Just One Night, Part 2_ Exposed(6)

It’s not true but it won’t matter. My master’s degree from Harvard Business School, all of my hard work and professional accomplishments, it’ll all be cast off into the riptide of public opinion. My entire career will be pulled out to sea and lost forever.

And my parents will blame themselves, and they will erase me from their lives the same way they erased Melody.

Others have faced ostracization—for example, women in difficult nations who have stood their ground, walked away from husbands even though such action was considered the ultimate act of shame; men who have stood up and proudly admitted to being gay even though they knew it would get them exiled by their community, their church, their family. There are political activists who have spoken out when every one around them insisted they tow the party line.

These are the heroic men and women of our time. But they have the moral advantage; I don’t.

I am a capable, tenacious woman; a survivor through and through. But I have never been brave.

The realization cuts at my gut. If I can’t produce courage, then what? Will my cowardice bind me to Dave forever? Will I have to let him touch me?

Once upon a time I thought Dave was a decent lover. He’s gentle, caring . . . he always looks into my eyes as he climbs on top of me. Always kisses me as he pets my thighs, a polite request for entry.

Robert never really requested anything. He always made sure I knew that all I had to do was say no to get him to back off, but aside from that he just went for it. I like the way he pinned me down. I liked the way he held me still with a look before claiming me, pressing himself inside of me . . .

. . . loving me.

Is Robert falling in love with me the way I’m falling in love with him?

I stop in the middle of an empty street. Sweat trickles down my spine. I’ve run a few miles but I’m not even close to feeling sore or tired. My body barely registers the effort. I am strong. I am a coward.

But I’m also smart. It’s my intelligence that has opened doors for me in the past.

Maybe I can use it to open my cage.

I squint at the rising sun, note how it makes my engagement ring glow, reminding me of fire and blood. It’s a beautiful reminder of the hell I’m in. Reluctantly I turn my back on the light and return to my prison, a new less frantic determination in my gate.

When I get there, Dave’s awake and eyes me suspiciously as I burst through the door.

“Where were you?”

I hold out the fabric of my soaked apparel for his inspection. “Obviously I was running.”

My impertinence brings a crease to his forehead. Apparently he doesn’t think I’ve earned the right to show him anything but deference.

“You know how lucky you are?” he asks.

This gives me pause. “Lucky?”

“I’m giving you a second chance. It’s more than you deserve.”

It’s a stupid, clichéd threat, but he’s betting that I’ll be too scared to call him out on his ineloquence or even remark that I don’t want this “chance.” I only want his silence.

I push past him without a word, but when I’m halfway up the stairs I stop and turn. “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“You found me at the marina.”

“I did.”

I walk back down the stairs. I keep my eyes lowered hoping that humility will be enough to elicit the answers I need. “You need to know that nothing happened on that boat. I stopped it even before you called me. I went to the marina to end it.”

He still doesn’t believe me. My truths have the same intonation as my deceptions so he rejects it all.

“Nothing happened on that boat,” I say again.

“And before that?”

I lower my head farther, letting my hair fall in my face. “I’ve made mistakes . . . but no more, Dave. I’m not going to let my impulses rule me.”

He laughs. There’s no warmth in it. “You don’t think I’m buying this, do you?” He turns his back on me, which is better.

“No. I know it’ll be a while before you’ll believe anything I say,” I admit, and I mean it. The concoction of guilt, fond memories, and unspeakable anger make my feelings for Dave complicated. I take a deep breath, take a step forward, stand behind him, close enough for it to feel a bit intimate. “But no more lies, all right? I promise. From now on we’ll both be honest with one another.”

He whirls around, once more the predator. “There is only one pretender in this room. Only one of us acted the slut.”

The jagged edges of my rage puncture my heart as I cozy up to him. “I know how angry you are . . . I know I have . . . things to make up for. And I know we need to talk about what happened. Can you tell me how you found me yesterday? You came to the marina, we took my car back here . . . and yet your car is in the garage.”