Steel My Heart Read online

  I was regularly mistaken for a high schooler when I fell back into my old habits of slobbing around in jeans and a concert tee. As I scrubbed the lacquered on makeup from my face, my reflection looked back at me. Once I clean of the artifice, I looked just like the big-boned, big breasted, Pennsylvania farm girl I was. I had been playing dress-up tonight. I wasn't made for ball gowns and benefit dinners.

  It was Robert who made me pretend.

  I slipped into our giant bed and ran my fingers over the thousand thread-count sheets Robert insisted we buy. Once again I tried to tell the difference between these sheets and the sheets I had grown up with. When we officially moved in together, Robert shoved all my old clothes and bedding into a box and left it in the trash room. I had dared to go back down there and retrieve the old, threadbare blankets that had been my comfort through my childhood. I had hugged those blankets as I listened to my father rage at my mom and then go silent as she sobbed. I would hide under those blankets in my closet as my mother vented her anger on my younger brother. If Robert found them secreted high in my closet, he would be furious with me. But I couldn't let them go.

  I still felt like I needed them.

  I rolled onto my back and willed myself to sleep, but the room was still spinning. I drifted in and out of a fitful, dreamless sleep. The noise of the street below was far off, but every slamming door made me jump. I wondered how much longer he would be. He had been coming home late from the office all week; I don't know why I expected him home on a weekend.

  Just as sleep finally overcame me, I heard the bell of our private elevator and my eyes flew open. I mentally went over my checklist. The frozen baguette was stashed deep in the trash; he'd never find that. My dress was hung carefully. I had retrieved my shoes; did I put them back in the closet? I clenched my fists, unable to remember if I had or not. I decided to hope I had and moved on. Teeth were brushed so my breath wouldn't offend him. Face was washed so I wouldn't look slovenly in the morning. I was in bed like he had told me to be.

  I might be okay.

  I rolled onto my side, facing away from the door just as his footstep creaked in the doorway. I heard him sigh and then the rustle of his clothes as he took off his suit. The light of his closet came on as he opened it to put away his shoes and I squeezed my eyes tighter. I held my breath, listening, trying to discern his mood. A couple splashes of the tap and then I felt his side of the bed dip down as he sat and removed his watch and laid it on his bedside table.

  Then he slipped under the sheets next to me.

  His breath was slow and relaxed and I felt my fists unclench. He didn't seem angry. I inhaled deeply.

  There was a scent to the air. Floral, yet spicy. Perfume.

  And it wasn't mine.

  I ran my hand up the sheets. I still couldn't feel the difference. Hugging my pillow, I squeezed my eyes shut. I thought about anything and everything else until Robert's breathing slowed and I could tell he was asleep. When I was finally sure he wasn't going to talk to me, I was able to relax enough to fall asleep too.

  Chapter 3

  Emmy

  The morning sun reflected off of the gleaming stainless steel of the stovetop. I squinted in the glare, wavering slightly on my perch at the breakfast bar¸ then ducked my aching head.

  "Would you like some more coffee?"

  I snapped my head back up to look at Robert. He smiled at me and shook the carafe invitingly. "You probably need it. How's your head?"

  I shifted in my chair and gingerly touched my finger to my temple. "Not as bad as it could be, I guess." I smiled to bolster the lie.

  He smiled again. I waited, expecting him to scold me for drinking. I waited for the accusations that I was turning into my father. But they didn't come.

  "Here, have a half a cup," he murmured, topping off my mug. "More Splenda?"

  I looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

  "Just be good the rest of the day." He bent his head to brush his warm, soft lips across mine. I felt my body reach for him, wanting more. Whatever I had done to make him so happy with me, I wanted to continue doing.

  "I will," I promised.

  My diet hadn't been going well. The weight was still coming off too slowly for Robert's liking. I resolved then and there to try harder. When Robert was happy with me, it was like the sun shining full on my face. I basked in it. He was so handsome and he took care of me so well. All the criticism was only because I needed it. Without him I was pretty much lost, a lazy, deluded child who needed him to help me make my way in the world. I owed him everything. I loved him dearly.

  That perfume smell could have been anything. Soap from the washroom, remnants from sitting near a colleague. It didn't mean anything. I was an ungrateful fool for even worrying about it.

  He smiled indulgently, as if reading my thoughts, and rounded the island in the center of our kitchen to top off his cup. The buzzing of his Blackberry was incessant, but he was uncharacteristically ignoring it. I sat up straighter, ignoring the pounding in my head.

  "So what do you have planned for today?" he inquired.

  I racked my brain to come up with something before he lost interest in me again. "Well, I need to take my dress to the cleaners. Would you like me to drop off your suit too?"

  He waved his hand, "Oh don't worry about that stuff, Emilia. How many times have I told you to leave it for Carmen?"

  I sat back in my chair.

  "Sorry, I forgot." I waited to see if I had screwed up.

  But he merely took a sip of his coffee and glanced at the paper on his Ipad. "Anything else?"

  I squirmed, feeling put on the spot. My aching head confused me. Before I could catch myself, the words tumbled out of my mouth. "I'm going to have lunch with Sammie."

  Instantly his dark brows knitted together. I felt my stomach sink at my stupidity. "That braying bitch? I thought you were done with her."

  I swallowed. I wanted to let Sammie go, but my best friend was too persistent. She still called and texted me when all my other college friends had dropped one by one. She refused to let me go.

  Deep inside, I was grateful for that, though I would never say so to Robert.

  "She uh, has a contact for me," I lied. Quickly I put the lie together in my head. It was a gift I had acquired early as a matter of survival. "A portrait commission."

  "Oh?" Robert's eyebrow shot up quizzically and I frantically embellished.

  "Just a preliminary, I'm dropping off a portfolio CD with her to bring to the guy, but part of the deal was that we have lunch together."

  "Well," Robert wavered for a moment and I clenched my fists. "Okay then, congratulations I guess."

  I could tell by the way that the vein beat at his temple that he was suppressing his anger. Robert thought it was silly that I still clung to being an artist, but it pleased him to play the role of the indulgent fiancé.

  I sagged with relief. He went over to the counter and peeled off several bills from his wallet. "I assume you'll need money for this lunch.

  I took his offering gratefully. "Thank you honey," I breathed. "I love you!"

  "Have fun," he chuckled. Bending over me once more, he brushed his warm lips across my cheek. I felt the warmth spread through my body and closed my eyes.

  "I hope you'll be here when I get home," he continued.

  "Of course I will!' I nodded.

  "Okay then, have a good day." He grabbed his briefcase and made his way to our elevator, scrolling through all the emails that he had missed while paying attention to me.

  I watched him go, the elevator closing on his tall, lean form, then exhaled slowly. The aching in my head subsided. I looked down and noted with surprise that my fists were balled tightly at my side. I unclenched them and forced my shoulders to go down.

  Then I sprinted up the staircase and into our room. I counted the money Robert had handed me, then peeled off two of the twenties.

  The envelope was still taped under the top drawer of my nightstand. I opened it and took ou
t the stack of bills hidden inside. I did this every time Robert gave me money. The stack was growing quickly: twenties, tens, fives and ones all added up to more than four hundred dollars at this point.

  I don't know why I stashed the money. I told myself it was because I want to be able to buy him something nice someday. A gift, with my own money.

  That was what I repeated to myself every time. But I hadn't bought him a single thing yet.

  And the stack kept growing.

  Chapter 4

  Emmy

  "Look at you! You're not dead after all!"

  Sammie's voice echoed across the square as she strode towards me. I had arrived early and grabbed a sidewalk table. The noise of the traffic on Walnut Street was loud, but Samara Kolb was far louder.

  My best friend knew exactly what to say to chasten me, but there was nothing malicious in her wide-open smile. I ducked my head in embarrassment and allowed myself to be swept into a bear hug that lasted so long other patrons turned to stare.

  "Hey Sammie," I murmured into her curls. "How are you?"

  She pulled back and looked at me, gripping my shoulders.

  "I'm so happy you called," she declared, her eyes darted back and forth across my face.

  "I'm glad you could make it, classes must be crazy. Is it finals yet?"

  She pulled out her chair and sat down with a grunt. Slinging her arm over the back of the chair, she sat back and regarded me. I sat down hesitantly. Sammie always had a disconcerting way of possessing every ounce of space she could. I spent my life trying to be smaller, but my equally curvy best friend saw nothing wrong with being big - in every sense of the word.

  Her cloud of curls was caught back in a turquoise band that clashed riotously with her current flame-red dye job. Several pounds of bangles jingled along each wrist. Her big, strong, sculptor's hands were weighed down with rings of the type that my future mother-in-law would derisively call "statement jewelry." Her generous cleavage was accentuated with a huge, flaming heart tattoo across her chest.

  "Next week," she answered, picking up the menu. Her nail polish was chipped and I could see clay dried under her fingers. "My crit isn't until the Friday though, gives me a bit more time to fuck around." She placed a finger on her choice in the menu, then looked up at me. "But I'm not here to talk about myself, Em."

  Something in her voice made me bristle. "Oh?"

  "Why'd you call me?"

  "Because I wanted to hang out?" It came out as a question, when I didn't mean it to be.

  "Is that the only reason?" Her green eyes were darting across my face. I didn't like what I saw reflected back in them. "You've lost weight," she declared.

  "Yes I have," I replied, proudly.

  "Robert make you do that?"

  I swallowed. "He didn't make me. We're dieting together." The lies jumped so easily to my lips they sounded like the truth to me.

  She let out a derisive snort. "Yeah, sure. Together."

  I leaned forward, ready to embellish on the story I was weaving in my head. Robert and I were jogging together, I decided. Past Boathouse Row and up Kelly Drive. I had a story about stepping in goose poop all prepared, but was interrupted when the waitress came to our table.

  "Go ahead and order first, Em. I'm still deciding." I knew that was a lie. Her finger had been hovering over her favorite, Eggs Florentine, since she opened the menu. She was testing me.

  "I'll have the fruit cup and do you have any decaf tea?" It wasn't what I wanted, not even close. If I ordered what I really wanted, it would prove to Sammie that it wasn't my choice that Robert had me dieting. My stomach growled loudly in protest, but was luckily drowned out by a passing SUV.

  "Sure, cream and sugar?"

  "Splenda, please," I replied, barely able to keep the dejection from my voice.

  Sammie raised her eyebrows at me, but didn't press. She just let me stew in my hungry misery as she ordered a huge brunch platter and a side of home fries. "Coffee, too please. Bring the whole pot. And a whole hell of a lot of sugar."

  The waitress took our menus and Sammie looked around. The trees in Rittenhouse Square were finally in full-leaf. "It's nice to get out of the studio, actually see daylight," she declared.

  "I don't miss that," I chuckled.

  "You don't?" She snapped her head back to look at me, her green eyes flashing.

  Instantly I was on the defensive again. "No, Sammie, I don't."

  "I don't believe that. You were too good to give up like you did."

  I bit my lip in frustration. "I didn't 'give up.' I wish you'd stop saying that. I met someone. I'm getting married soon."

  "Oh yeah? When's the wedding?"

  "Soon!" The waitress appeared at our elbows as we stared daggers at each other. She set our drinks down nervously and fled.

  "Well I hope I'm invited." Sammie's tone was conciliatory, and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

  "Of course you will be honey! You'll be my maid of honor!"

  She cocked an eyebrow over her coffee. I tried to ignore how good it smelled. "I don't have to be an actual maid for that, do I?"

  I laughed, relieved to be falling into our old, comfortable banter. "Yes, I have a special French maid outfit all picked out for you."

  "Oh so I'm going to be the 'French' maid of honor?"

  "Absolutely. Why, did you picture something else?" I teased.

  She leaned forward in mock seriousness. "Am I carrying a bouquet?"

  "Nope. Feather duster."

  "Phew!" She sagged back in her chair dramatically and I laughed again, feeling myself approaching mania. I hadn't laughed like this in months.

  "Yep, I'm picturing hot pink, I just have to find it," I continued, eager to continue our game.

  She grinned. "Don't waste your money, I already have a hot pink one."

  I burst out laughing. "How come I've never seen it?"

  Instantly her smile disappeared. I felt a cold breeze that I knew wasn't real. "Because Em. When was the last time we got together?"

  I wracked my brain. "Not that long ago," I protested, confused by her sudden change of mood. "It was...." I trailed off, thinking.

  She held up her hand. "Exactly. You can't remember. But I do." She cradled her coffee in her hand and sat back in the chair. "It was the week after your 'holiday party.' I came and ignored all of Robert's little digs at me, and made you promise that we'd get together the next week."

  "The final shows," I recalled, and exhaled slowly.

  "Yeah, exactly," she snapped. "The final shows. You dropped out, but wanted to see everyone else's work. Last semester's work. Robert hasn't let you out since."

  "That's not true!"

  "It isn't? So why have you been ignoring my texts?"

  I squirmed. Tears were pricking at the corner of my eyes. I was losing it and that made me angry. I lashed out.

  "Because you text me all the fucking time," I spat. "It's weird!"

  I wanted to hurt her, but Sammie knew me better.

  "Weird huh? It's weird for your best friend to text you?" She sipped her coffee and regarded me over the rim. "Who told you that, Robert?"

  "No!" I lied.

  In fact it was the absolute truth. I could hear Robert's voice in my head right now, warning me that my connection with Sammie wasn't healthy, wasn't normal. On his funny days, he would laugh about her wanting to be me, how she'd kill me and wear my skin if she could. On his mean days, he just called her a crazy, man-hating bitch and warned me not to turn into her. I had learned to stop defending her to him and now just generally tried to avoid mentioning her at all. It embarrassed me how much I treasured her texts. Like she was a dirty habit I couldn't give up.

  But I couldn't say that. "Robert's been encouraging me to call," I continued, "I've just been so busy!"

  The minute I said that, I cringed. That lie was one lie too many. The truth was, since I left school to go live with Robert, I was desperately bored.

  Robert wanted me home when he got ho
me...and he had a very irregular schedule. Some days I waited all day and half the night for him. Other days he hung around because he 'missed me.' I could never keep appointments with people; I could never get a part time job, because then I wouldn't be there for him when he needed me. In fact, the very act of going out to lunch was setting off a flutter of nervousness in my belly. I knew he had a board meeting today, but who knew how long it would last?

  And I could see by the sharp look Sammie shot me that she knew I was lying. I swallowed, ready to spin another story, when the waitress showed up with our tray.

  My fruit cup was tiny. I looked hungrily at Sammie's steaming platter of eggs, smothered in rich Hollandaise sauce. I must have been staring. "Want some Em? They're really good."

  The clamor of Robert's voice in my head made me squirm. "No thanks, you enjoy them."

  Sammie shook her head and stubbornly spooned out a heap of potatoes onto her saucer. "I'm just going to put this right here, you can eat it or you don't have to. But I promise I won't say a word."

  She set the plate next to my elbow. I looked at her and was startled to see her snapping eyes soften. "What?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable.

  "Em..." she trailed off. I sighed and waited for her to yell at me. I looked down and picked at my fruit. Yelling I could handle. I had absorbed my parents' anger my whole life. I was a pro at getting yelled at.

  But when she didn't launch into the expected tirade, I looked up at her. She had a pamphlet in her hand and was looking down at it. "What's that?" I asked. My stomach twisted and I suddenly lost my appetite. I pushed my fruit cup away and clenched my fists.

  "What is it?" I demanded.

  "Emmy, honey." She looked up at me, her bright green eyes shining with tears. "I need to talk to you. And I need you to listen."

  "I'm listening," I spat.

  "No you aren't. You want to fight me. I'm not going to fight with you."

  I felt the tears that had been gathering suddenly spill over. "I don't want to fight Sammie, please. It's been a long time; let's just enjoy lunch, please? I don't want to fight."