and told me to watch it.” My heart clenches even tighter at what she had to watch, at what this could mean to Paul’s trial. Except none of it is real. Not the whipping at least.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I say, “but I swear it wasn’t me doing that stuff.” I look back at the computer screen. “I need to watch it. I need to know what I supposedly did after that.” Even if I can’t bear to watch it.

  Dave pats my leg and stands. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.” I reach for the mouse and reload the website as he leaves. I close my eyes. The door clicks shut and I sit unmoving, waiting for the courage to hit Play.

  The video is forty minutes. Forty minutes of me doing things to the girl that I’ve never done before, and would never do. I can be adventurous under the covers like any other male, and there are tons of positions Amber and I haven’t tried yet that I have with other girls. But I would never hurt a girl just to get off. Even if she was willing.

  The guy does look a lot like me, but the more I watch, the more I’m positive it’s not a repeat of last November with Tammara, when she slipped me a roofie and I didn’t remember her taking photos of her kissing me. This guy isn’t drunk. He’s not stumbling around like I would be for me not to remember any of this.

  The girl’s either been videotaping herself having sex with plenty of guys, including one who resembles me when the picture is blurry. Or she hired someone who looks similar to me and staged this video. The setting is the same, or at least the furniture is the same. She took the two footages and spliced them together to make one convincing video.

  Now I have to convince Amber of this—as well as the D.A.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Marcus

  I return to my apartment two hours later. I haven’t talked to Amber since she called me about the video. I drove to the lake, to where Ryan and I used to escape when we needed a break from life and the hell known as Frank. It was too cold to sit on the beach, so I stayed in my car, staring at nothing, wondering what to do about this new piece of evidence that could be used against Amber. Struggling to remember the girl’s name, and anything else that could help the cops.

  After I sat for over an hour, freezing because I was low on gas and didn’t want to keep the engine running, I drove to the police station and explained everything. I’m not sure they believed me. I got the sense they thought I was just trying to save ass with my girlfriend.

  But it’s not my ass I’m trying to save. It’s Amber I’m worried about. The media will eat up this new piece of information. I’ve given them the best news story so far. I’ve given the defense a reason to celebrate. I don’t know much about the law, but I do know all the jury has to do is find the psychopath not guilty on all the charges, or find him guilty but sentence him to only a few years in jail—and then he’ll be free to stalk her again. He’ll be free to stalk and kill me, if he so chooses, like he killed Trent. And if there’s the slightest risk of that happening, I know Amber. She’ll disappear from my life to protect me. She’s already done that once before, when she thought the letters Tammara sent her were from the psychopath, and the threats to kill me were real. Except this time she will disappear so the psychopath can’t find her. This time she’ll disappear so I won’t be able to find her. Ever.

  I park my car. Chase isn’t home yet. I haven’t told him about the video, but as soon as Amber tells Jordan, my best friend will find out what happened. He’ll know how I screwed up big time, like he’s always suspected would happen one day.

  Each step toward the building feels like the world is shaking under my feet, eager to knock me down and keep me there. I need a beer. I need several beers, but that won’t solve fuck all. Being numb won’t solve fuck all. If I knew someone from the computer science department, I’d ask them to analyze the video. At least then I’d know something is being done about it. But who am I kidding? Amber’s mom won’t ignore it. She’ll be on top of it to prove it’s not authentic as soon as she learns I’m not the only guy in the video. I need to call Amber and tell her the truth about that night, or at least the truth as best as I remember it.

  Shit, Amber’s barely holding on as it is, and now my past is coming back to destroy her. The video is one more reminder of how she deserves someone better than me.

  I enter the building, and the shaking under my feet becomes a full out earthquake, easily measuring seven on the Richter scale. Amber’s mom is standing in the lobby, and based on her scowl, she doesn’t have good news. She’s dressed in a business suit under her designer winter coat. Slung over one shoulder is a briefcase-style leather bag. Her chin-length blond hair is slightly damp from the falling snow.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says, her tone as warm as a winter blizzard.

  The coldness of her words reaches inside me and turns my blood to ice. Inwardly, I shudder. “If it’s about the video, it’s not what it looks like. I’ve already told the cops that.”

  “I would rather not discuss this here.” She nods at the locked entrance door, indicating she would prefer to discuss it in private. I’d prefer that, too.

  We ride the elevator to my floor in silence. I can’t be bothered with small talk, and she’s not in the mood for it, either. The tension is so heavy, I’m surprised we haven’t surpassed the elevator’s weight restriction and crashed into the basement.

  After what feels like several hours, the door bangs open and I lead Amber’s mom to my apartment. I open the door,
and her disgust coats me like mud when she sees where I live. Chase and I aren’t slobs, but our place is a far cry from what she’s used to. Our furniture is worn, scratched and mismatched.

  Smoky looks up from his carpeted tree, meows, and goes back to sleep. His tree is the nicest piece of furniture that we own, which is sad when you think about it. Until now, I didn’t care. What we had was functional, even if it isn’t always comfortable. But for Amber’s mom, this is a reminder of where I came from, how I was brought up in the projects, and how she wishes I would crawl back there and leave her daughter alone.

  I don’t invite her to sit. I suspect she wouldn’t want to even if I offered.

  “I want to you stay away from my daughter, Marcus.”

  “The video is a fake.” My tone lacks all hint of life, my insides slowly fracturing at what she’s suggesting. “Parts of it are me, but the S-and-M parts aren’t. I told the cops what happened. They’re looking into it.”

  “That might be so, but the damage has already been done. The fact you even made the video suggests your obvious lack of judgment. A lack of judgment that I cannot risk, will not risk, destroying Amber. She’s already been through enough. She doesn’t need you adding to her stress, too.”

  “But I love Amber.” I struggle to keep my tone calm, to keep it from revealing what this conversation is doing to me. Though she is partly right. It was due to faulty judgment on my part. I shouldn’t have agreed to the video for any reason, and if I could take it all back, I would. “I’d never do anything to hurt her. I would do anything for her. But you have to realize I never intended for the video to be released. My brother had just been murdered and I was angry and upset. I got drunk and made a mistake.”

  She flinches at the part about my brother being murdered, but the movement is small, barely noticeable. “Your reasons for making the video are not relevant. You did, and now it’s hurting Amber.” What she doesn’t say, but we both know is true, is the video is hurting Amber beyond the court case. She was forced to witness me having sex with another woman, even if the video was made before I met Amber. She knew about my man-whore reputation before she started dating me, but watching me in action is probably a million times worse, especially since most of it was a lie and she doesn’t even know it.

  “I have connections at the university,” Amber’s mom says. “Connections who won’t be happy at what your video could mean to the school’s reputation. For you, this could mean termination of your scholarship.”

  If she were a vampire, she couldn’t have drained blood from my body as fast as she did with those simple words. I remain silent. There’s no point saying anything; she hasn’t finished with where she’s going with this.

  She unzips her bag and removes some papers. “If you continue to see Amber, I will ensure that you are removed from the school. But if you cease your relationship with my daughter, I’ll smooth things over with the school, and your scholarship will remain intact. Do I make myself clear?”

  Perfectly. I’m being forced to choose between the girl I love and the promise I made my brother. The promise I made to pursue a future he was deprived of because of our circumstances. He gave up everything when he moved away from home, taking me with him to keep me safe. But how can I give up Amber? She means everything to me, too. She’s my reason for living, my reason to keep fighting against what Frank did to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Amber

  I walk through the Marketplace, coffee in hand, toward our usual table for lunch. Jordan is sitting there alone, reading a textbook. Chase usually sits with us, but he and Marcus have a project they need to work on. At least that’s what Jordan told me. I haven’t heard from Marcus since I called him about the video two days ago. He hasn’t responded to my messages or texts, and I have no idea why. I even told him in one message that I don’t blame him for what happened. He was upset by his brother’s death—I get that. What I don’t get is how the guy who is tender with me in bed could be so different from the one on the video. That guy is nothing like the Marcus I know and love. And Marcus has never given me any hints he’s into that stuff—just the opposite. Which is why I wish he would talk to me and tell me what’s going on. I wish anyone would tell me what’s going on.

  Someone grabs my arm. Buzz Cut. The asshole who grabbed my arm a few weeks ago, when the media first mentioned the phony letters to Paul. He smiles at me, but there’s nothing friendly about the gesture. In his other hand is a local newspaper. I can’t read the entire heading, his thumb is covering it, but I can see enough to know the article is talking about me, the video and Paul.

  I snatch my arm away from his hand and scan the area. People are watching us with the same level of interest that’s been directed at me ever since the first news story broke about the letters to Paul. No one seems interested in helping me. Why put an end to the free lunchtime entertainment if you don’t have to?

  Buzz Cut steps closer, leaving mere inches between our bodies. Instinctively I move back. “Rumor has it you and your boyfriend broke up,” he says. “I take it he wasn’t man enough for you. Only a certain type of man can handle a woman like you.” Before I can move away, he runs his fingers down my arm. “Only I can handle a woman like you.” His words are slow, no doubt intended to sound seductive. He misses the mark by several light-years.

  I remove the plastic lid from my coffee. “Handle this.” I hurl the hot contents at his hoodie-clad body.

  Laughter thunders around us, matching the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.

  Buzz Cut’s face reddens and he pulls the soaking fabric from his body. “Why the hell did you do that for, fuckin’ bitch?”

  “Thought you like it rough,” I spit at him, and instantly regret it. The last thing I need to do is encourage his misguided beliefs.

  I don’t give him a chance to say anything else; I storm past him. He doesn’t come after me, and I don’t look back to see if he’s where I left him. The laughter dies away, and a murmur of excitement fills the food court as I sit across from Jordan at our table.

  Jordan closes her book. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I shake my head, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not all right or because I haven’t seen a ghost. “Apparently there’s a rumor going around that Marcus and I broke up.” I try to swallow back the growing ache in my chest, but it leaks into my words. Is that why he hasn’t called or texted? He finally decided he’d had enough of me.

  Bit by bit, my wall goes back up as my insides shrivel at what this means. Marcus must have started “dating” again, and that’s how Buzz Cut knew.

  Her eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

  “Marcus hasn’t called me since he told me about the video. And now guys believe I get off on being tortured during sex, because the cops haven’t issued a statement saying the letters are forged—” because they haven’t been able to prove it “—and because Marcus’s sex video went viral. This morning Brittany found a letter shoved under our door. It was a very graphic drawing of what a guy wants to do to me.” I close my eyes at the memory, but the pornographic image is embedded in my brain.

  I shudder and reopen my eyes. “I don’t even know who sent it.”

  “Did you tell Becca?”

  I nod. Fortunately the R.A. hadn’t left for her class yet. And it wasn’t the first letter I’ve given her since Marcus’s video went viral. Plus I told her about some of the sexual comments and innuendos the guys on our floor have been saying to me. At her encouragement, I filed formal complaints for each letter and comment. “She didn’t know who it was either, but she’s going to talk to the appropriate individuals so further action can be taken.” Beyond her having words with some of the offenders.

  I tell Jordan what happened with Buzz Cut.

  She pinches her lips together, and I wish more than anything I had kept quiet about what happened. Right now, I need her to be the Jordan who’s always grinning. “So what are you g
oing to do? Keep coming here for lunch and let those assholes harass you?”

  I raise an eyebrow at her swearing, something I’ve never heard her do before. “Until it all blows over, I’m going to hang out in the library where no one can bother me.”

  “You mean hide out.”

  I shrug. With everything going on, it’s not like I’ve been hungry. Now I don’t have to pretend that I am.

  Jordan sighs and toys with the bread on her sandwich while I play with the heart and lotus charms on the bracelet Marcus gave me for Christmas. A reminder of him I’m not sure I’m ready to give up yet.

  “I wish more reporters were like Oprah,” Jordan says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She did things to help her ratings. There’s no doubt about that. But she did things on her show that would make a positive difference. She cared about her ratings, but she also cared about people. She gave people a voice to be heard. Really heard.”

  And I bet Oprah doesn’t get nervous talking in front of a million viewers. I bet if she faced in court a guy who had brutalized her, she wouldn’t fall apart. She’d be strong.

  She’d be the person I want to be. Need to be. I’m just not sure if I can.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Marcus

  I step out of the elevator with Chase right behind me. Jordan is standing across from us, scanning the main floor of the engineering building.

  Figuring she’s here to see my best friend, I turn to Chase. “I’ll see you later.” I’m about to walk away when he grabs my shoulder.

  “She’s here to see you.”

  There’s only one reason Jordan would want to talk to me. Amber. I stride over to her, not caring if I’m bulldozing into anyone. “Is she okay?”