by Genna Rulon
“Okay,” I replied pathetically.
“I don’t often know my patients—socially—as well as I do you, which could theoretically pose a therapeutic challenge. But seeing as I don’t actually know you, we should be fine. Then again, no one actually knows you, do they? Not even yourself.”
It was quite the opening remark. Thia neatly summarized the crux of my predicament with a mixture of accusation and understanding. The question seemed rhetorical so I didn’t bother to answer.
“Don’t worry, if you ask and answer the hard questions, then by the time I’m through, you will know exactly who you were, who you are, and who you want to be.”
“I’d like that,” I answered earnestly.
“We’ll see. Everyone believes they want self-awareness but very few people can truly face themselves with honesty. Most everyone has a skewed sense of self—some focus on only the best, others only the worst. There is a small section of the population who internalizes and accepts blame for circumstances beyond their control, ultimately wallowing in self-loathing and feelings of ignominy. Is that an apt description of anyone you know?” she asked, looking at me pointedly.
“You have to know that some of those people aren’t incorrect in their personal assessments. There are bad people in the world, Thia. And there are people who may not be bad themselves but attract evil to them like a disease that they absorb and carry with them, infecting all the innocents they come in contact with,” I argued.
“There’s a diagnosis for people who feel as you’ve described—avoidant personality disorder or AvPD.”
“Is that what you believe I have?” I asked, dreading her answer.
“Hell no! You certainly display some of the traits associated with AvPD, but to diagnose you as AvPD would be trivializing the condition and minimalizing those that are afflicted with it.”
“Okay, then what’s wrong with me?” I asked, mildly disappointed that Thia didn’t label me with the condition. Not that I wanted to have AvPD, but any diagnosis seemed like a step closer to fixing what was wrong with me and somehow it would be comforting to know I wasn’t the only one suffering.
“Without the full disclosure of your past and the secrets you keep, I hesitate to make a definitive statement,” Thia said with a glimmer in her eye. I smelled a set-up, but like Roger Rabbit, I just had to knock.
“Give me your best guess.”
“In psychological terms, I would say there is absolutely nothing wrong with you…other than the fact that you have your head up your ass,” she said in a sweet tone that belied her words and message.
“What? That’s your professional assessment? Your diagnosis is that I have my head up my ass? Should I bend over so you can pull it out?”
“Don’t be ridiculous…you’re the only one who can extricate your head from your anus.”
“I can’t believe people pay you for this,” I griped.
“They do—a lot, in fact. But seeing as you aren’t the one footing the bill, you hardly have grounds to complain.” After a pause, she continued, “What would you call a beautiful, intelligent woman who has proven herself to be compassionate and giving, who is surrounded by people who see this in her and love her, who has—by all accounts—fought tooth-and-nail for every achievement in her life, and who has survived some unknown ordeal that she won’t discuss in order to protect those she loves, but despite all evidence believes herself to be ‘a carrier of evil that infects all the innocents she comes in contact with?’” she finished. “I’d say that remarkable young woman has an affected sense of self, likely stemming from childhood and/or specific traumatic events. I would also say her self-perception is so warped that she does, in fact, have her head up her ass.”
“You don’t understand. There’s so much you don’t know about me. If you knew, you wouldn’t be so quick to defend me against myself,” I said sadly.
“Then tell me, Meg. Tell me and we’ll find out who’s right. I’ll even bet you twenty bucks when all is said and done that you’ll be the one agreeing with me.”
“I can’t, Thia. I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking. I’ve spent my entire adult life lying and hiding in order to survive. I’m not sure I can face my shame.”
“You face your shame every day, regardless of whether the emotion is merited. You face your past with each evasion and half-truth you force yourself to tell to protect your secrets. You think you’re hiding from your past, but you’re not—you’re hiding from the present by wrapping yourself in the past. It’s time to confront your past and live in the present, otherwise you have no future.”
I said nothing, too struck by the truth of her words.
“You’re here and not running this time. That tells me you’re ready. Am I right, Meg…are you ready?”
I thought about my answer, wanting to be sure I could follow through with the commitment I was making, knowing this was my last chance.
“Yes. I’m terrified but I’m ready. I just don’t know where to start.”
“Well, you’re in luck because our time’s up. You have an entire week to figure out where to start. In the meantime, you have homework. I understand Dr. Mesina has promised to support your academic pursuits with the contingency that you contact the FBI regarding the potential threats you’re facing. Assignment one: call the agent Dr. Mesina has been in contact with. Assignment two: from now on, when one of the people you trust asks a question, you must give them an honest answer…no evasion or redirection. Assignment three: find a trait you admire in the people you love that you also possess. Write it down because you’re going to have to share with me next week. Got it?”
“Geeze, Thia, I have easier homework in most of my graduate courses,” I joked.
“That’s because you sociology types are lightweights. It’s the psych department that does the hard work,” she teased, the classic psychology/sociology struggle for supremacy raging on.
“Har, har. You headcases only have to focus on one mind. We have to consider the collective conscious from small groups to the entire global population. Yet who gets all the cool TV shows? The head doctors, that’s who,” I said, laughing along with her. “Thanks for doing this, Thia. For caring enough to drive me nuts.”
“My pleasure—and I mean that quite literally. I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm, now that I don’t have to pretend you’ve actually evaded me when I ask a question,” Thia said, looking far too enthusiastic for my comfort.
As I walked out, she shouted a final command.
“Meg, one more thing…eat! You’re too skinny. Tell Samantha she needs to be home a few more nights a week to up your caloric intake. I know Griffin is a tempting distraction, but she’s falling down on the job. Be sure to tell her I said so.”
After leaving Thia’s office, I headed to Higher Yearning for my shift, which proved to be a mistake as I was so caught in my head after our session that I screwed up virtually every order. Thankfully, Ev was in the office—still catching up on paperwork after her honeymoon—and immediately recognized my dilemma.
“I’m thinking we should switch your day off to Mondays until further notice,” Ev suggested kindly without pointing out the obvious reason for the switch. “Also, I noticed the stockroom took a beating while I was away. I know you’re supposed to be at the counter, but do you mind tackling that disaster zone and I’ll cover the front until Jamie comes in?”
“Sure thing, if that would help you out, boss lady,” I said teasingly, both of us knowing she was saving my ass, not the other way around.
I spent the rest of the day cloistered away, reorganizing. It was a task that occupied me just enough to keep the thoughts at bay, yet my foggy brain wasn’t required to function above a kindergartener’s competency—in other words, it was perfect.
Pulling into Sam’s driveway after a draining day, I was pleased to see Griffin’s car in the driveway. I was used to solitude, but I missed GriffLo when they weren’t home. Having to adjust to life without Wes was crippling�
��not only the agony of missing him but the return of my loneliness.
As if conjured by my thoughts, Wes pulled into his driveway as I exited my own vehicle. I paused, hoping against all odds he would do something—anything—to let me know he still cared…that there was some small chance at reconciliation. That hope was crushed beneath the wheel of his car as the garage door opened and he drove straight in without so much as a glance in my direction. Glutton for punishment, I remained frozen in place, waiting to see if he would come out of the garage to talk with me. My answer came in the form of the garage door closing noisily. My already battered heart absorbed another hit. How many more would it take before I was down for the count?
I trudged inside, defeated and hopeless. Wes had proven true to his word—I no longer existed in his world. Unfortunately, he not only existed in my world, he was the epicenter of my happiest memories and now the primary source of my anguish and regret. Was that to be the sum of my life…an endless string of regrets and suffering caused by my own hand?
“Megaleena, is that you? Dinner’s about to be served, so don’t bother going upstairs,” Sam called from the kitchen.
Collecting what little remained of my strength, I made the Herculean effort to paste a smile on my face as I walked into the kitchen, where the attentive eyes of GriffLo greeted me.
Taking an unusually tactful approach, Sam said, “You look…a little worn out.”
Leaving her post at the stove, she came over and hugged me with all of her pint-sized might. It was a rare display of physical affection, which said more about her degree of concern than words ever could.
When she released me, Griffin offered his own show of support with an affectionate shoulder squeeze.
“Are you sure I can’t kick his ass for you?” Griffin asked, undoubtedly prepared to walk next door should I consent.
“You can’t. He didn’t do anything wrong. The blame for this is on me. If anything, it’s my ass that needs to be kicked. I hurt him, Griffin…badly. I took something from him thoughtlessly and betrayed his trust. It might not have been intentional on my part, but that doesn’t lessen the impact of what I’ve done.”
“There’s no reason for me to teach you a lesson when you’re already beating the crap out of yourself. Relationships are hard and people make mistakes. He may be justified in his anger, but he should have given you a chance to explain,” Griffin surmised. “And you should have trusted him enough to be honest. You can’t have a relationship if you keep yourself divided, only sharing the parts that are easy to love. That’s true for family, too,” he added, a gentle reprimand.
“I know…and you’re right. I wish I had taken the risk earlier and given him the opportunity to decide for himself. Instead, I decided he couldn’t love the whole of me, so I only gave him the best parts—the ones he wouldn’t reject.”
“If he can’t accept all of you, choosing you in spite of your flaws and mistakes, then he doesn’t deserve you,” Hunter’s voice answered from behind me.
I hadn’t heard Huntleigh enter, but it appeared we were having a family dinner.
“You made a mistake, Meg, but you’re not alone,” Hunter continued. “We’ve all had our moments. I kept the truth from Ev for reasons I thought were justifiable and almost lost her. Griffin lost his cool and nearly lost Sam. I’m smart enough not to list Ev and Sam’s mistakes when they’re in the room,” he joked, winking at them over his shoulder, “but we’ve all been where you are in our own way. If Black is the right man for you, he’ll come around. You just need to be sure if he walks through that door, you’re ready to open the ones you’ve got locked up inside you.”
I nodded, because it was all I was capable of in the face of such understanding and acceptance. Their unconditional love and support was a balm to my aching soul.
“After some debate, we’ve all agreed to give you a few weeks to work with Thia before we push you for answers. But consider yourself warned…we intend to push unless you start to give,” Ev advised.
“We’ve made our mistakes with you too, Meg,” Griffin said, picking up the baton. “You were left to your own devices because we were afraid to scare you off if we got too close. In hindsight, treating you like a skittish kitten was not the right approach.”
“Knocking hasn’t worked,” Sam interjected, “so you either open the door or the battering ram is coming out. No more excuses. It’s time to trust your family to love you, regardless of your past. The past is just that…past. Yes, it shaped who you are today, but have you failed to notice that we love who you are today? And in case you’ve forgotten, I have impeccable taste. Have you seen my man? Or my closet?” Sam finished, making me smile. “Enough of the mushy stuff, time to eat.”
As the group headed for the table, Hunter snagged my elbow and spoke in a hushed tone, “You need to decide if you want me involved in whatever you have going with the FBI in Oregon. My director has asked me to be the local liaison between you and Hensley, but I stalled him. I haven’t looked at the file yet, Meg. I know virtually nothing, which was no easy task…but it won’t last. Whether I take the lead on this or not, I’m going to hear things. I wanted to give you the time to come to me by choice, but this is beyond my control. How involved to you want me to be?”
I knew it was coming. When Dr. Mesina mentioned the FBI, I had no doubt that Hunter would—at some point—discover everything. It was unavoidable.
“There is no one at the FBI I would trust more than you to handle the case,” I answered sincerely. “I wish I had explained everything personally, but that was my decision. Read the report, investigate, do whatever it is you have to do…you have my blessing.”
“I’ll have to interview you,” he said, making sure I understood exactly what I was in for.
“Okay, just let me know when you need me,” I confirmed.
“And not to be a dick, but you’d really be doing me a favor if you filled everyone else in, sooner rather than later. I can’t breach the investigation or your confidence by sharing any details, but those three are not going to care about protocol when it comes to you. So help a guy out, will ya?” he said with a smirk, which I returned with a smile and nod.
As we walked to the table to join the others, I noticed Ev’s questioning eyes silently grilling Hunter, but he said nothing—just as he promised. Looking around the table at my family, I was overwhelmed with love for each of them and appreciative of their understanding and patience. But I knew that patience had an expiration date. I didn’t want to lose them like I lost Wes, so I would do what was necessary to keep my family. Soon, I would tell them my story…the whole story.
"When a guy goes to a hooker, he's not paying her for sex, he's paying her to leave." -Author Unknown
Westly
Tuesday night I found myself in an upscale bar near my office, surrounded by the finest liquor and women money could buy. They may not be hookers, but make no mistake, every one of the ladies—a term I use loosely—were for sale. They gravitated to me for the cost of my Burberry suit as much as my good looks.
At least they were upfront about their motivations, which is more than I could say for some people. Fuck! No matter how hard I tried, my mind continued to circle back to her. If the tightness in my chest and the knots in my stomach weren’t reminder enough, I also had to contend with the torture of my twisted mind finding random connections between her and everything I saw and heard throughout the day.
I was tempted to call out sick and take an impromptu vacation to warmer climates. Maybe if I put enough distance between us, I would be able to prevent her from invading my every waking thought, as well as my dreams.
In the four days since I learned the truth, I hadn’t bothered to leave the house, other than for work. I spent Saturday morning window-stalking Sam’s place to see when the big-mouthed jackass left. Then I tortured myself for hours, wondering if he’d spent the night inside her beautiful, deceitful body. The torment finally ended when Jim Bean saw fit to tuck me into bed.
It was time for a new approach to move past the betrayal. The goal was to bring a girl home and screw her until I passed out from exhaustion. A simple, time-honored plan. All that was required was that I select the most energetic woman available to help me accomplish this mission. I looked around again, uninspired by the options, but not willing to throw in the towel. I selected a woman at random—or as random as picking someone who was the exact opposite of the woman who broke your heart could be—and made my approach.
“Hello, I’m Westly Black. Can I buy you a drink?” Blah, blah, blah. I went through the motions: compliment, casual touch, asked her about herself, pretended to listen, casual touch, dropped the name of my firm and the type of car I drive, her turn for a less-than-casual touch, and finally…
“Would you like to join me at my house for a nightcap?” Blah, blah, blah, she agreed, I settled both our tabs, and we’re off.
“Oh my, you are a big boy,” she said appreciatively as we entered my development. She would know since her hand was on my dick as the words left her mouth.
Yes, I was hard, but not because of this woman. Any female hand on my dick after said dick has been completely neglected for four days would make me hard. I was relieved when we reached our destination because she stopped petting me to study the exterior of the townhouse, enabling me to hide the fact that my ‘big boy’ was rapidly deflating as he became aware that the hand making nice with him wasn’t his old friend from next door. Traitor.
Regardless of my mind and cock’s rebellions, I was determined to bang…Regina, Rose, Roxy—what was her name? I couldn’t remember, but it wasn’t required information to proceed.