Page 30 of Exposed
Isabel? Is she real? Is Logan’s story the truth?
If it is, then that means yours is a lie; if yours is true, Logan’s is a lie.
There are holes in both stories. Reasons to doubt both. Perhaps neither are true.
I have been walking as I think, and I do not know where I am. Not far from where you kicked me out of the car, a block or two away maybe. There is a church on a corner, dark stone, Gothic architecture. Stairs, with people sitting on them, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee and talking on cell phones. I sit on a stair, legs tucked demurely beneath me, fighting panic.
I am alone in Manhattan. I have no money. I have no identification. I have no identity. I am no one. If I go back to you, ascend your tower, I am consenting to be yours. Consenting to be Madame X.
I could call Logan, but what do I know about him? Very little. What he’s told me, and what I feel. I feel like I can trust him. I feel, when I’m with him, that anything is possible. I do not doubt him, when we are together. Iknowhim. He isinme. Everything is okay, with him. But now, away from him, I doubt it all. I doubt him. I doubt me. I doubt Caleb.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until a foul-smelling old black man dressed in rags sits beside me, takes a swig from a brown paper bag–wrapped bottle, and eyes me sidelong. “Somebody done you wrong, huh?”
I sniff. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
The old man nods sagely, as if what I said made some kind of sense. “Worst kinda pain, right there. The not knowing.”
“I don’t know who I am.” Why am I admitting this to a homeless drunk? But I am, and it is cathartic.
“Yeah, me neither. But then I never was no one much. I ain’t drunk ’cause I’m homeless, you know, I’m homeless ’cause I’m drunk.” A swing, an eye cast toward the sky, as if seekingsomething in the clear, cloudless blue. “Or maybe it is the other way around. I can’t ’member no more.”
“I can’t remember either. I can’t remember who I used to be, and I’ve lost confidence in who I am now.” I don’t bother wiping away the tears.
“Don’t need to know who you was, or who you is. Only need to know who you wanna be.”
That is a surprisingly helpful statement. I stare at the man, absorbing that last sentence. I only need to know who I want to be. Rachel said much the same, and so did Logan.
The question remains, however: who do I want to be?
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
At some point, the old man totters off, swigging endlessly from the bottle.
I see you approaching, a god striding the earth among mortals. Navy blue suit, bespoke, of course. White button-down. No tie, top two buttons undone, baring a V of flesh. Dark hair swept back, effortless, artful. Eyes like black holes, absorbing all light and matter, absorbing, drawing, seeking, sucking everything in. Sucking me in. Dragging me in. You sit beside me, lean back, elbows on the stair behind you.
“Come home, X.”
“Home?” I speak the word as a question, spit it like the bitterest gall. “Where is that?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, X—”
“I sit in your monstrosity of an apartment, waiting. You know what I wait for? You. I sit there waiting foryou. Waiting for you to show up, so you can fuck me and then ignore me.” Eyes around me seek me. I ignore them. You, however, do not look at me. You scan the crowds, watch the passersby, watch the river of cars yellow and black and white and blue and red, watch anything but me. “I am discontent, Caleb. The status quo hasbeen called into question. Who I am, who I was, who I will be, it’s all up for grabs. Do you even know what that’s like?”
“More than you know.”
“I don’t want to be that person anymore, Caleb.”
“Then who—”
I speak over you. “I don’t know yet. I don’t know anything anymore. I’m not sure I believe Logan, but no more do I believe you. I don’t know what to believe.” I stare at you, and finally you meet my gaze. “You can’t keep me in thrall with your mantra anymore either. Everything has changed.”
“What changed you?”
I shrug. “Logan.” It is the simple truth.
A few hours with him, and everything changed. I am not sure if I am grateful for this or not.