Crave: Part One

by E. K. Blair

  Sex addicts, like alcoholics, gamblers, and drug addicts, typically use sex as a way to alleviate stress and numb painful or unpleasant feelings. In some cases, the addict’s sexual activity may not directly involve another person, for example, masturbating excessively or viewing pornography. However, when it does involve someone else, the addict generally views the other person as nothing more than an object.

  Many experts believe that sex addicts have problems with intimacy as well as close relationships in general. This may be due to the deep-seated self-loathing, shame, and sense of unworthiness that often accompanies the disorder.

  Visions from the day Kason admitted that he cheated on me reappear in my mind. He was on his knees, shaking and cowering against the wall as his own tears streamed down his face. The anguish he felt must’ve been excruciating as he confessed what he had done, knowing all too well that once I knew, we would be finished. And we were. But after reading this, seeing how you could easily switch out the words sex addiction for alcohol addiction and it would parallel in description, is heartbreaking.

  Is that what this is?

  Is that how he feels?

  Addicted?

  Imprisoned?

  If this is true, then maybe this explains the times he couldn’t get hard.

  When I hit the next paragraph, it explains the differences between men and women with sex addiction. I click on the link for men and am directed to another page with the title “Satyriasis” in large bold text. Apparently, that’s the medical term used for sexual addiction in men.

  I continue to navigate through various pages that discuss all aspects of satyriasis. The more I find, the more I want to find. Because everything in me wants to understand everything in Kason. So, I read until I get to an article that explains possible progressions of satyriasis. Words pop out at me, and I become frightened by what couldn’t possibly ever be Kason. Words like sexual predator, rapist, child molester, sexual sadist, stalking, exposing . . .

  I slam the lid down, my stomach is in knots, and I feel the onslaught of a headache forming behind my teary eyes. Confusion, denial, and the realization that, aside from the last few things I read, most of what I found describes what he was trying to tell me.

  But I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want there to be something wrong with Kason. I care about him more than I care about myself at this point, and it scares me to think that this might be what is going on with him. It scares me because, even though he’s telling me the same things as these articles, I don’t see him that way. All I’ve ever seen is an exuberant desire for closeness and affection. If I was around, he wanted to be holding my hand, hugging me, kissing me, any connection he could get. I never felt like he was pushing me for sex, and if I said stop, we stopped—no matter how hot and heavy. When I was ready to take that step with him, it was me who asked for it, not him. I can’t even picture him like the type of man these websites are describing. Maybe that’s because he only showed me what he wanted me to see.

  A sweet, loving, and patient guy who would never intentionally hurt me, or anyone for that matter.

  At the same time, if this is what is going on, then I want to help him. No one deserves to suffer in silence the way he’s admitting to doing.

  Time passes slowly, and with so many thoughts bearing down on me, I do what I can to busy myself. After finishing my homework and then reheating leftovers for dinner, I flip on the television. But mindless reality shows don’t remain mindless when I start reflecting on all the times Kason and I would make out on this couch. There isn’t a place I can find that doesn’t hold at least one memory of our time together.

  Eventually, the sun sets, and I grab my keys and phone and head out the door the same time my mother is pulling up the driveway.

  She lowers her car window. “Where are you off to?”

  “I’m going over to Kason’s for a while.”

  With inquisition in her expression, she hints at a smile when she asks, “Are you two back together?”

  There’s no ignoring the part of me that wishes I could say yes.

  “We’re just hanging out, Mom,” I tell her when I open my car door. “By the way, he wanted me to thank you for the flowers you sent his mother.”

  “Tell him hi for me. And don’t stay out too late.”

  The drive up north is all too familiar, and though it was only a month ago that we broke up, it feels much longer with the burden of space that’s been wedged between us.

  His old Camaro is parked in its usual space, and I pull up beside it. Jitters nag me when I knock on his door, and I start to wonder what I’m even doing here. I come with no purpose other than to simply be near him.

  The door opens, and he stands there in a pair of shorts and nothing else. His hair is wet, and I can smell the soap from the shower he must’ve just gotten out of.

  “I was just getting dressed,” he says, walking straight back to his room. I follow but stop short of the doorjamb. He pulls open a drawer to his dresser and grabs a T-shirt before shrugging it on.

  The air is silent between us, and I wish I knew what to say. Instead, I stand here feeling as if I’m loaded with my own secrets. Secrets of knowledge from my earlier internet search. For some reason, I feel like I’ve crossed some ambiguous line. As if I’ve trespassed on information I shouldn’t be privy to. It’s a strange sense of consciousness of a situation, and I wonder if he’s ever looked into it the way I did.

  “You want to come in?” he invites, and I take a slow step into his room. “Why does this feel so awkward?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t, either,” he says as he walks over and sits of the edge of his mattress. He looks up at me with eyes that seem so innocent, but I know they’ve seen more than I can comprehend, yet right now, they’re adrift. Just like my heart. “Come here.”

  I go and sit next to him, my leg brushing against his.

  “What have you been doing all afternoon?” he asks, and my need to want to help him begins to find its way to the surface.

  My eyes lock with his, and I’m met with the reminder of his honesty, never once hiding from the truth no matter the consequences. Armed with knowledge that could possibly shed some light for him, I take a hard swallow and admit, “I did some reading online. And . . . I-I was only trying to make sense out of what we had talked about yesterday.”

  He fidgets uncomfortably, his hands wringing together.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” I recant. “I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head, muttering, “It’s fine.”

  “I just . . . I care about you, that’s all.” He doesn’t react, and I decide to pull out my phone. His eyes are downcast as I open up the internet and type “satyriasis” into the search bar.

  With nervous fingers, I tap on the first link that pops up, and we can’t even look at each other when I hand him the phone.

  He reads in silence, and it spans more than what’s comfortable. Apprehensively, I turn to see him running his finger along the screen, scrolling up and down, and finally, his brows pinch together and he snaps, “What the fuck, Adaline?”

  My heart plummets, detonating a stream of ice through my veins.

  “This is what you think of me? That I’m anything like this?” he stresses in disgust, handing back the phone only for me to see that he went straight to the bad, reading about deviant behaviors.

  “No,” I blurt out. “I know you’re not like that. But the other stuff—I thought—I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.” The revulsion on his face slaps me with the pain of instant regret, and I backpedal as fast as I can. “I thought . . . maybe if you could understand, you wouldn’t have to—”

  He pushes off the mattress and paces across the room, raging in fervent denial, “That isn’t me, Adaline. I’m not fucked up like that. I’m not fucked up like that.” He continues to repeat himself over and over, as if he could erase it from existence if he says it enough. I rush to my feet, and he walks stra
ight into my arms. I hold him tightly, but his arms are even stronger. So strong I can feel the fear in the tension of his muscles as he crushes me against him until he finally cracks. “I’m not fucked up . . . am I?”

  “No,” I insist. “No, Kase. You’re not. I’m so sorry. I never should’ve shown you that. I never should’ve even thought that could be you.”

  His arms constrict around me, and I hate myself for two very blatant reasons.

  One, I never should’ve attempted to diagnose him. All I did right now was plant the seed of fear that he could possibly be someone who could harbor such horrific compulsions.

  And two, I lied to him when he’s never lied to me. I told him no, when my gut is telling me yes, that what he’s dealing with could very well be an addiction to sex.

  His denial is vehement, and I would do anything to soothe the chaos I set off inside him. But all I can do in this moment is hold him and do my best to reassure him that there’s nothing wrong. If he isn’t ready to face it, I won’t push him. I will never push if pushing means hurting him. Never in my life have I ever wanted to protect anyone the way I want to protect Kason, so that’s what I’ll do. I’ll wrap him in whatever strength I can offer and hope that it’ll be enough.

  “So, are you coming with us on the senior trip, Guppy?”

  Doing what the three of us do best in sixth period—hiding out in the dark room—I respond with a sarcastic, “You mean going to Cancun to get drunk, roofied, and robbed? No thank you.”

  “Dude, what the hell have you been watching?” Trent laughs. “The trip is in the Bahamas, by the way. Not Mexico.”

  “Still.”

  Micah shakes his head at me and smiles. “You got something better going on for spring break?”

  Even though it’s a little over two months away, my first thought shoots right to spending time with Kason. Maybe that’s because it’s all I’ve wanted to do this past week. Since everything happened with his mom, things have been weird between us. Life forced our paths to cross that day, and the two of us have been wading through the murky waters of whatever we are to each other ever since.

  After taking the past several days off school to be with his mom, Kason finally returned today. It’s been unnerving to say the least. The first class I share with him is the same class Micah is in, too. I wanted to go over and sit next to Kason, but I didn’t. Micah’s still pissed at him for cheating on me, and I don’t know how he would’ve reacted if I had sat in my old desk. Heck, I haven’t even told Micah that I’ve been talking with Kason this past week. He has no idea what happened with Kason’s mother, either. If Molly’s reaction to the news is any indication, then I don’t want to tell Micah at all.

  “You’re coming with us,” Micah states. “Have you told your mom?”

  “Yeah, I told her.”

  “And she’s cool with you going?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know how she would feel about having me in a room all by myself. And I don’t know what she would say if I wanted to room with you two.”

  “No way, man,” Trent pipes in. “That’s bunny slamming time.”

  “You are so gross! I can’t believe you just said that.”

  Trent laughs with nonchalance as Micah tells him, “Dude, don’t be bringing a bunch of strays in our room.”

  “Like I said, I seriously doubt my mom is going to be cool with all this.”

  “What if you got Molly to come?”

  Trent instantly perks up at the mention of her name. “Molly . . . yes! I miss that chick.”

  “We’ll see,” I sluff off, not wanting to clue Micah in on the fact that I’m not Molly’s favorite person right now.

  The final bell of the day rings, and the three of us walk back into the classroom, grab our bags, and start making our way through the halls. Micah drapes his arm around me, insisting once more, “Seriously, Guppy. You gotta be there.”

  “I’ll do my best to convince her. I promise.”

  As we walk past the large windows of the main office, I see Kason inside, talking to one of the secretaries. Among the sounds of metal lockers slamming shut and the excitement of the weekend finally being here, I slow my step alongside Micah, saying, “I forgot something in my locker.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, it’s fine. You go on.”

  Gripping his hands on to the straps of his backpack, he asks, “You still coming over later?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come on, man,” Trent says, and when they rush off, I turn to see Kason still standing at the front desk.

  A few kids bump into me in their dash to get beyond these walls and outside to the freedom of the weekend. But I stand still, staring at the guy who stole my heart and has kept it with him ever since. I never felt I even truly had it back in my possession after we broke up. So, why do I feel like I can’t go up to him with ease when we’re still so connected?

  The secretary hands him a sheet of paper, which he shoves into his bag as he walks out the door to where I am.

  “Everything okay?”

  Hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder, he says, “Yeah, I was getting all my absences excused from this week.”

  The last time we spoke, there was so much devastation and an onslaught of emotions boiling over everywhere. Now, I want nothing more than to disentangle ourselves from all of it and just be okay. I have to wonder if I’m alone in these thoughts, though. Yes, he’s made it clear that he still loves me, but ever since he confided in me about this struggle he’s dealing with, he’s been acting a bit off. Not that I blame him, but it’s made me very unsure of where I stand.

  “How’s everything at home?”

  “It’s okay,” he says as we start walking out to the parking lot. “Mom seems back to her usual self and will be returning to work on Monday.”

  “Kason?” I quicken my pace and step in front of him. With so much uncertainty hanging between us, I give up on waiting around for him to give me any sign as to where we stand. “You want to do something?”

  He tugs nervously on the straps of his backpack.

  “Everything’s gotten so messed up,” I tell him. “And I hate feeling like I don’t know how to talk to you anymore. I was thinking . . . maybe if we got away from all this stress and did something fun that maybe . . .”

  The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and with a nod, he says, “I have the day off work tomorrow.”

  Relieved that he’s on board with my idea, I let go of a shred of worry when I exhale and smile.

  “And I agree,” he adds. “I don’t like feeling this way with you.”

  “So . . . tomorrow?”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  And with that, my hesitance settles a little bit, and I’m able to walk away from him with a tiny piece of hope that maybe, just maybe, we don’t have to feel as if we’re strangers anymore.

  The doorbell rings and when I get to the top of the stairs, my mother already has the door open and is talking to Kason with a gushing smile on her face. She has always liked Kason, and I could tell it bothered her when we broke up, even more so when I refused to tell her why.

  Kason looks at me without a hint of strain in his eyes and smiles. “Get your suit on. We’re going to the beach.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  I rush back into my room with a lightness in my step. I can’t remember the last time I saw him look as relaxed as he appears right now. There’s been an ever-constant cloud of gloom hovering over him—over us—for too long.

  Quickly, I throw on my bikini and cover-up, toss a towel and some sunblock in my beach bag, and grab my sunglasses. I swear there’s a bounce in my step as I walk down the stairs, and I welcome the return of the butterflies that long ago abandoned me.

  “You ready?”

  I give him a nod and then catch my mother wearing a not-so-subtle grin on her face. “You two have fun.”

  I love her, but, god she can be embarrassing at times.

  “
What’s this?” I ask when Kason and I walk out to a Jeep with two jet skis strapped to the trailer that’s hooked onto the back.

  “Brogan owed me a favor.”

  “Nice!”

  I jump into the Jeep, which already has all the windows unzipped and is open to the elements. Kason gets in, and with music blasting through the speakers, we leave our emotional baggage behind as we cruise over to the beach.

  My hair whips wildly in the air as we drive, and when I tie it back, I look over to find Kason peering my way. Wings flap fiercely around my stomach for the duration of the drive, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel plagued by heartbreak.

  Once we have the jet skis launched and we’re zipping across the glassy water, he shouts my way, “Follow me.”

  With sunshine on my face and salt water on my skin, we circle each other, cat and mousing our way over to a random cove. We slow as we edge toward the shoreline and then kill the engines.

  “What are we doing?”

  Raising his finger to his lips in a request for silence, I settle back into my seat and wait. The only sound is that of the water lapping against the jet skis as he scans the area around us, and after a minute, Kason’s arm juts out and points behind me. I turn in time to see a dolphin fin before it dips back under the water. I stare down, trying to catch another glimpse, when out of nowhere, the dolphin pops out of the water with a gush of air right next to my jet ski. I startle with astonishment and start laughing. “Oh my god. I’ve never seen a dolphin in real life before.”

  It comes to the surface again, this time, a little farther away.

  “This is amazing.” I look to Kason, who’s beaming a smile my way, and ask, “How did you know there’d be dolphins here?”

  “They’re all over these coves. Look on the other side of you.”

  A group of three fins peek out of the water before they roll up and back under.

  “They’re so pretty.”

  “I want to take you somewhere.”

  “Somewhere better than this?” Seeing these dolphins playing all around us is about the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, so I doubt anything is going to top it.