I stare at her as she recounts the tale, emotions warring on that thin, twisted face. Heather’s angry and discouraged and sad all at once, a woman folding in on herself. She stops talking for a minute, eyes faraway again.
“When it still didn’t happen, the Morgans sent me to a specialist. We tried all kind of treatments and pills and procedures but nothing took. And on my twentieth birthday, that’s when the nail in the coffin came. They took me to a nice dinner and told me it wasn’t going to work.”
“What wasn’t going to work?” I ask tremulously.
“Us,” she answers flatly. “Our relationship. They said they’d get me a place to live, put money in the bank for me. They promised I’d be set for life. They wished me luck. Can you believe it? After everything we went through, all I got was a pat on the back, and a ‘take care.’” Her tone turns bitter then.
“So this,” I said, taking a deep breath and gesturing to the surroundings. The furnishings, the house, all of it. “This is courtesy of the Morgans?”
“Yes. But they were done with me. Just gone from my life. It was like I ceased to exist, vanished into thin air. And me? I was left alone and confused and fucked up from all of the medical procedures and injections, all the poking and prodding. I shouldn’t have still wanted them, but I did, like a junkie going cold turkey.”
“How long ago was that?”
She chews her bottom lip, thinking for a moment.
“Maybe eighteen months? I’m not sure. I’ve been depressed, if you can’t tell,” she says bitterly, flipping a string of straw-like hair behind her back. “I gave everything to those men, and for what? They left me when I was of no use anymore. But I guess that’s how it works huh? When your time’s up, peace out, sayonara.”
“I’m sure it’s not like that,” come my quiet words. “I’m sure it’s not.”
She shakes her head.
“No, you don’t know. It is. And I’m still here, rotting in place, waiting.”
Oh god, no.
“Because they might come around again?” come my timorous words.
Heather nods, another tear falling down her hollow cheek. “I thought they might. But they don’t come. They don’t want me anymore. I’m used up and done for.”
I duck my head, ashamed for the way she was treated.
“I’m really sorry,” comes my mumble. “I had no idea.”
“Really?” she asks, her face a snarl of frustration. “You didn’t think maybe they’d tried this out with someone else? Or many someones, for that matter? I mean, you think they just came up with this bright idea yesterday?”
Her words are like a slap in the face.
“No,” I stammer. “I – I just assumed they’d had other women in their lives. It didn’t seem relevant, though. At the time. It was all in the past.”
Heather glares at me with disgust.
“Yeah, it’s easy to pretend, isn’t it?” she asks bitterly. But then those blue eyes seize mine, burning with ice fire. “Between all of the medical procedures and weight loss, I’m not anyone they would consider anymore. But you,” she spits, looking me up and down, “you’re just what they like. Youthful, curvy, healthy. You have that long hair and big ass. Your tits probably hang like pendulums when they fuck you from behind. They probably love those wide, baby-making hips. Oh yeah, I can see why they like you, all ripe and ready, bursting with fertility.”
“Um, um …,” comes my stammer. But no words come out. Instead, I ask to use the restroom and disappear down the hall, locking myself in privacy.
Oh god, oh god. What’s going on? Inside, I stare blindly in the mirror and hyperventilate, trying to get my bearings. What the hell? First, Heather is clearly bat-shit crazy. But is it her fault? The Morgans used her up until she’s just a shell of a human.
And then they left her when she couldn’t give them what they wanted. I’m sick with the realization. The Morgans swooped in and took advantage of a young girl the same way they did to me. And now she’s lost to the world, angry and bitter and hideous. Ruined. And here I am, caught in the swamp, too dumb to get myself out. If I don’t produce, will I end up like this too?
The question echoes in my mind, ramifications horrendous. Because Heather’s story doesn’t speak well of the men I love, and I can’t move, frozen in place.
But I have to. Hiding in this bathroom forever is not an option. So working hard, I try to breathe normally, a deep breath in, then out. Tears sting my eyes and my body aches with tension.
But again, I have to come out. So hand trembling, I fumble with the doorknob before making my way back to the living room. But Heather’s not there. There’s a tinkling sound, and jerking my head, I see her in the kitchen, looking blankly out the window. She turns slowly, as if coming out of a trance, then blinks and turns off the faucet, emptying a glass into the sink.