CHAPTER NINE

Two months of being home.

Not much has changed except I’m sick of hiding away in the house. Today, I have the urge to venture out. I head for the museum. I don’t think I’m at risk of seeing Kanye, my family or anyone I may know at a museum in the middle of the day on a Thursday. I have this sudden urge to see beautiful pictures. For the last five years, all that was in front of me was ugliness.

I dress in denim shorts and a black, capped-sleeve top. I hop in my silver Mazda3 and start her up. The vibration of the engine sends a jolt to my heart. The ability to go anywhere on my own is still new to me. Excitement courses through my veins.

It doesn’t take long before I’m at The Minneapolis Institute of Arts. Walking through the long hallways, examining the artwork on the walls, I come to a picture where men are standing behind a barbed wire fence in black and white striped trousers and jackets. I read the title of the picture.

Holocaust. The Living Dead at Buchenwald, 1945.

Their faces tell of hope lost. Families ruined. Souls damaged beyond repair. They’ve been beaten down and given no light at the end of the tunnel. The picture causes my heart to ache so I move on.

The next picture is of four elderly men, their ages I’m guessing would be somewhere in the eighties or nineties. Each has an arm around the next and all of them with smiles on their faces. I read the statement at the bottom.

Holocaust Survivors, 2005.

I read the names from left to right. I look up to their picture and study each smile. Each man’s grin is unique and tells of a life now filled with happiness.

A small piece of warmth hits my chest. They survived Hell. They actually lived in Hell with thousands of evil men. Could I one day be like them? Smiling and happy. A survivor, actually surviving happily?

I’m unsure how long I stand there staring at the picture of the four happy elderly men, but at some point it hits me. If I saw these men out in the streets, I would never know what they had been through. I look around the hallway and see three other people in a group regarding pictures, talking to each other and smiling. What if these people had been through horrors themselves? Yet they are smiling, happy. How do they do that? Move to the place that allows them to smile again?

I want to buy a camera. I want to capture those smiles on people’s faces. I want to find the answer. People everywhere struggle through hard times. Grief, heartache, and like me, rape. They still carry on; they still smile. I want to capture those moments and fill my life with them. I want to learn how they do that, how they survive and do it with a smile on their face.

***

I’m at home fiddling with my new camera I just bought, a Canon 600D. Kanye gave me a bankcard a few weeks ago; he said it was our joint account. He told me to use it. I vowed not to. I didn’t want to spend his hard-earned money, but this was important. I need this camera.

The front door handle rattles and I know its Kanye unlocking it. It’s that time of the day for him to come over and say he’s checking the mail, but he comes inside and checks the fridge and stares at me instead.

The door opens and I watch the most beautiful man walk through. His blue, soft eyes look from the handle to mine. I’m flashed to an impossible future where this could have been Kanye coming home from work. “Daddy’s home, yay!” Our two beautiful children race each other down the stairs to cuddle their father. Kanye scoops them up into his arms and gives them a kiss each on their cheeks. Then comes to me, his wife and gives me a heart stopping, passionate kiss because he missed me so much in the eight hours he’s been gone for.

“Emmy, you okay?”

I’m shaken from my fantasy. I nod quickly and go back to reading the instructions on my camera.

“What’s that, Emmy?” Kanye asks, pointing to the camera.

“I went to the museum today and decided I wanted to buy a camera. I want to take pictures.” I glance at Kanye to view his reaction.

“Pictures of what, baby?”

I cringe when he uses the endearment. It sends false hope to my heart and I’m left with the wild beating inside my chest. He notices, he always does, but he keeps calling me it.

“I want to take pictures of people.” I see the confusion on Kanye’s face but I just shrug. I’m not sure how to explain to him why I want the camera.

“Um, that’s good, Emmy, and you left the house today. Maybe next time you can let me know when you go and I can come with you.”

I sigh. He knows I want him to leave me alone, but he doesn’t and he won’t. I shrug once again and go back to studying my new camera. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Kanye observe me for a minute and then he moves to the fridge.

“Emmy, you're low on food. I told you to tell me when you needed something.”

I take in the contents of the fridge. Hmm, I do need food. This is just another reason why Kanye feels he needs to look after me. Damn, I need to start taking care of myself so he doesn’t have to check up on me. I stand from the table.

“I’ll head to the store now.”

“I’ll go with you. We can take my car,” is Kanye’s reply as I grab my car keys.

“No, I can take myself and shop on my own. I’m sure you have other things to do, Kanye.”

“Yes, I do Emmy. I have a fuckload of shit I need to do. But what I want to do is take you to the store and spend some time with you.”

I sigh once more and drop my car keys to the table knowing I’m not going to win this conversation. I head for the front door and then I pivot, race back into the dining room, and grab my new camera.

We head out to Kanye’s black SUV and drive in silence to the grocery store, while I snap pictures of people we pass.

We arrive at the supermarket and grab a cart. Kanye pushes while I snap some more pictures. I spot a store attendant, who is smiling brightly and saying hello to everyone who passes her as we enter the store. She looks at me strangely after I take the picture. I step closer to Kanye and look around the store as if I never took the picture. It never crossed my mind what people would think if they knew I was taking pictures of them.

I hear a chuckle, look to Kanye and see him grinning at me.

“So you brought a camera to take pictures of grocery store attendants?”

“No, yes. I brought the camera to take pictures of everyone. Beautiful people,” I reply.

“And chicks in ugly, yellow and blue uniforms are beautiful to you?” he asks, surprised.

“Every person who can smile in this world is beautiful and lucky,” I state, picking up some carrots and putting them in the cart.

When I pick up a bag of potatoes and look for the cart, I see Kanye hasn’t moved on with me. He’s staring at me with intensity. A stare that expresses his understanding and sadness for me. I glance away and try to busy myself to ignore the need to have his arms wrapped around my body so he can fix the broken I have inside me.

Kanye and I move around the supermarket silently. Before I was taken, we would fight over who was pushing the cart. We would laugh, touch, and kiss our way through the food shopping.

“Kanye, I can push a cart,” I say as he tries to nudge me to the right to be in front of the handlebars.

“I know, baby, but it’s full. It’s got to be heavy. Just give it to me.” I choose to ignore him and push the mildly heavy cart.

“Emmy, let me push the cart,” Kanye says these words in a low tone. One I’m sure he reckons will make me think he means business. I keep my head straight and continue to ignore the huge man trying to push me out the way.

“You know what will happen next, baby,” he states.

I turn and glare at him. I’m wondering if he’s talking about spanking me later or tickling me right now. I tend to snort when I laugh. It’s quite embarrassing. If Kanye is threatening that right now, in this grocery store, which is full of people, then he is in so much trouble.

Kanye’s grin grows wider at my glare. “I’m going to enjoy spanking your ass later. But don’t think I won’t tickle you for the cart, right now.”

I stop dead in my tracks and Kanye takes his hand from the cart and narrows his eyes on me.

“You wouldn’t dare.” I know I’m initiating the dare with those words, but there’s no way he’s going to do this, over a cart!

“I can see you having to pull against your body when you stop to pick something. That means the cart is too fucking heavy for you, Emmy. You’re my girl. I’m walking right next to you. That shit is not cool if I just let you keep deep breathing like you ran a marathon just to stop the fucking cart. So yes, I will tickle you for the cart. Win-win for me. I love your snorts. They make me fucking hard.”

I roll my eyes at his over-reaction of me stopping the cart. I look around and assess how many people are around us and who would hear me. As I’m looking around, I feel his hand under my arm and I scream. In one jump, I let go of the cart and Kanye has it firmly in his grasp.

Damn him. “Are you happy? You have the precious cart now.” I stomp off away from him and Kanye laughs out loud.

I’m standing, looking over the spreads when I feel his arm wind around my waist and his lips press on my neck. I fight the urge to sink into his body. I last about three seconds when he whispers, “I’m just saving your energy for later, baby. I’m going to spank your ass and tickle you breathless.”

Heat explodes down below and my body betrays me as I sink into Kanye’s chest.

I find myself holding my rose glass necklace. I give it a quick squeeze before I decide to distract myself from the memories by snapping a few more pictures of people shopping. Couples and families together. All of them smiling and happy. I wonder about what adversaries they’ve fought through and are now smiling.

We finish buying groceries and Kanye drives us back to the house. We put the food away together in more awkward silence. Sometimes Kanye leaves with a quiet goodbye, other times he starts up with us getting back together. I sense today is one of those days he wants to talk again and it’s making me jittery. It kills me to keep reliving rejecting him.

“Emmy—” Kanye starts, but I cut him off.

“No, please, Kanye. Please don’t go there. I’ve told you my answer a hundred times and it hasn’t changed.”

Kanye’s face falls, just like it does every time.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not the Emily you fell in love with.”

“Then show me the new Emily. I will love her too. Whatever mask you wear, I will love them all,” Kanye states firmly.

My mouth drops open and my eyes widen. When will he give up!

Kanye must see the question on my face because he answers it for me.

“I’m never giving up, Emmy. Don’t think I can’t read you like a book. I know what you’re doing. Pushing me away because you think for some fucking reason you’re saving me. But you aren’t. Being away from you is killing me. But that’s okay. I understand why, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. Every goddamn day I will be here reminding you of how much I love you. I’m. Never. Giving. Up. I know you love me, Emmy. It’s in your eyes every time you watch me step into this house and every time you hold your necklace.”

I drop my hand from my necklace not even realizing I’m holding it for strength to endure this conversation. My eyes sting and I will them not to cry. I have no idea what to say, how to deter him. I decide to go with the truth. I have no idea what else to do.

I throw up hands up in the air. “I’m not good enough for you anymore. I can’t even smile, let alone ever laugh again. Feeling happy is a fucking miracle for me. Do you want that for your future? To have some depressed woman by your side forever. I'm not the fun, happy, free-spirited Emily you fell in love with. You have to start understanding so you can move on.”

“Never. I glimpse her every time I walk into this house and you look at me like you used too. I see her, right now, trying to protect me, the man you love. Whatever is going through your head about not being good enough or trying to give me a better future, it’s wrong, Emmy. I can see it’s going to take more time than I thought for that to sink in and for you to realize I’m not going anywhere, no matter what words you sling my way. I was here twelve years ago. I’m here now, and I will be here fighting for you until the day I die.”

Kanye takes two steps and kisses my temple. I’m frozen from his determined words and now I’m stone still from his touch.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Emmy,” Kanye says softly and then walks out of the house.

I’m left staring at the counter in the kitchen trying to remember if he was always this stubborn. Yes, yes, he was.