Chapter 2

When I was very little, my father cheated on my mother. I had just turned thirteen and I was dealing with the pesky emergence of hormones, as well as the insecurity that occasionally accompanies them. Having my father move out right around the same time dealt me a devastating blow. My father was taken from me, and my mother might as well have been, too.

I remember wondering why Dad didn’t live with us anymore. No one would tell me. My grandparents whispered, abruptly closing their mouths and casting guilty glances my way whenever I walked into the room. And Mom ... Mom cried all the time. She would forget to feed us dinner. Sometimes she forgot about us entirely. During the six months they were separated, I had been left at school for hours as secretaries and teachers desperately tried to get in contact with her to pick me up. It was a lonely time.

Abigail was so young then. I would go to her and hold her, finding comfort in the warmth of her hugs. She needed me and that felt good. Even though I was too young to fully understand the situation, I intuitively knew it was just the two of us. We had each other and that would have to be enough. I would sing to her and promise her that things would get better. A beautiful prince would come to save me and he would ask me to marry him. I would take her with me and we would never be alone again. He would swoop us off to a faraway castle where adults were happy and men stayed.

Eventually Dad moved home. I went from wondering where he was to wondering why dinner was always so silent. He never smiled anymore. Mom stopped crying; now she was just eerily silent. Some nights I would visit her in bed and lie with her.

“It feels like my heart is dead,” she murmured to me one night. She wrapped her arms around me and held me close. “He doesn’t love me anymore.”

“He’s back, Mom. He loves you.”

She kissed my forehead. “That’s because of you,” she said. “He loves his children, I’ll give him that.”

“Why did he leave, Mom?”

She paused for a moment, deliberating if she should speak. She pushed my hair back from my face and gave me a weak smile. “I don’t know. I don’t know what went wrong.”

It wasn’t until I was an adult that my mother told me my father had an affair with a coworker. He had moved out voluntarily and probably wouldn’t have returned had my mother not thrown herself at his feet. She told him she was clinically depressed and admitted she couldn’t take care of us. It was his fault, she told him, and the remorse he must have had forced him to return.

My mother regretted her decision years later, but by that point Mom and Dad had lived together for so long that it didn’t occur to them to separate. They were partners, but nothing more.

When I told her I was engaged, she wept. “Marriage is hard. So very hard. It nearly destroyed me.”

“Mom, I think you’re being dramatic.”

She swept the hair away from my face, just like she always did, and stared at me. “Promise me that if Brendan ever cheats on you, you will walk away.”

“Mom, he would never—”

“Promise me.” She sighed and shook her head, staring beyond me at something that I couldn’t see. “If I could do it all again, I would have walked away. I thought I pleaded with Dad to come back because of you and Abigail, but it was really because of me. I was lost without him and I was weak. Never be weak, Laura.”

I remember thinking that Mom’s heart was in the right place but she was talking about her own relationship, not mine. Brendan would never cheat on me and I would never cheat on him. Not me, I swore to myself. Love would be enough to keep us together. We communicated, which my parents never did, and were dedicated to one another. We loved each other; people who love each other don’t cheat.

Everything was so black and white back then.

And I was so naive.

“Abigail,” I whispered.

“Laura? Is that you? What’s going on?”

I was ready to run. If he sent me this package, he knew where I lived. If he knew where I lived, he could be right outside my door. Something told me that if he stopped by, it wouldn’t be a nice chat by the fire.

“Laura?”

“Can you come over?” I peered out of my window. The night was completely black. 
 “Are you okay?”

“Please just come over.”

She was silent for a moment.Then she exhaled deeply. “Be there in ten.”

I waited near the front door, 911 already dialed on my phone. There was a brief moment when I wondered if I was exaggerating, but a larger part of me burned with trepidation.

Abigail showed up, using her key to get in the house. Her eyes scanned the dark living room before focusing on me. “What the hell is going on? Are you okay?”

“Abigail.” I began to cry.

My sister crossed the room and hugged me. We sank on the couch together. “You’re scaring me.”

“Please don’t judge me.”

“What?” She pulled back and looked at me. “I would never judge you.”

I wiped angrily at my tears. “You will. Just promise me you’ll try to understand.”

Then I told her everything. I told her it happened so fast that it didn’t seem real. I told her that I didn’t have a good reason for why I did it, which made it even worse. I told her about the stranger and about how exciting he seemed at first until he all too quickly became a nightmare.

Finally, I told her about the archaic tape recorder and the gritty recording he sent me.

I told her that I was scared—scared for my life, for Brendan’s life, for our marriage.

When I finished, Abigail closed her eyes for a minute. Then her eyes popped open and there was flat disappointment in them. “How could you?”

I looked away and blinked back more tears. “I don’t have an answer.”

“After everything we went through? After everything Mom went through?”

“I told you that I don’t have an answer.” I was developing a killer headache. “There is no good reason. I can’t even make an excuse. I’m so embarrassed.”

Abigail gave me a weak pat on the shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

“Should I call the police?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think there is anything they can do for you right now. You don’t even know his name and I’m not sure you can prove he sent it to you, anyway.”

I stared at my hands. “Should I tell Brendan?”

Abigail blew out a breath. “Are things better between you guys right now?”

“Much better.” I started crying again. “This will kill him.”

“Don’t tell him. Not yet.” She toyed with the ends of her hair as she thought. “Hopefully it was just a prank.”

“What do I do with this?” I asked. I shook the tape recorder in my hands. “Throw it out?”

“That’s a good question.” She took it from me and analyzed it with a sick expression. “I say get rid of it as soon as possible.”

Abigail stayed for a little while after. She loved me no matter what, and that was the only comfort I had.

“Make sure you lock up after I leave,” she said as she was leaving. “Call me if any other weird shit happens. Okay?”

I hugged her in response and then stood to throw out the tape recorder. I walked out with her as she left and threw it in the bin in the garage. It was over, I thought.

After she was gone, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Brendan was running late and I wasn’t in the mood to watch television. I decided to make dinner for us. I wasn’t sure I could eat, but it would give me something to do. My hand was frozen around my cell phone, ready to call the police in a heartbeat.

Brendan came home shortly after. He called my name as he entered. I felt safe for the first time since opening that horrid package. He found me in the kitchen, smiling as he saw me and the multiple eggshells on the counter.

“I was trying to make omelettes,” I said. I bit my lip and felt my cheeks reddening. “I may have burnt the first few attempts.”

“Why don’t I make them and you go relax?”

“But you just got home from work. I’m sure you’re tired.”

He leaned over and kissed me deeply. Normally I lost myself in his kisses, but this kiss made me feel the guilt acutely. It simmered in my chest, causing my heart to ache. Brendan’s thoughtfulness made it worse. All I could think about was the man I had slept with, along with the implied threat he had sent along with the tape of us having sex. I was no better than my father.

If I told Brendan, I wondered if I would destroy him like my dad had destroyed my mother. Even now, she smiled cautiously as if the brief amount of humor or happiness she felt could be snatched away. I couldn’t do that to him.

I kissed him back, pressing against him in fear that he would be ripped away from me.

He leaned back eventually. His eyes gleamed with lust. “Would you mind terribly if we fucked before I made us omelettes?”

There was a second where I wanted to confess. I wasn’t sure how long I had. A part of me knew that the stranger wasn’t done with me and eventually there would be hell to pay. Brendan still looked at me like he loved me, however, and I needed to hold onto that. There was a boyishness about his desire that I loved, an honest, direct and affectionate yearning.

I took his hand to my mouth and licked his fingertips. “Not at all.”

He took me to the bedroom and undressed me slowly. The shame I felt still clung to me, even as he teased my nipples and slipped a greedy finger deep inside my pussy. I watched him take off our clothes and was aware of a disconnect between us. He didn’t feel it, of course. He had no reason to think anything was wrong. He grunted as he penetrated me, not noticing my faraway eyes and distraction. He took what he needed, kissing me as he reached orgasm. He rolled over and fell asleep just as the tears slipped from my eyes.

The mall was filled with hundreds of annoyed shoppers. More than a dozen people had body-slammed me and a woman yelled at me for standing in her way. I was impatient to get home and far away from the holiday crowd.

“Laura, you’re not listening.”

I focused on my sister and offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Abigail pulled a dress off the rack and rolled her eyes. “I need a perfect dress for the dress rehearsal. I thought you’d be interested in helping. You obviously don’t want to be here.”

“Hey, of course I want to be here. Isn’t it my job to talk you out of a skanky dress?”

“Not funny.” She yanked a particularly low-cut dress off the hanger. “Does this fall under the skanky category?”

“Definitely. The first dress is still the best. I’m not even sure why you’re getting a dress this early. You’re not even getting married for another two months.” I caught her rolling her eyes again. “Come on, Abigail. Be nice to me.”

I had only just told her about the nightmares I had been having. It was the beginning of December—a month and a half after meeting the man in Atlantic City. I hadn’t received anything since the tape of us having sex, but something inside of me told me I hadn’t heard the last of him. To make matters worse, things were going exceptionally well between Brendan and me. He made an effort to come home as early as possible and spent free moments romancing me. In spite of the sweetness, I experienced the worst kind of remorse. It seemed to coat my skin and cloak my soul.

The guilt I felt was a fire and his kind words and actions stoked it. And I deserved it.

“Hello,” Abigail called, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “I just asked you if you wanted to get lunch.”

I rubbed my head. “Sure.”

“I’m just going to try this last dress on and I’ll be right back. Please don’t wander off like last time.”

I forced a smile. “Okay, okay. Just go!”

She took forever, of course, so I spent my time eyeing the clothes around me. I was looking at some panties when a low voice spoke to me.

“I like those.”

I spun around and nearly fainted when I saw it was him.

He leaned over and grabbed the panties. He spun them around and grinned at me. “I like them a lot. I think you should buy them.”

The bustling noise of the mall grew louder. I backed away from him, nearly tripping over a mannequin. “Get away from me.”

My head spun around frantically as I sought another human being to help me.

“Laura, baby. I’m just trying to help.”

“Get away from me!”

His eyes flicked towards the other shoppers. “Don’t be stupid. Lower your voice.”

“Who the fuck are you and why are you following me?”

He touched my arm and moved closer to me. I opened my mouth to scream but then I felt my shirt pull up on the left side. Something cold and sharp pressed against my skin.

“Feel that? It’s my favorite knife.”

I thought I was going to faint. “Why are you doing this to me?” My voice was barely audible but he heard me.

“You want this. You know you do.”

“Please don’t hurt me.” I was too terrified to scream. Abigail was nowhere in sight and none of the busy shoppers around us noticed me.

“Hurt you?” he asked. His tone suggested that it was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. “I would never.”

I swallowed and tried to gather some strength. “My sister will be back any minute.”

“Uh-huh.” He kissed my cheek. “None of that matters.”

“I don’t want you.” Fat, hot tears dropped down my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I love my husband. We are—”

I felt the knife press harder against my stomach. A small gasp escaped from me. I should have yelled, but fear paralyzed me.

“Do you remember how you lit up for me? How could you possibly love him?”

“Please stop. I made a mistake.”

He breathed heavily against my cheek. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Please get away from me.”

“You were waiting for me that night. All slutty and easy. All needy for someone to touch you and tell you that you’re pretty. Do you remember?” His hand slid up the side of my body and rested on top of my breast. I glanced around, desperate for someone to notice. “Because I haven’t forgotten.”

“Like I said,” I whispered, my voice shaking, “it was a mistake. I regret it deeply. I’m sorry.”

An older woman moved closer to us to examine a dress. Her eyes rested on me for a brief moment and then looked down. Then they did a double-take as she realized the inappropriate way he held me. My eyes pleaded with her to help. Her cheeks colored a little as she looked away. I opened my mouth to call to her but she hurried outside of the store.

“I’ll let you return back to your shopping,” he said close to my ear. “I want you to think long and hard about what you want. The next time I see you, you better be a lot nicer to me. Do you understand?” The knife pressed harder against my skin.

“Yes.”

He let me go so quickly that I stumbled. I couldn’t breathe; I was going to die. Abigail suddenly appeared in my line of vision and came running to hold me.

“Laura, what’s wrong?”

“It was him,” I wept. “He was here.”

The next couple of hours went by in a blur. There had been no witnesses, except for the older woman who’d rushed to get away from us. Cops shifted impatiently on their feet as they repeatedly asked me questions I didn’t have the answers to, Abigail tried to get a hold of Brendan on the phone and I could hardly think straight.

I heard one of the officers asking the owners of the store if they had security footage. They went to go view it and came back disappointed. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, and was mostly out of frame.

“It was also very poor quality, I’m sorry to say,” the officer was saying to me. “So, you really don’t know a single thing about him?”

I heard myself laughing. It was such a peculiar sound at such a peculiar time, but I couldn’t stop myself. None of it seemed real—the affair, the threats, the horrible situation I found myself in. Abigail lowered the phone from her ear and stared at me. The cops looked at each other, clearly uncomfortable. The crowd watching us from a distance hushed.

“My life is over,” I said between giggles. I was beyond humiliated. “Done. Over. Brendan is going to leave me and this creep is going to drive me crazy.”

One officer handed me my coat. “We can send someone home with you. They will sit outside your house for the night in case he comes back.”

“He’ll come back,” I laughed with bitterness. There was nothing anyone could do for me.

Abigail drove me home, the cop car close behind her. We said nothing to each other. She was deathly pale as she gripped the steering wheel. My body was tense, growing tighter and tighter as we got closer to home.

Brendan’s car was in the driveway and another round of nausea swept through my stomach.

“Does he know?” I managed to ask.

Abigail cleared her throat and parked the car. “I only said you were attacked in the messages I left.”

“Thank you. I would prefer to be the one to tell him.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” My sister looked at me and I never felt so small. Her approval meant more to me than anything ever since we were children. She looked up to me as we grew up, never forgetting that I had taken care of her when our parents didn’t.

Now she peered at me like I was the lowest scum she ever saw.

“I love you, Laura, but I’ll never understand you. Never. I’ve been trying to understand ever since you told me but I have to confess that I just don’t. You’ve jeopardized not only your marriage, but your safety and the safety of everyone around you.” She let out a short laugh and looked away. “A guy came at you with a knife today! In broad daylight, in public! And you don’t even know his fucking name!”

“I’m sorry. You don’t even know how sorry I am.” I opened the car door and looked back at her one more time. “I’ll make it right.”

As soon as I was at the front door, Abigail drove away. The house was dark when I entered. For a brief, horrifying moment, I wondered if the man was inside.

Then I saw Brendan sitting on the couch. He gazed at a glass of liquor sitting in front of him on the coffee table. He didn’t look up as I walked over to him. I sat next to him gently, knowing something was wrong. Had one of the policemen told him?

Finally he moved, his blue eyes meeting mine. “Is it true?”

I had a choice: delay the inevitable and ask him what “it” was or come clean.

“Yes.”

He nodded once and picked up the glass, downing his glass.

“Brendan. Please, please listen to me. I never wanted to—”

“He sent me a letter. It’s on the kitchen table if you want to read it.”

“He attacked me.”

He glanced at me sharply. “When?”

“Today. At the mall. He had a knife. I’m in a lot of trouble, Brendan, and I’m so sorry.” My body shook.
 He leaned over and grabbed the bottle of scotch and poured himself another generous glass. “I’m trying to care, Laura, but I really don’t have it in me right now. Go read the letter.”

He ignored me as he drank from the glass. I waited for him to say something else—anything else—but I knew that he wanted me away from him.

On shaky legs, I approached the kitchen. The letter was laid out perfectly on the kitchen table.

I read the scratchy writing and tried to swallow against the fear.

“Dear Brendan,

I’ve heard a lot about you. I heard about how unhappy your wife is with you. I heard about how you haven’t fucked in months, how boring you are, how much she was tired of you.

The night we fucked, she kept telling me she was married but she wanted it. She needed it. You have no idea how she begged for me. She was so sweet. She came apart for me. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone on for so long without touching her.

If you only knew what it was like...

Then again, you can always ask Laura to play you the tape I made of us fucking in the hotel. So fucking hot. I came so hard. Do you cum hard when she fucks you?

I mean, fucked you. She doesn’t fuck you anymore.

Listen to the tape. Maybe it’ll get you off. Ask her to play it for you. You won’t be disappointed.

-Zach”

I pressed my hand against my stomach, trying to stop the flow of nausea running through my body. So he’d told Brendan everything, and with a tremendously cruel slant. I should have confessed when I came home from the trip but I’d been a coward in so many ways.

“Is there really a tape?”

I jumped and let out a little scream. An intoxicated Brendan swayed behind me, ripping the letter off the table.

“Yes. I-I didn’t know he was r-recording.”

He drank more scotch. “And now he’s stalking you.”

“Yes. I was sick immediately after it was done. I told him I didn’t want to see him again. I didn’t tell you because ... Well, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“But you weren’t sick when he was fucking you.”

A queasy weight sank against my chest. “Brendan.”

“Did you cum?”

“Brendan,” I said more forcefully. “Please don’t.”

“Did you?”

“Please!”

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Did you?”

“Yes! Is that what you want to hear? Yes.” I burst into tears.

He moved away from me and drank more.

“Brendan.” I took a deep breath. “Please. Please listen to me. I can’t begin to tell you how I sorry I am. It was a mistake and I don’t even know why I did it. I know that sounds terrible and dumb but I don’t know how else to explain it. Please. You need to forgive me.”

“I know things weren’t great between us. I knew we weren’t having sex. We even talked about it. Do you remember?”

I sniffled and leaned against the wall. “I do.”

“Just wait for me until I’m done with school. That’s all I asked. Just wait. Be patient.” He snickered. “What a fucking fool I was.”

“Please, Brendan, please—”

He spun around and threw his glass against the wall. Thousands of shards of glass rained down onto the floor. “Stop saying please! Just stop. There is nothing you can say or do to make this better.”

Brendan looked up at me a few minutes later. His eyes were red and his face was unforgiving. “Why? Why, Laura?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have an answer. Not a good one.”

He sniffed and shook his head. “Well, now you have a stalker and it seems I have one, too. So I think it’s in our best interest to call the police.”

“They already know. They said there’s nothing they can do until he does something else.” I couldn’t breathe. The uneven sobs erupting from my chest and the misery I found myself in made it difficult to take in breaths.

He grabbed another glass from the cupboard and cast me one last disgusted look. “I hope the fuck was worth it, Laura. It seems like we’ll both be paying for it for a long time.”

He went into the living room and I followed. He drank even more scotch and was officially wasted.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I said softly.

He snorted. “No, thanks. I’d rather be skinned alive by your loser lover than lie in a bed with you.”

I blushed and tried to stop crying. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You’ll sleep at your mom’s.” Brendan reached for my keys and threw them at me. “You’ll sleep there and you won’t come back here. If I’m going to be murdered in my sleep by the fucking freak you’ve invited into our marriage, I want to die without you anywhere near me.”

“I’m begging you,” I forced out.

He shook his head and glared at me. “Yeah, I heard you’re fond of begging. I don’t care. I want you out of my house.”

“Brendan—”

“You did this. You.” He rubbed at his eyes angrily. Brendan never cried. Never. His blue eyes pierced my own. “I loved you, Laura. So much. I’ve loved you for years. I would have loved you forever.”

I wrapped my arms around myself so that I wouldn’t throw myself at his feet. “I am so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Too late. Just too late.” He nodded at my keys on the floor. “Just go.”

I waited for a minute. This couldn’t be happening. In a minute, Brendan would scream and curse me out, but he would tell me he would try to forgive me. He would understand that it had been a stupid, destructive decision made by me in a weak moment. He wouldn’t look at me like he used to, and he wouldn’t tell me that he loved me, but he would try to work through it. He could call me all the names he wanted and throw things around. He could even hit me. I would prefer that to the cold fury and hatred in his eyes.

But he didn’t move and he didn’t speak. He just watched me with contempt, impatiently waiting for me to get the fuck out.

Completely ashamed, I knelt down and reached for the keys. Before I walked through the door, I said, “I love you, Brendan, and I’m going to fight for you.”

Brendan was silent. I knew I wouldn’t be able to reach him, at least not tonight. I walked out into the freezing night with a bleeding heart and a broken soul.

Erin stood outside her apartment building waiting for me. She was huddled up in a winter coat and puffing on a cigarette. She looked me up and down when I finally stood in front of her.

“You look like shit.” She threw her cigarette down and crunched it with her boot. “Seriously. Mascara all over the place, face all pale. What’s going on?”

That was why Erin was my friend: she wasn’t afraid to be totally honest.

“I’ll tell you inside.”

We went into her apartment and I told her everything. I purged my soul, telling her everything I did and every emotion I felt.

When it was done, I leaned back against her couch and waited for her to tell me what a despicable person I was.

Instead, she stood and poured us two glasses of wine. Only when I accepted my glass and took a sip did she speak.

“Well, you did a stupid thing, huh?”

“Yes.”

Erin swirled her wine glass around and hummed contemplatively. “Do you think he’ll come back? Zach?”

I sighed. “I honestly don’t know. Probably.”

“Hmm. So obviously everything wasn’t perfect in your marriage. I was beginning to wonder.”

“No. I don’t know why I did it. I wish I did.” I massaged my head with my hands. “I understand if you don’t want me to stay here. Not only is it dangerous, but I’m a disgusting human being.”

“I have to be honest. I never would have imagined you would get yourself into this kind of situation.” She bumped her shoulder against mine. “You can stay here however long you need to until you get your shit sorted out. I’m not afraid of Zach, either. I have a gun.”

I sat up with surprise. “But you have to think I’m pretty gross, right?”

“Look, it’s not my job to judge you. You’re my friend. Do I disapprove with what you did? Yeah. Do I think you’re a giant asshole to have done that to someone like Brendan? Yeah. But you’re still my friend. We’ll get through it.”

“I don’t deserve a friend like you.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “No one does, dear. And it’s not about what you deserve.”

“I’m terrified,” I whispered. “Brendan will never forgive me. Zach will probably murder me, and I’m not even kidding. I have no idea what he wants from me.”

“He is disturbed, no doubt. You need to be careful.” Erin shook her head and took a sip from her glass. “You learned nothing from Michael Douglas, huh? Didn’t you ever see Fatal Attraction?”

“I can’t laugh about this yet.”

“I’m not trying to make you laugh,” she replied. “I’m being entirely serious. The boiling bunny didn’t do it for you?”

I ignored her, but part of me did have to wonder why I had let myself do the one thing I swore I’d never do in my marriage. Zach—it was so weird calling him by name—was handsome, but nothing out of the ordinary. He wasn’t especially brilliant or talented at something. We hadn’t talked for very long before I made up my mind about what I was going to do.

What did that say about me?

“Good night,” I murmured.

I didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the questions I asked myself which I couldn’t answer and the frightening thought that he was out there somewhere ... ready to make me pay.

A week passed. Then a month. I had arranged to go back home a handful of times to get clothes and other necessities, but Brendan was never there. I told myself it was better that he wasn’t around, that I didn’t know what to say and that space was best.

We missed Christmas together. And New Year’s. He left a drunk voicemail on my phone about how he hated me and never wanted to see me again. I was getting what I deserved, he said.

I couldn’t argue with that.

One snowy afternoon I confessed to my mom. I had to explain why Brendan wasn’t around, but it killed me to do it. She watched me with wide, disbelieving eyes as I told her about Zach and the mess of my marriage.

When I was finished, she looked like I had told her I had murdered someone. She might have preferred that.

“Laura.” She lifted her hands to her face and shook her head. “I am shocked. Of all the things I thought you were going to tell me, that was not even a possibility.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sure you must be so disappointed.”

“Disappointed doesn’t even begin to explain it. I’m devastated.” She stood and began to pace. “And you said the man is very dangerous?”