Chapter 54 #2
I reached for the remote control and pressed the power button. Shannon and Erin disappeared.
“Hey,” Doug snapped. “We need to watch this.”
“Come on,” I said, “this is ridiculous. She’s spewing lies!” I forced out a laugh. “Does anyone actually think I’m gay?”
One of the lawyers cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Well, I imagine some people will absolutely think that, yes.”
“This is a problem,” Doug said. “This is a very, very big problem. And I like to be fully aware of problems.” He reached across Caleb’s lap and snatched the remote from my hands, then turned the television back on, right as Erin was saying, “Do you have anything you’d like to say to Natalie, if you could? ”
Shannon looked straight at the camera, at me, and smiled a perfect—and I mean perfect—smile. Soft, smart, feminine. The holy trinity. “I forgive you, Natalie.”
A swell of fury rose in me, so sudden it knocked my thoughts off-kilter, sent them spilling over the levies of my mind.
Liar. Homewrecking cunt bitch—
“Natalie,” Caleb said. “My God. Stop.”
I froze.
“Well,” Erin said, “I think we can leave the conversation there today. Thank you so much, Shannon, for coming tonight and speaking your truth …”
Doug pressed mute and Erin fell silent. Then he turned to me and said, “You didn’t tell me the whole truth. And now, little missy, all of us are fucked.”
He stood up and stormed into the kitchen, the lawyers trotting nervously after him.
Then Caleb stood up. He looked confused.
“I need to think,” he said. I watched him slowly walk to the front door, open it, and step out onto the porch.
For a moment he just stood there, staring out at our property.
Then he shut the door behind him, and it was just me and my mother-in-law, who was looking at me with an expression like a cocked shotgun.
“And may God have mercy on your soul,” she said softly, almost like she was finishing a prayer on my behalf.
Then she leaned in, so close that I could see the flakes of dead skin peeling off her Barbie-pink lips, and whispered, “Bad girl.”
If only my husband had raped our producer.
That was basically what Doug said that night—what he roared—for hours and hours, while a rotating cast of side characters (me, then Amelia, then finally just the lawyers) stared numbly at nothing.
If only his stupid little son had raped our stupid little producer.
If that had happened, it would’ve been over with and forgotten in two weeks.
But a predatory woman? Unthinkable. A good Christian mother and wife who (allegedly!) found other women attractive?
Who took what she wanted without asking?
Kill the witch. Burn her.
Upstairs, I sat on my bedroom floor and watched my phone light up on my bedside table, again and again, in little Morse code bursts.
Go-to-hell
Stu-pid bitch
I-hope-so-cial-ser-vi-ces-takes-ur-fuck-ing-kids
It wouldn’t stop buzzing. Finally I crawled over to the table, reached for my phone, then hesitated, my hand hovering over the phone as it twitched. It looked like it was in agony.
I could turn it off. Throw it into a fire.
Delete my account. But it wouldn’t go away.
All that furious energy—it had to go somewhere, and I could feel it, even now, vibrating up into the air in waves, rising like a mist, absorbing into my skin.
Filling my bloodstream with toxins. I could feel it, physically feel the hatred multiplying inside me like cancer.
Online Natalie was optimized for resentment, adoration, jealousy, obsession—but hatred?
Pity? Disgust? It was unbearable for her. For me. For us.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I picked up the phone and began reading the notifications.
As I scrolled through the waves of fury, I found myself unable to discern between the progressive women who hated me and the good Christian women who hated me.
For once, they were aligned in their fury. And then there were the texts.
From my mother:
Natalie call me right now please
From my sister, a torrent of misspelled rage:
I just findit reelly interesting that u were soooo jugmental of me for getting a divorce n being such a “sinner” and meanwhile—
From an unknown number:
I’m going to slit your throat in the middle of the night you stupid fucking lesbo bitch
And then more unknown numbers, dozens of them, piling up in my phone like envelopes slipping through a mail slot.
I will pray to God for your horrible sins
U will burn in hell for this
Disgusting faggot bitch
I stared wildly around. How had these people gotten my phone number? What other private information had they uncovered? Were they going to come to the farm?
Go, Natalie. Run.
But run where? I had fanatical followers who lived in Brazil, New Zealand, Mongolia.
The whole world was a spotlight. Even my sweet little farm was rigged against me, bugged with phones, riddled with ungrateful children and disloyal workers.
There was nowhere to run. Nowhere safe to hide.
A terrible drowning sensation fell over me.
All the safety I would ever feel in my life was now firmly rooted in the past.