“That’s not true,” I said, grabbing his arm. “I love you.”
“There’s no love without trust.”
“I do trust you, I swear.”
He gave me a long, considering look and then he said, “Prove it.”
It felt weird, but I said okay. I let him put the blindfold on me as I stood there naked and shivering, suddenly afraid to say anything that would make him think I doubted him. His hand on my throat was both warm and startling. He squeezed, tighter and tighter, until I couldn’t talk even if I’d wanted to, and I did want to, I wanted to scream at him to let go. It came out as a gargle, the cry of a wounded bird, and I heard his voice deep in my ear. “Do you trust me?”
When I hesitated, his hand started to release me, it was like I could feel his disappointment, and I nodded, whispering a strangled “Yes.” His hand tightened again and I struggled not to pull away even as he increased the pressure. How long did he keep me like that? I don’t know. All I know is that when he finally let go, I fell forward, coughing and gagging. “You’re wonderful,” he said, undoing my blindfold, and when I started to cry, he thought my tears were from happiness that I’d pleased him. “These are like my collar,” he said, touching the livid red marks that were already turning purple. “You belong to me.”
I was angry, but at myself as well as Ray. I’d allowed this stupid game to happen and now I had bruises that I couldn’t explain away. Luckily, the temperatures dipped that week, so I could hide the marks on my throat with turtlenecks and scarves. I told Viktor I had a cold and slept in the spare bedroom for a week and I didn’t see Ray for a few days. He texted me repeatedly, telling me how much he missed me. I thought it was sweet. I didn’t see it as controlling. As the bruises faded, so did my anger. It was just a one-off, I told myself. Ray hadn’t meant to go that far.
So I went back to him. And he went further. The play got harder and more complicated. For a while it would be fun, but then he’d start talking about testing my pain threshold and how I was holding out on him. The bruises got bigger and lasted longer. I’d thought he didn’t believe in rules and contracts and what he called the symbols of false relationships. That’s what he’d said. It turned out that Ray just believed in his own rules.
He would text me throughout the day and night and he wanted me to text him back promptly. “I need to know that you’re okay,” he said. “I can’t focus on my work if I’m worrying about you.” I tried to explain that I couldn’t do that, not if Viktor was around, but Ray got annoyed whenever I mentioned my husband. “Do you know how lucky you are?” he said as he watched me getting dressed one afternoon. “What other man would tolerate you going home to another guy?”
When I talked about ending our relationship, Ray slapped me across the face. I was so shocked that I didn’t react, just stood there in his apartment, my hand to my cheek. Then he started to cry, big, sloppy tears rolling down his face, sniffling as he told me that he loved me so much that he couldn’t live without me. That’s when I knew it was over.
The irony was that my friends were begging me to leave Viktor. Believe me, I considered it. Leave Viktor and Ray. Except how would I support myself? Go back to modeling? At my age that meant catalog work if I was lucky. I had few other skills. In my case, what you see really is what you get. I didn’t want to have to go crawling back to West Virginia with nothing to show for my time away but some nice clothes and a little bit of bling. If I left Viktor I’d come away virtually penniless; the prenup had seen to that. The trouble with being fortunate enough to live at a certain level of comfort is that it becomes so much harder to live without it.
Besides, Ray made it clear that he wasn’t going to let me go. When I stopped replying to his texts, he came to my house, banging on the door until I finally let him in, terrified that some neighbor would hear and call the police. “Look, it’s over,” I said, trying to be friendly but firm. “It was fun, but we’re done.”
“We’re done when I say we’re done,” he said in what he must have thought was a masterful voice, looking like an overgrown teenager in his black leather jacket and dirty jeans.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it, he looked and sounded so pathetic, this wannabe dungeon master with his silly games and threats. The attraction I’d felt was completely gone.
He must have seen it in my face because he made a sound like a wounded animal, a loud bellow, as he reached into the dishwasher I’d been in the process of emptying and started hurling dishes. Then I really was scared, but I couldn’t call the police. I couldn’t do anything but wait until he’d gotten it out of his system. When he’d trashed the kitchen, his rage spent, he started sobbing again, repeating that he loved me and couldn’t live without me.
When my friends saw the kitchen of course they assumed it was Viktor who’d done it. I was terrified that they’d end up confronting him and the lies I’d told would come out and Viktor would divorce me. He’d threatened to once, soon after the night at the Chens’. “If I find out you’re cheating on me, I’ll serve you papers,” he said as I reheated dinner for him one evening after he’d come home late, as always, from work. He said the words so calmly, not bothering to make eye contact as he picked at the lasagna on his plate, sniffing as if he could tell that it was Stouffer’s even though I’d hidden the box in the trash.
A few weeks later, his words came back to me when I found out I was pregnant and I knew it couldn’t be Viktor’s. I didn’t want to believe it at first, even though my cycle had always been like clockwork. I waited to buy the test and then waited to take it, and then I couldn’t bear to look, circling the bathroom as the timer went off, hands clenched into fists as I chanted “Please no, please no, please no” like a mantra. When I finally dared to look I didn’t believe the results. I bought a second test. And a third. Only when I saw those two matching lines for the third time did I finally accept the truth.
I was trapped, well and truly trapped. The smart thing to do would have been to have an abortion, but I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was just the hormones, but I realized that this was the first thing I’d have in my life that belonged solely to me. I wanted it. I wanted her. I knew it was a girl, even though they said it was too early to tell. I just knew. I’d started thinking of the two of us together. Little Emma or Charlotte or Ava.
But how could I keep this baby without losing the way to support her? If Viktor found out, it was over. Going back to West Virginia was bad enough, but going back with a baby in tow? I couldn’t let that happen. And when I realized that, I also realized that my friends’ fundamental misunderstanding, their insistence that Viktor was abusing me, might provide the perfect way out.
And it could have worked. It almost worked. But now none of it matters. The only thing that mattered was my little girl and now she’s gone. A miscarriage. Such a strange word. How do you mis-carry something? As if my baby were a football that I fumbled. It’s not an emotional word, it doesn’t mention what I’ve lost, but it’s a judgment against me nonetheless. As if it could all have been prevented if I’d just carried my baby correctly. If I’d just been able to stop the bleeding.
chapter forty
JULIE