Page 8 of Love Me

Chapter 5

Sweet odors snuck into my nose as soon as I opened the door. I looked around; the place, Pan Dulce Bread, was busy. I had never been there before, though I had seen the chain in San Francisco too. It was fast food with the elegance of a cafe and a sugary bakery all mixed into one, then wrapped up into an atmosphere that hipsters loved. But it was packed, which wasn’t exactly what I had expected when it came to a meeting to discuss my boyfriend’s apparently shady past. But I guessed it was preferable; a public place for a public discussion.

I ordered a cup of hot chocolate and took my buzzer. After a quick search, I found a two-person booth in the back, still covered in crumbs and dishes. I quickly wiped the crumbs into the dish and disposed of them in their proper places. I texted the stranger, I’m here. In the back.

A man with his hair tied in a bun brought me my drink. It was buried under a pile of whipped cream, which I wasn’t complaining about, but the mug itself was practically a bowl. I wondered if the stranger would find me too unrefined for Owen, whipped cream all over my face, deep in a mug of melted chocolate. The thought of disgusting someone from his past like that made me laugh. It didn’t matter what she thought.

A woman with black, voluminous hair slid into the booth across from me. She dropped a folder on the ground. Dark makeup surrounded her eyes, and the way she looked at me—or avoided looking at me—made her seem shy, or coy. Hesitant.

I leaned over and shook her hand. “I’m Riley,” I said.

“Coco,” she said. The same man brought her a lemonade. She smiled and thanked him.

“You want your cheese danish too?” he asked.

“I’m only going to be here for a few minutes,” she said. He nodded and walked away.

“Come here a lot?” I asked.

“I work here,” she said.

So that was why we were here. I tried to take her in without rudely staring. She was wearing a leather blazer and black pants. Her tan skin was tattooed with vines crawling up her neck. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t her.

“I moved here a couple of years ago,” she said, “after the whole—” she paused, gesturing like there was an imaginary object between her hands, “thing with Owen. I didn’t feel safe there anymore, you know?”

“Where?” I asked.

“San Francisco.” Her eyes widened, and she whispered, “He doesn’t know I live here now, so you can’t tell him, okay? I don’t want him to know.”

The hair on my neck and arms stood up. The way her eyes darted back and forth, made me feel like she knew someone was watching us.

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time.” She handed me the folder and I opened it, looking at the photographs. They were tinted blue, as if edited on a computer, or perhaps it was Owen’s preferred mood lighting before he changed it to red. There was a close-up photograph of a neck, milky blue skin marked with purple bruises, the tendons in the neck taut. Another photograph of the front of the face from the chin down, speckled with bruises that almost looked like shadows. But the chin was off; it looked pointier, different than—

Coco grabbed the photographs out of my hand and shoved them back in the folder, hiding them in her lap. She picked up her purse and put it on top of them.

“Where are your tattoos?” I asked, nodding at the photographs.

“Are you questioning me?” she asked. Her eyes look hurt and on the verge of rage all at the same time. “I got these tattoos to reclaim my body after what he did to me. If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. I’m only trying to help you.”

The pain was pooling in her eyes. I felt like an asshole for even bringing it up. If it was that long ago, then a lot could change.

“How well did you know him?” I asked. “Did you date long?”

She laughed, though it wasn’t sincere at all. “Date? Wow.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. We fucked. We partied. We did whatever the hell we wanted, and I wanted him to make me feel owned. Until I couldn’t find a way out anymore.”

The way she said those words made me feel claustrophobic, like I couldn’t find a way out myself, especially having moved across the country with Owen. Nausea started to crawl in my stomach. The smell of roasting cocoa smelled stronger, sickeningly sweet. I was glad we were sitting. I looked around, wondering where the bathroom was.

“Did you see the standing cage in Surrender?” she asked. I nodded. “He used to put me in there and with a thin rope around my neck, pulling the end of it like I was an animal. And that was in the early days.”

I thought about Surrender. It was a members-only club, after all, and so Coco had been around him long enough to know the club. I wondered if they had met there.

“We always ended the night in the library though,” she said.

The idea that he had brought her to the library made me realize she probably did know him. Her lemonade was pungent and made me feel like the acid in my stomach was curdling, and I hadn’t had any of the lemonade. I tried to focus on the conversation, but I knew I needed a bathroom now. I wasn’t sure if I was sick, or if the whole situation was making me feel sick. Think… Breath play. Choking. Right. He almost choked her to death—

“You must’ve really liked breath play,” I managed to say.

“Until I didn’t anymore,” she snapped. She stood up. “But that didn’t stop him.”

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