Yield

by Ashling, Mickie B.

  “Shall we share a bottle of red wine?”

  “If you like.”

  “I’m asking what you’d prefer.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m on a budget.”

  He reached for my hand across the table. “I’m paying, Jay.”

  My cheeks felt hot, and I searched his face. Did he think I was a loser? Even though his expression hadn’t changed, I felt he deserved an explanation.

  “Sorry for spoiling the mood, but I’m in between jobs at the moment.”

  “Not at all,” he said easily. “It’s good to be up-front about your situation. That being said, would you prefer red or white wine?”

  “Red.”

  We shared an order of assorted olives and crusty bread while we waited for our main course. Crispy cucumber salad accompanied two different pizzas. Fennel sausage with bell peppers, tomato, and mozzarella cheese for me and a Neapolitan style—anchovies, capers, hot peppers, fresh oregano, and mozzarella—for him. We exchanged slices so we got a taste of both. He didn’t start the questions until after we had our cannoli.

  Over coffee, he announced, “I’m ready for the big reveal.”

  I blinked, having completely forgotten I owed him an explanation. In as steady a voice as possible, I told him I’d just left the priesthood behind.

  His eyes widened. “Was it a difficult decision?”

  “Extremely,” I confirmed. “I’m still dealing with the aftermath.”

  “How long did it take you to make up your mind?”

  His question revealed a compassionate understanding of our faith, and I let down my guard. “I should have quit a long time ago, but I kept hoping things would change.”

  “How old were you when you entered the seminary?”

  “Eighteen. It took me a dozen years to make up my damn mind.”

  “You’re thirty?”

  I nodded.

  “Still young enough to start a new career.”

  “I hope so.”

  He smiled. “What order?”

  “Jesuit. Does it bother you, knowing you’re dating a fallen angel?”

  “I prefer to think of you as reborn.”

  “It’s all about perception, isn’t it?”

  “That’s how it should be viewed,” Tom offered. “There’s nothing wrong in admitting you’ve made a mistake. Staying in an unbearable situation would be far worse.”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  “My lizard brain is happy with your decision.”

  I grinned back at him.

  After he paid the check, he asked if I’d like to call it a night, or would I mind having a nightcap at his place.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Twin Peaks. We can take the tram up Market.”

  “Is that how you got here?”

  “Yeah. I keep an old Honda in my garage for out-of-town trips, but I prefer walking or public transportation.”

  “The view must be terrific from your place.”

  “I’d like to show it to you,” he said slowly. “If you’ll let me.”

  It didn’t take more than a few seconds to decide. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 23

  My headache woke me from a sound sleep, and I made the mistake of sitting up abruptly, resulting in an alarming wave of dizziness. Shutting my eyes for a second, I waited, hoping the tilting sensation would pass. Without looking, I knew I was naked in a stranger’s bed in a room I didn’t recognize. The soft snoring was unfamiliar, as was the musky cologne. Risking disaster, I opened my eyes and waited for the room to start spinning again. Thankfully nothing happened. A sliver of light snuck in through the slight gap in the curtains, and now I could make out a shape. Moving like a slug, I turned toward the figure in the bed.

  He was on his side, face turned away, but the full head of hair was all I needed to know it wasn’t Sami, who still sported a military cut. I crept out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. After getting rid of a night’s worth of pee, I washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would revive me. Drops of water spiked my lashes when I looked at my reflection. My lips were inflamed and a large hickey on my neck summoned up memories of last night’s make-out session. My gaze drifted down to the faded pink letter S lurking underneath my chest hair. Had Tom asked how that had come about? I couldn’t remember.

  Trying to explain the etching on my skin would be impossible without going into specifics. Tom obviously had no problem bedding an ex-priest, but what would he think if I admitted I was a masochist? Would that tip the scales? I couldn’t risk it. If he asked, I’d tell him it happened when I was assaulted. I could spin that story—hell, I’d already done it once—and elicit sympathy instead of disgust.

  In search of a toothbrush, I opened his medicine cabinet and found a whole slew of prescription drugs with his name on the labels. Christ, what’s this? I hoped he didn’t have anything contagious. I reached for one to get a clue, but I didn’t recognize the name escitalopram. Before I could inspect the other bottles, there was a knock on the door, and Tom poked his head through the opening.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  “I’m fine. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare toothbrush?”

  “Sorry,” Tom said. “I’ve got a big bottle of mouthwash, though.”

  “That’ll work.”

  “Under the sink.”

  “Great. Is it okay if I hop in the shower?”

  “Be my guest,” Tom said affably. “I’ll start breakfast.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  He beamed and shut the door. So far, so good. Tom seemed genuinely pleased to see me this morning. It would be nice if I could remember what the hell went down aside from the kissing. After my shower, I retrieved my clothes in the bedroom. Tom had left them folded neatly on a chair and I got dressed and headed downstairs.

  Last night, I’d been given a brief tour of this tri-level townhouse perched on a hill with a spectacular view overlooking the city. His bedroom and attached bathroom took up the top floor, which was street level. One floor down was a combination living and dining room with a nicely appointed kitchen. There were two more bedrooms and another bathroom on the lowest level, along with a stacked washer and dryer tucked away in an alcove.

  “Hey, you,” he said when I walked through the door. “Want some coffee?”

  “I’d love a cup.”

  Tom turned to fill my order, which allowed me to stare at his backside. He was wearing a pair of clingy lounge pants but no shirt. Freckles covered his shoulders and upper arms, and I couldn’t help comparing his pale torso with Sami’s sleekly bronzed muscles and bulging biceps. I regretted my shallow thoughts at once. Tom had been nothing but kind so far.

  “Here you go,” he said. “Do you need cream or sugar?”

  “Black is fine.”

  It was a bold blend, and I enjoyed each gulp.

  “I had fun last night,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

  “Me too. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much after our second bottle of wine.”

  “We did go a little overboard.”

  I leaned forward. “This sounds terrible, but did we….”

  “Do it?”

  I grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “We passed out before it got to that point.”

  “Yikes.”

  Tom snickered. “We’ll do better next time.”

  “No morning-after regrets?”

  “None at all,” Tom assured me. “I’d love to go out again.”

  I nodded. “I’ll make sure and abstain the next time.”

  “You weren’t the only one who got carried away.”

  “I think my nerves got the best of me.”

  “Am I the first guy you’ve dated since you left the order?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What does that mean?” Tom asked.

  “I’ve been seeing someone on the down low.”

  “Since when?”

  “February.”

&nb
sp; “It’s June.”

  “I know.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  It sounded like an accusation more than an observation.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Tom frowned. “Is he still in your life?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my convoluted relationship with Sami. “Not at the moment.”

  “Is there any chance he’ll reappear?”

  “Why are we having this discussion, Tom? You and I barely know each other.”

  “I’d like to change that, but I’d hate to get emotionally involved with someone whose heart belongs to another guy.”

  “There’s no commitment on either side.”

  “That’s helpful,” Tom said. “Want some breakfast?”

  “I never say no to food.”

  He seemed satisfied for the moment and didn’t ask any more questions other than what type of eggs I prefer. After the delicious meal, I helped him clean up and told him it was time I headed home. Checking in with Rino each morning was part of our routine. It was Ethan’s concession to my ongoing care under his boy’s watchful albeit distant eyes. Now that Father Spencer was a fixture in my life, the couple felt I was in good hands, hopefully no longer suicidal. Still, he’d panic if I didn’t keep our regular appointment an hour from now.

  “Do you want me to drive you home?”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “I don’t mind,” Tom said. “I’d enjoy spending a little more time with you.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Positive.”

  In the car, Tom asked if I’d like to work at USF. He’d been there long enough to know the ins and outs of the place and offered to help me get my foot in the door by introducing me to the right people. I’d been too busy worrying about my sanity to begin job hunting, but I needed a steady income. Rino’s lease would be up soon and the landlord wouldn’t accept me if I was unemployed.

  “I can set you up with someone in Human Resources,” he said enthusiastically. “They’ll evaluate your credentials and go from there.”

  “That’s thoughtful,” I said sincerely. “Thank you.”

  “It must be difficult transitioning away from the priesthood. I’d like to help in any way that I can.”

  “You’re a godsend.”

  “Let me talk to my sources today, and I’ll call you tonight to give you some options.”

  “I appreciate it more than you know.”

  “You can show me how much the next time we spend the night together,” he teased.

  I must have looked surprised because he apologized in the next breath. “Have I offended you?”

  “Not at all,” I lied. Why was I annoyed by his casual assumption that I’d be willing to repay his kindness with sexual favors? Was I reading too much into his remark? Perhaps it was buyer’s remorse. Things between us were moving a little too fast, and I wasn’t sure I was ready. On the other hand, I couldn’t afford to pass up the opportunity to find work. Later, I’d confide in Father Spencer. Let him decide if I was being paranoid or not.

  When we got to my apartment, Tom reached for me to kiss me goodbye. I hesitated a second too long and caught a flicker of something in his eyes I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t anger. I’d been with Sami long enough to tell the difference. It seemed improbable, but Tom was behaving like a dejected lover. We’d had two dates and an abbreviated sleepover. Yes, he’d offered to help, and I’d accepted, but did that give him the right to pout over a missed kiss? Maybe I was still hungover, but his behavior was off-putting.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said as I was getting out of the car. He sounded disappointed that I hadn’t changed my mind about the flubbed kiss, but things felt awkward between us, and I wasn’t giving in to this passive-aggressive display. Sami, for all his faults, was crystal clear when it came to his needs. Turns out I preferred his brutal honesty over polite evasion.

  “Thanks for everything.”

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  I called Rino after getting settled inside the apartment.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “I went on a date last night.”

  “With Sami?”

  “He hasn’t called since we parted ways. I met a new guy at a bar and we hit it off.”

  “That’s wonderful, Jay. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I tried to put some enthusiasm into my words, but there was no denying I missed Sami. In all the time we’d been together, I’d never left his bed wondering what we’d done. The effects of our lovemaking often lasted days. Was I so damaged I couldn’t respond to kindness without reading something more into it?

  “You don’t sound convinced,” Rino noted.

  “Maybe because I’m not.”

  “Give him a chance, Jay. He might surprise you.”

  I sighed. “I wish Sami would call to check on me.”

  “He’s not that kind of guy,” Rino reminded me. “Don’t expect anything and you won’t be disappointed.”

  “A fitting epitaph for my tombstone.”

  “Come on, Jay. You’re doing great so far. Don’t let Sami derail your progress.”

  “Okay.”

  Changing topic so he wouldn’t notice my lukewarm response, I told him about Tom’s offer. “He works at USF and plans to give me a leg up if I want to teach.”

  “Do you?” Rino asked.

  “It might be a good fit.”

  “Keep us posted.”

  “I will.”

  When I hung up, I texted Sami like I did each day. Pathetic, childish behavior I couldn’t seem to overcome. My eyes stung as I typed my message.

  I met a guy

  No response.

  Don’t you care?

  Zip, nada, blank screen…motherfucker.

  How could he ignore me when I needed him so badly? I could feel my demons taunting me, and I didn’t have the strength to push them away. Tossing the phone aside, I tore off my clothes. Buried at the back of my bedroom closet was the leather belt I used to self-flagellate. It had been three weeks since I’d succumbed to temptation, but I was too agitated to stop now. Dropping to my knees, I swung my right arm in an arc and let the belt fly. The first lash was the most painful, but after a few more strokes, the euphoria rose, accompanying the pain as predictably as night followed day. My cock elongated and precum oozed with each torturous pass. When I had enough, I dropped the belt and jacked off violently. With Sami on my mind, tears poured down my cheeks, and I howled in anguish while I lay on the floor with my raw back against the scratchy carpet. Why hadn’t he called? How would this end? Would I never find peace unless it was with him? Question after question flitted through my fevered brain, and I balled up into a fetal position and sobbed.

  Chapter 24

  After several botched attempts over the last month, Peter McCauley observed Sami, who was reclining on the sofa with his eyes closed and hands clasped over his chest. They’d discovered this relaxation technique was the only thing that worked to induce a hypnotic state.

  Peter always started each session by plunging the room into darkness with blackout curtains, the only source of light a flickering aromatic candle on a corner shelf. A mood-enhancement DVD played softly in the background, inducing a tropical paradise, a setting far removed from the harsh desert that had burned Sami’s skin and damaged his soul.

  The atmospheric effect of the muted sounds—cawing seagulls, the susurrus of waves breaking on sand, and ruffling palm fronds—aided by the aroma of coconut released by the burning candle lulled him into a peaceful state outside of his consciousness. Then Peter suggested that Sami imagine himself lying in a rope hammock tied between sturdy trees, swaying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until his eyelids grew heavy and his breathing evened out. Reggae music seeped through the sounds of nature, the syncopated blending of calypso and blues, an uplifting addendum to the mood.

  Sami was one of Peter’s more stub
born cases and had walked out of the office on more than one occasion, muttering expletives. But he always showed up for his next appointment, looking mildly contrite. He acknowledged that Peter was on the right track, but giving up control would take more than reassuring words.

  “What if I’ve done something I can’t face in the light of day?” he’d asked after one of his tirades. “Won’t you be obligated to report it, whatever it might be?”

  “Doctor/patient privilege prevails unless you’re a danger to yourself or others, or have broken federal or state laws. I promise I’ll go to my grave without revealing your secrets.”

  Sami grew more confident and felt himself slipping under the next time but wrenched himself out of the hypnotic state in a panic.

  Fortunately, Peter was a patient man, and Sami had the money to keep trying. They’d finally arrived at the stage where Sami could relax enough to allow an intensity of focus otherwise unobtainable. When he was in this state, Peter could ask questions and receive honest answers. The goal was to get to the root of the problem so he might introduce new ideas for behavior modification while Sami was still hypnotized. These suggestions usually lasted long after the session was over.

  A few sessions back, pre-hypnosis, Sami had gone over interrogation techniques he’d learned in training. It was good background for Peter, who had no idea how things worked in the military, especially in Sami’s field of expertise.

  “I didn’t enlist to become an interrogator,” Sami explained. “I have a gift for languages and seem to lack the empathy gene, so when our regular guy wasn’t available, they picked me to step into his shoes.”

  “And you did such a bang-up job they asked you to stay.”

  Sami shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “So you’re self-taught?”

  “It wasn’t hard to figure out once I understood the mindset. There’s an official manual I used as a guide. The US Army Field Manual on Interrogation was first written in 1956. It clearly prohibited certain interrogation techniques such as stress positions, sleep manipulation, waterboarding, isolation, and nudity. They were considered torture. Those guidelines were present in subsequent versions published in 1967, 1976, 1987, and 1992. In the new manual published in 2006, some of the wordings explicitly detailed in the 1992 version were missing.”