Page 1 of Dirty Little Secrets
THE SAME COIN
EMERY
I’ve always wonderedwhat it would be like to die. To actually die. The permanent kind of death that leaves loved ones grieving and acquaintances dropping fruit baskets at your parents’ front door, somehow thinking that heart-shaped pineapples on skewers will fill the void left by your absence. Or maybe they’d bring mini muffins. Those are less perishable. The grieving often lack appetite. Or so I’ve heard.
My fingers trail the clean, faded scar in the middle of my chest as I search for a semblance of life in my eyes. I’ve already died three times. Left this plane of existence. Three times my heart stopped beating, but they brought me back. They always bring me back. This last time, when my soul reentered my body, I felt more on the verge of death than I did before I saw thattempting white light. The blood running through my veins is mine, but the organ pumping intrusive thoughts into my brain is not.
It can’t be.
I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror in my bedroom, the reflection of a stranger. A mousy, ordinary, dull woman looks back at me. Who are you? Do I know you?She nods. A slow, solemn nod that churns my stomach with depressive reality. She tilts her head, eyeing the microscopic crack in the mirror.Punch it.My eyes widen with horror.Punch it, Emery. Do it. See how big it gets. Punch it!My palms coat with sweat as my fingers tremble.Don’t be a fucking pussy! Punch it! Do it now! Do it!
Hypnotized by my own destructive voice and a dangerous sliver of sheer curiosity, I wind back my arm. But before I can swing, the high-pitched ringtone of my cell phone seizes my muscles. I freeze, gasping for air that never fully fills my lungs.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, panting as I shakily reach for my phone and answer the call. “H—” I clear my throat. “Hello?”
“What’s wrong?” my mother asks. Her version of a greeting. “You sound strange.”
“I’m fine.” I sigh, collecting my purse and draping it over my shoulder as I rush out of the apartment. “Just heading to work.”
Right on cue, my neighbor, Mrs. Finnegan, pokes her head outside her front door to say hello. Her daily routine. Apparently, our one minute conversations are the highlight of her day. Her deep frown as I apologeticallywave goodbye means I’ve ruined the one good thing in her life.Maybe she’ll drop dead while you’re at work, and you’ll carry that guilt forever.
Shut up!I wince as I get into my car and put Mom on Bluetooth.
“Are you taking your medicine?” Mom asks. “Just because the doctor said all your results look normal doesn’t mean you can stop, you know? Did you read that article I sent you last night? There was this one case of a patient who had a heart rejectseven yearsafter the transplant?—”
“Mom!” I grunt, immediately hating myself for raising my voice. She’ll be upset now.Oh, boo hoo, let her cry. “I am taking my meds, okay? Haven’t missed a day since the operation and I don’t plan on missing a day now. Happy?”
Mom sighs. “I’m not trying to?—”
“I know,” I cut her off. “It’s fine. Let’s just…move on.”
“Fine,” she says. “There was actually a reason for my calling.” Really? It wasn’t just to micromanage my every move? Shocker. “Your father and I think it would be nice to go out for dinner tonight with you and Tom. What do you say? We can go to Jacques? You love Jacques.”
I hate Jacques. I’ve hated it since we started going there ten years ago. Hated it then. Hate it now. At least I’m consistent.
And a big fat liar. Capital L.
Hush.
“Tonight?” I turn down the street toward theheadquarters of CJ Piers, one of New England’s wealthiest and premier investment banks.If they’re so rich, why not spring for an office on Wall Street? Fishy fishy. “I can’t tonight. Today’s Friday, Mom, remember? I have a Spanish class in the city?”Liar, liar, pencil skirt on fire. “Umm… What about Sunday?”
“Right, I forgot about that,” she says as I pull into the parking lot of my office building. “How are those classes coming along?”
The sensation of being under the bright stage lights at Lux sparks a jolt of excitement and anticipation in my spine. The heart in my chest beats faster. I’m not sure if it’s mine or theirs. On Friday nights, it doesn’t matter though. Friday nights, nothing is real. Nothing.
“Classes are great,” I say, grabbing a folder from the backseat and grinning as I catch the sparkling shimmer of the thigh-high boots I’ll be wearing tonight. I smirk, mentally starting a countdown until I’m not me anymore. “So, uh, Sunday then?”
“I’ll talk to your father and let you know,” she says. “Have a good day at work, Emery. Say hello to Thomas for us.”
“Will do,” I hum, rushing out of my vehicle and toward the elevator. “Bye.”
A hoard of blue and black suits pack into the elevator, and I shimmy inside, blending in perfectly with the corporate coked-out zombies and bushy-tailed interns. Two sides of the same coin. I catch one intern gazing admirably at a managing partner. I inwardly scoff. Don’t worry, kid. That’s your future. All you gotta do is wait twenty years, andyou’ll also be divorced and addicted to high-end strippers.You’ll also be as flaccid as a senile dog.I snort.
“Emily.” Mr. Kenneth stops me as we pour out the doors. “Did Mark send you the?—”
“Expense reports from last quarter?” I ask, gripping my purse tight. He still doesn’t know my name? That’s outrageous.Fucker’s probably early onset.“I’ll have it reviewed by next week.”
“Lovely.” He flashes me his purchased smile and pats me on the shoulder as he walks away. “Enjoy your day.”
