Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

  Returning with the bundle tucked under one arm, I rolled Sam over and instructed her to take off her stuff, while I did the same. After laying towels down on the upholstery, I put our wet clothes in the dryer.

  “We’re going to regret how much we drank in the morning,” I said, as we both collapsed on either end.

  “Yeah, we are. But it was worth it,” she said.

  “Yeah, it was.” The silence was comfortable.

  “Where’s your husband?”

  “Hanging with a friend and then spending the night at our house in Chadwick. He’ll be back in the morning. You’ll get to meet him, if you’re still here.” I’d told her about Blake during intermission. Briefly explaining why I was getting my own place, without going into the whole two-husbands thing.

  “I want a husband. God, I miss sex.”

  “Sex is my kryptonite. Sometimes, I think I’d sell my soul for it,” I admitted.

  “Well, that’s damn depressing,” she slurred sarcastically.

  Because teasing Sam was fast becoming my new favorite thing, I replied, “I suppose it can be. Lucky for me my husband's—”

  “Okay, you shut the hell up right now with all your amazing sex—wait, did you say husband’s?”

  “Ah, it sure feels like there’s two of him sometimes,” I said, cleaning up my slip.

  “My relationships never work out. They always end up walking away. ‘You’re too much to handle, Sam. You need to work on your filter, Sam. I’m just not that into you, Sam,’” she said, mockingly.

  “Screw them,” I shouted and wished I hadn’t. Ow.

  “Use your inside voice, Justin.”

  “Shit, sorry.” More silence. “I happen to think you’re quite magical,” I whispered.

  “Really? You think that?” She slowly raised her head, looking in my direction.

  I didn’t know if it was the tequila or if she simply wasn’t used to hearing nice things about herself, but I could tell my words meant something to her. More than I understood at that moment.

  “Yeah, Sam. I really do.” I felt around blindly until I found her hand and held it tight.

  I jackknifed awake and then instantly fell back to my prone position, groaning and shielding my eyes. “Who the hell turned on the lights?”

  “That would be the sun.”

  I heard laughter coming from somewhere to my right, and I slowly opened one eyelid to find Blake holding out a mug of what smelled like hazelnut heaven. Sittin up gingerly, I accepted his offering. To my left, someone complained about the noise level, and I remembered Sam was here. Last night came flooding back to me.

  Sam got herself upright one body part at a time. An interesting thing to watch. When she opened her mouth to speak, I wanted to knock her back into the dream world.

  “Holy Mary and Moses, this must be the husband. Now I understand why he likes his exit entered.”

  “Sammmm,” I groaned.

  “What?” Her expression morphed from bemused to shocked. “I said that out loud, didn't I?”

  “Yes, you did.” My cheeks burned.

  “I’d definitely let him plow through my backdoor.”

  “Sam!”

  “I did it again, didn’t I? Am I still doing it? Can you hear me now?”

  Blake looked amused, but I’d never been more embarrassed, and Sam still seemed drunk. I placed my mug down, deciding now was a good time to go to the bathroom. “It’s too early in the morning for this.”

  “It’s actually noon,” Blake yelled after me. I heard him asking Sam how she liked her coffee as I closed the bathroom door.

  Feeling more like myself after a hot shower, I made my way downstairs. Blake sat alone at the kitchen island reading the newspaper. “Where’s Sam?”

  “She left. Said she had an apartment to show but that she would have the lease and wire instructions emailed over to you within the hour.” Lowering the paper, he said, “You decided to take the apartment.”

  A statement of fact, but I answered anyway. “It’s all fuzzy, but yeah, I guess I did.”

  Placing the paper to the side, he said, “We should celebrate.”

  Smiling, I teased, “Who celebrates their husband moving out?”

  “Oh, I’m sure a lot of husbands do, and wives too,” he chuckled and moved around the counter to embrace me.

  “So, how should we celebrate?” I asked, running my hands up and down his strong back.

  “How do you feel about being on the other side of the pole for a change?”

  “You want... you want to go to Elite?”

  “No. Ash told me about a development in Seattle that one of his patients is part owner of. A huge indoor resort with a casino, shopping, dining, spas, all types of shows and more within. They have a pole dancing/burlesque show that’s getting rave reviews. There’s audience involvement, and on Saturday nights, it’s an all-male show that caters more to our type of crowd. I’ll book a room for the night. The show is sold out to the public, but he can get us tickets.”

  “All the way to Seattle? Tonight?” I slipped out of his hold and paced away.

  “It’s only a three-hour drive from here, and it’s still early. Julie wants us to stop by her office, but it’s in the direction of the freeway. We can pack a bag and be there in less than four hours.”

  The mention of Julie piqued my interest. “Why does she want us to stop by? We aren’t scheduled to see her again until Monday. Which reminds me—you’re off the medication for the next two nights. Do you really want to be away from home right now?”

  “Her receptionist said she has something for us. Something she’d like us to start working on right away―”

  “Not more assignments―”

  “—and we can’t constantly operate under fear and caution, love. This could be our life for a while. Forever. We’re not going to sit around and wait for the unexpected to happen. If we want Damon to stop feeling like an enemy, we’ve got to stop treating him like one.”

  “I swear I can’t keep up with you sometimes, Blake. Is this what two nights of great sleep does for you? Where’s the guy with unknown hidden things behind his half-smiles as early as a few days ago?” I regretted saying it. Is Sam rubbing off on me? “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.”

  “No, you’re right. My emotions have been all over the place. It’s highly likely that once Damon comes back, you’ll get him to agree to therapy. I’ll take the seproxetine Monday afternoon, and by the time evening rolls around and we’re on Julie’s couch, Damon will take his first steps toward integration. This could be my last weekend with you. I want to make the most of it. That’s all.”

  No matter how many times I reassured Blake that he wasn’t going anywhere and that I wasn’t going anywhere, he wouldn’t believe it until he saw it for himself. So I didn’t bother repeating it. I would have to believe for the both of us.

  Stepping in close to run my palms over his ass. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get packed.”

  I e-signed the lease and wired the funds to secure the apartment before we left home. The landlord threw in the remaining few weeks of that month for free. If I wanted to get started on

  the move-in, I could. My heart surged from a trot to a gallop at the thought of moving a second earlier than needed. Of spreading my wings before I had to take flight. Am I really doing this?

  Retrieving my car from Cliff’s bar, I followed Blake to Julie’s office. To save time, Blake kept his car idling at the curb while I parked mine in the building’s commercial parking lot—where it would stay for the night—then went up to fetch whatever Julie had for us.

  Julie’s assistant greeted me with a smile as soon as I stepped off the elevator. “You can go right in; Dr. Hayes is waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, Sarah.” I showed myself in to find Julie typing away behind her desk, positioned on the opposite side of the room near the built-in bookshelves. I cleared my throat.

  “Oh, Justin, you’re here.” She peered at me over the rim of
her glasses. “I’m trying to finish up the last of my case files so I can meet my husband for an early dinner. Please, have a seat. I’ll be less than a minute.”

  That was the second time I’d heard her mention her husband. The first was just to tell me she had one. It occurred to me then that while she knew almost every painful detail about me, I knew very little about her. Not unusual for client/patient relationships, except lately, she’d become more like family.

  “I won’t keep you long. I know you're anxious to get your night started.” She handed me two hardback copies of the same book, then smoothed down the back of her skirt before sitting and crossing her legs.

  “All of Us,” I read the title aloud. Confused, I turned the books over in my hand, waiting for more details.

  “This book goes to publication next month. It’s written by one of my former patients with Dissociative Identity Disorder. I got advanced copies for both you and Blake. I’d like you to read it—if you want, and at your leisure, of course. It might offer some insight into your own circumstance. It’s always beneficial to hear testimony from someone dealing with the same issues.”

  “Why the title ‘All of Us?’” I asked.

  “He housed twelve alters when I started working with him. That number has reduced drastically, with time. But they all play their parts in the story. The ones that remain helped with the writing of this. A joint effort.

  “It can be a bit manic and incohesive at times because of that. It adds to the authenticity.”

  “Twelve alters?” I tried to wrap my head around it. “How did he get any to cooperate on writing a book?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t easy, believe me. Writing this nor arriving at the place he is now. It’s taken years. So many I often lose count. But he never gave up. That’s the theme of this memoir.”

  Setting the books next to me, I said to her thoughtfully, “You know, I initially came to you because I’d read you were the best in your field, but I stayed because you reminded me of my mother. I lost her to cancer when I was young―as you know. The most warm and gentle person I’ve ever known. I used to tell her she smelled like sunshine.” I smiled at the memory. “When she was near, I felt loved and wrapped in a ray of warm light. So I associated her smell with sunshine.” Feeling emotional, I did my best to temper it. “Thank you for this.” I held the books again. “For everything.”

  Her smile was at odds with the rain pelting down outside. “This is my life’s purpose, Justin. Specifically helping those that face this particular challenge. This is why I was born. I believe that with all that I am. I have no intention of maintaining a professional distance by keeping things formal and clinical. In my experience, that doesn’t work. I am your confidant, your family, and your friend for as long as you’ll have me.”

  “We couldn’t have done this with anyone else. Sometimes... I wonder if I’m strong enough. Why can’t we be at the finish line already?” I choked up.

  “Because it doesn’t work that way, darling.” She came to sit next to me and took my hands in her smaller ones. “In order to get through, you first need to go through.”

  We discussed the likelihood of me seeing Damon that night. She soothed some of my panic around the prospect of it. After looking at the clock and noting the time, she gave me a shooing gesture. “Now go and have some fun.”

  I hugged her before heading out.

  “And, Justin,” she called. “I look forward to meeting Damon on Monday.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I can’t believe you made me listen to that album the whole ride. ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ is stuck in my head,” Blake complained.

  We were in the elevator en-route to the resort theatre to take in the show. “It’s a classic song. And don’t worry. I’ll have it out of your head by the end of the night,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Promises, promises,” he breathed.

  Blake entered through the theatre doors, handing our tickets to the attendant. I admired his black form fitting slacks and matching button-down. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. I casually made sure no one was looking, then adjusted my indecent hard-on through my own charcoal wool slacks.

  Entering the seating area, the production put out floored me. A huge circular stage took over the middle of the room. Gold clawfoot tubs spread across it, all filled with water that appeared to be steaming. Red velvet curtains draped the outskirts of the room from ceiling to floor, and aerialists performed on red and gold silks throughout the expansive space.

  “I’ve never seen ceilings this high. How many armies do you think it took to make curtains that long?” I asked.

  Before Blake could answer, we were being shown to our table close to center stage. We ordered neat scotches, and within a few minutes, the lights went out, with the exception of the spotlight on the aerialists and the one over the stage. Our drinks were delivered just as the announcer instructed everyone to relax and enjoy the show.

  The music came on, and men wearing nipple tassels, black leather thongs, and heels started climbing out of the bathtubs in record numbers. There must have been some sort of staircase mechanism under each tub that we couldn’t see. They stepped out dry, the steaming water an illusion. My eyes scanned for the projector.

  There was singing, dancing, strip teases and sex simulation. Blake’s facial expression when he was pulled on stage for a lap dance left me both tense and turned on.

  “Your friend sure knows how to put on a show,” I’d said dryly when Blake returned from the stage and collapsed back into his seat, panting.

  An amused glint had appeared in his eyes. “Are you... jealous?”

  I muttered a reply and hid behind my scotch. I couldn’t wait to get back to our room.

  We ended the night with dinner and a nightcap before heading back to our suite where the sexual tension that had been building between us all night came to its conclusion.

  Hours later, I turned over, feeling around for Blake. His side of the hotel bed was cold. I stiffened, the last dregs of sleep lifted from my now hyper-alert mind. I waited for him to say something.

  Sitting in a corner chair across the dark room, it didn’t take him long.

  “You should’ve told me you were moving, Not Blake. I would’ve given you what you wanted. What you needed.”

  Julie was right after all. I scooted back against the headboard, the silk sheet pooled around my waist, and his eyes followed the movement. “Where have you been, Damon?” My voice husky from sleep. Damon spread his legs to gain access to his balls.

  “Enjoying the show,” he said.

  I couldn’t make out his face in shadow, but his voice held a leer. I was positive his facial expression matched.

  “I nearly emerged when your doctor-friend prescribed sleeping pills. But my curiosity won out. It’s always good to know your limitations. Since my last memory prior to Blake falling asleep tonight is of you telling him about your move, I’m going to concede that operation ‘take Damon down’ was a success. A man knows when he’s been outplayed. Backed into a corner.” He shifted a fraction but remained seated.

  “Either I give in and agree to share you, or... you walk away.” Disbelief but acceptance laced his words. The realization that I would leave came as a shock to him.

  “You’ve shared me before.” I held my breath.

  “It’s not the same, and you know it,” he snapped. “I need control. Give and take has never been my job.” He rolled his head. “You want me to be him. But if I’m him, and he’s him, then who’s going to be me?”

  Was I imagining the slight tremor in his voice? I leaned forward to get a better look at him, and the sheet slipped lower. A little more of me revealed. Damon’s lidded gaze grew heavier.

  “What I want is to live in harmony with the both of you. What I want is to be able to share the same experiences with you both. I have one set of tangible moments with you and one with Blake.” I became impassioned. “I want to feel your gentleness without losing y
our fire. I want you to fucking tell me I’m not going anywhere but step back and watch me go anyway. Then punish and break me for it when I return, before holding me all night and putting me back together again. And I want you to remember everything, every second of the life we share.”

  He rose and began stalking the room. My eyes were fully adjusted to the dark by then. I fought to ignore his nakedness. My stare avoided the spot below his belly button, painted with my dried and crusted seed spilled only a few hours ago. I swallowed down the secretion that filled my cheeks at the thought of licking him clean.

  “I am not that man, Just. It won’t work.”

  “So, what, you’re not even going to try?” I asked.

  He stopped his treading to look at me. “Do I have a choice? Because it doesn’t feel like you’re giving me one.” His words were clipped. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration and resumed his pacing.

  Well, I was pissed too. “There’s always a choice! You can fight. And I’ll never stop fighting with you. Or you can quit before you start...” I swallowed hard before saying the last part. “And lose me.”

  He didn’t like that.

  “You want me to commit to being psychoanalyzed, commit to endless trial and error with medications, and you want me integrated.” His eyes were wild; his body vibrated. “What if in the end, I end up simply being... Blake?” He threw his arms in the air and turned his back to me.

  “That’s not possible,” I grated out, about ready to throw something at him.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Blake is not a whole person, dammit! This only ends with you both being whole. Any other way isn’t sustainable.” We faced each other, both of our chests rising rapidly within the quiet. I prayed things worked out how I desperately pretended to know they would. I’d have said anything to get him to try. But I can’t lose either part of him.

  “Come here,” he commanded abruptly.