Begging for It by Lilah Pace
“We’ve had this conversation before. Every time, you nearly convince me. But every time, we go one more step over that line, heading somewhere neither of us wants to go. ” Jonah breathes out heavily. “I loved last night. I fucking loved it. I got off as hard and as good as I ever have. And this time, I wasn’t just pretending to be a rapist. I was pretending to be your rapist. Where does this end?”
“I don’t know,” I confess. “Last night troubles me too. But it was good for us both, so let’s not judge each other for that. ”
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“Vivienne, I’d never judge you for how you’ve dealt with what happened to you. I judge myself. ”
How can I respond? But he isn’t looking for an answer. Jonah’s thumb brushes across my wrist, a gentle caress that I should find more reassuring than I do. We remain silent until my ears tighten, and the sound of the engine changes.
We’ve already begun our descent.
• • •
That night, we sleep in our separate apartments. Before we have sex again, we need to have a whole new set of negotiations, and neither of us is strong enough to deal with them yet. I go to bed early. After I climb between the sheets, I text Jonah good night, but I don’t wait for his answer before putting the phone on silent and turning out the lamp.
When I hear the buzzing from my nightstand, my first groggy thought is that Jonah wanted to tell me good night himself—which is sweet enough to make me smile. Then I see that nearly an hour has passed; I drifted off without realizing it. And while there are a couple of texts from Jonah, it’s Carmen calling. With a frown, I slide the bar across to answer. “Hello?”
“Vivienne?” She sounds strange. Tense. “Are you still in New Orleans with Jonah?”
“No, we came back today. My family . . . they were getting on my nerves, that’s all. What’s wrong?”
“Did you see the ten o’clock news?”
“Uh, no—”
“They were talking about the Stalker. ”
The Austin Stalker—I’d almost managed to forget about him. After two months of inactivity, the guy seemed likely to have blown town. “Oh, no. He’s back?”
“He never left. Apparently there was a third girl—she was scared to go to the police, because he told her he’d come back and kill her if she did. This was right after New Year’s. ”
Damn it. That poor girl. “Well, don’t worry about me. I always turn all the dead bolts, and nobody could get through these windows without shattering the glass. Pepper spray on the keychain, as always. And remember that self-defense class we took together? ‘You don’t have to be stronger than your assailant. You just have to be strong enough to hurt him. ’” I’ve never forgotten those words; they reassured me tremendously.
Carmen isn’t reassured in the slightest. “That wasn’t what I was calling about. Oh, God. This is difficult. ”
I sit upright, the quilt and sheets sliding down. “What is it?”
“Vivienne—a source told the news that the police suspect Jonah. ”
Twenty-six
Apparently it is not libel to report on television that someone is a person of interest in a criminal investigation, especially if this is true. A person of interest isn’t necessarily a suspect; it can be a witness, or merely a person who might be able to disprove an alibi. That said, Jonah’s new lawyers swoop down swiftly and sharply enough to make sure the allegation is never repeated on the air.
Too late.
To the world at large, person of interest means guilty as hell, and after months of suspense, the fear and hatred is finally directed at a target: Jonah Marks.
Carmen calls me once more that night, twice in the morning. “Have you heard anything else? Did the police come by?”
“Why would they come here?” I’m having this conversation wrapped in a towel, postshower. The sooner I can pull myself together and get over to Jonah’s, the better. He’s answered my texts, but he sounded terrible on the phone. I can only imagine how torn up he must be. “They already questioned me once. I told them I was with Jonah on the nights of the attacks, but they didn’t believe me. ”
When I first heard the news, I felt a brief flicker of hope that at least this might have happened while Jonah was in Japan. Even the baddest Bad Cop in the world couldn’t argue with that alibi; the stamps on Jonah’s passport would provide complete vindication. But no, the Austin Stalker struck the night before the trip—in the hours when I went to the studio so Jonah could finish packing. Home alone: the worst cover story in the world. Why didn’t I stay over that night?
Then again, if the cops didn’t believe my alibi for the first two evenings, the third might only have made them more suspicious. But how is it possible for people to be more suspicious of Jonah than they already are today?
At least I can convince Carmen. She sighs and says, “You told me that already. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. ”
“I realize that. ” My temper is soothed by remembering that she’s only looking out for me. “But there’s no need to worry. ”
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“That guy has gotten worse. Scarier. ”
This time the Stalker injured his victim far more seriously, strangling her long enough to terrify her and bring her to the brink of unconsciousness, but not long enough to kill. According to the forensic psychology expertise I’ve picked up via Criminal Minds reruns, that means the guy is “escalating. ” He’s wondering whether he’d enjoy murdering women too. “Yeah. You still have your pepper spray too, right?”
“I gave mine to Shay. I’ll pick up some more today, though, if they’re not sold out. The entire town is in a panic. ”
Certainly the entire town feels the need to check in with me, or so it seems. Carmen’s phone call is followed by one from Kip (“I’m telling everyone I know that Jonah’s innocent, and commanding them to spread the word!”) and a text from Geordie (I believe you! I absolutely believe you. Jonah’s wrongly accused. All I’m saying is, if you’re worried, call and I’ll come over anytime). Like Geordie would last long in a fight against Jonah. But I suppose it’s sweet that he would try. Shay sends a long rambling e-mail about how nobody who works in earth sciences thinks Jonah could’ve had anything to do with it, but these same nobodies all feel the need to repeat the scary stuff that someone else has told them. While I feel sure Shay’s belief in his innocence is genuine, I wonder about his fellow professors. The department staff. His students.
Jonah is as strong a person as I’ve ever known. But he’s proud too. Working with students who believe him guilty of the most despicable crime—that would be one of the few blows I’m not sure he could bear.
Ironically, the one person in Austin I don’t hear much from is Jonah himself. He answered my call tersely last night, but I didn’t blame him; he was already on the other line with his new legal representation. Today’s he’s replied to my texts, but only briefly, and never initiated any of his own.
I’m angry but I’m handling it. / No, I don’t think it was Carter—just the usual news leak. / Maddox and Elise shouldn’t hear about this until I have a strategy for dealing with the situation.
Strategy? That was probably the word his new lawyer had used. But after months of slowly getting closer to Jonah—of our honesty and intimacy unfolding petal by petal—it seems as if he is suddenly far away again.
Don’t take it personally, I remind myself. When he’s been hurt or when he gets angry, Jonah sometimes needs a while to pull himself together before he can talk about it. His feelings should be the priority today, not yours. I text him about coming over to his place, and his OK is enough, for now.
At least he’s not shutting me out completely. As hard as it is for him to admit it, he needs support and comfort. When I’m at his place, we’ll have our chance to really talk.
Just in time for the Thoth parade to roll, I call home, knowing full well my parents and Chloe will be standing on the route with Libby, unable to hear th
No questions will be asked. They always prefer my fictions to the truth.
Afterward I somehow focus enough to review the lesson plans for the week, and to send a department e-mail letting everyone know I’m back early from Carnival and won’t need them to cover those two days after all. I unpack the rest of my suitcase; I pull my hair back in a ponytail and put on leggings and a boho tunic. Jangly earrings too. But every bit of this—selecting my outfit, separating colors and whites for the laundry, even providing the best cover story for my family—it’s all just noise I have to get through before I can go to Jonah’s.
He’s saved me so many times. I intend to save him too.
• • •
With one finger I punch in the security code for the garage of Jonah’s building, my red nails shiny against the dull silver. No news crews seem to be milling about outside, waiting to ambush him. Maybe that’s silly, to assume the local TV stations would be so bloodthirsty—especially after his lawyer’s warnings. But it’s still a relief to see the sidewalks bare of anyone but the usual weekend brunch crowd. At least the press is leaving Jonah alone.
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Yet when the elevator doors open into his apartment, I see he’s not completely alone.
“Ridiculous,” says Rosalind. She’s pacing the far side of his apartment, beside the longest wall of windows, so distracted by her wrath that she doesn’t even notice me stepping into the kitchen. Jonah, standing at the kitchen island, looks up at me. His arms are crossed against his pale gray T-shirt, and his posture is slightly hunched, like a person trying to endure stomach pain. Rosalind continues, “How can they do that when they have absolutely nothing against you?”
“They have a citizen’s report and some deputy with a loose tongue,” Jonah says. “That’s enough, apparently. ”
When Rosalind turns around to argue, she finally catches sight of me. “Vivienne. Thank goodness. We need to get Team Jonah together!”
Despite everything, I can’t help laughing at the term Team Jonah. “It’s good to see you too. ”
Dr. Rosalind Campbell entered my life in two entirely different ways—as Shay’s obstetrician, and as Jonah’s running partner and perhaps his closest friend in town. She wears white jeans and a pale pink sweater that set off her dark brown skin, even pearl studs in her ears, yet her usual elegant composure has been tested by this wretched day. Well, that makes all of us. At least Jonah has more than one person who’ll drop everything to stand at his side.
“Threaten to sue,” Rosalind continues as she walks toward the kitchen area of Jonah’s open-plan apartment. I set down my purse and come to Jonah’s side, though I don’t attempt to hug or kiss him; that’s the kind of comfort he’ll be slower to accept. She keeps going, “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have grounds. They’d still have to pay their lawyers to get the suit thrown out of court!”
“We already did all of that. ” Jonah rubs at his temples; his pallor is so marked that the stubble on his cheeks stands out sharply. I don’t think he’s slept. “Which is why they’re not repeating the story. ”
Rosalind retorts, “But you’d feel better if you yelled at them personally, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe. ” Jonah’s smile is fleeting. “Today, I’d rather not. ”
She turns her attention to me. “You haven’t come by the restaurant yet, Candace says. I’ve already given Jonah hell about it; now it’s your turn. ”
“It won’t be long,” I promise. Apparently Rosalind’s partner, Candace, is the head chef at one of the fanciest restaurants in town. We’ve been invited to enjoy a five-star dinner on the house, whenever we’d like, and the thought cheers me for a second. Then I imagine the two of us going there now, surrounded by whispers and suspicious glances. “Not too long, anyway. ”
Rosalind must have caught the wary note in my voice. Her eyes flick from me to Jonah and back again. Turning brisk, she says, “I should leave you two to it. Jonah, you’ll call if you need me?”
“Of course,” he answers, by rote.
She doesn’t let him get away with that. As she slings her designer bag over one shoulder, Rosalind fixes him with her sternest stare. I can imagine her striking fear into the heart of interns. “You’ll call even if you don’t need me. At least once a day. And the final decision on whether or not I’m needed is up to me. Got it?”
Jonah is clearly torn between affection and exasperation. “Got it. ”
Rosalind’s smile returns as she looks at me. “Watch this one, will you?”
“I’ll do my best. ”
Why does that make Jonah go tense?
As soon as the elevator doors slide shut around Rosalind, I run my hand along his upper arm. “You look worn out. ”
“I am. ”
“Do you think you could nap? You need rest. ”
“I couldn’t sleep. ” He leans back against his enormous fridge and stares up at the wooden and metal beams along his ceiling. “My landline number is unlisted, but somehow a couple dozen people got hold of it. They called all night—some hangups, but mostly death threats and warnings that I was going straight to hell. ”
“Jonah. Did you call the police?”
“The same guys who think I’m guilty? If anyone actually tried to murder me, they’d probably applaud. ”
“You’re entitled to protection! They should never have put you in danger like that. ”
Jonah shrugs, maddeningly unconcerned. “This building is pretty secure. And I don’t think any of my neighbors even know my name. It’s fine. ”
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“You could stay at my place for a while,” I offer. “Until things blow over. ”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. “The department head wants us to have a ‘conference’ tomorrow morning. Probably he’s going to suggest a voluntary leave of absence. He can make that sound like he’s looking out for me, when really he’s putting as much distance between me and the department as possible. ”
What happened to loyalty? Don’t these people know Jonah at all?
Then I realize—no, they don’t. Jonah’s taciturn nature, his stubborn independence, and cool temper keep him from making friends easily. Most people misunderstand him at first, mistaking his silence for contempt. I did too. Few would guess the scars behind that quiet façade.
The injustice of it makes me want to weep. Jonah keeps to himself because Carter Hale taught him to distrust the world. Now the world distrusts Jonah in return.
“We’ll get past this,” I swear. “No matter what happens, I’m here with you. Okay?”
He ducks his head. “Vivienne, we have to talk. ”
Uh-oh. This sounds bad. Like, fleeing-the-jurisdiction bad—but no, Jonah’s smarter than that. “What is it?”
He walks across the room, into the living room area with its long sofa, brick wall, and the red leather ottoman where he once tied my wrists behind my back . . . but I can’t think about that right now. Not while Jonah looks so haggard, even distraught.
“There’s no telling how long this will last,” he says. “Or how bad it will get. While I don’t think Carter is behind this, he’ll try to take advantage of it if he can. ”
“Then you guys go nuclear on him, right?”
Jonah shrugs again. “The nuclear option felt better when Carter was the one being attacked. I don’t like being on the defensive. ”
True. Still, there have to be actions we can take. Things we can do. And the fact of Jonah’s innocence has to com
“It’s going to be hell. And I’m not putting you through it. ”
His meaning hits me, as physically and emotionally shocking as a slap to the face. “You—are you saying—you’re breaking up with me until you’re cleared?”
“No,” Jonah says evenly. “I’m breaking up with you for good. ”
I sit down on the nearest chair so I won’t fall. “What? Why?”
“I’m bad for you. This fantasy of mine—it’s the whole reason I got reported to the police in the first place. It’s like this . . . poison that seeps out of me and ruins everything. Doesn’t matter how hard I try; it’s never going away. That wanting will always be a part of me. I finally learned that in New Orleans. ”
I knew he had, and I was fool enough to be happy about it. Now it’s like I’m trapped inside some terrible car crash, watching the metal buckle and glass break in excruciating slow motion. “It’s my fantasy too. And it’s even worse for me than it is for you. ”
“No. You’ve done the hard work, Vivienne. Bared your soul to a therapist for years, drawn lines that let you stay in touch with your family without being overwhelmed by them. You’ve surrounded yourself with friends who would do anything for you, and have made you a part of their lives. ” The terrible longing I hear in Jonah’s voice breaks my heart. “Maybe you aren’t completely better yet—but you will be. You’re on that path. And I never have been. ”
“You came to counseling with me—Rosalind’s your friend, and your sisters and brother—”
Jonah interrupts as if he hadn’t even heard me. “We’re both in danger of drowning. But you’re doing your damnedest to swim, and I’m nothing but the weight dragging you down. So I’m cutting you loose. ”
Tears and anger war inside me. “That’s not your call to make! I’m the one who gets to decide what I can take. Don’t you realize what this relationship has meant to me? I love you, Jonah. How could you ever believe losing you wouldn’t destroy me?”
“You’re more indestructible than you think,” he says quietly. “This isn’t a debate. A relationship ends when one person says it ends. We’re over. That’s it. ”