Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  "And I've got enough to deal with without starting a sexual relationship with you."

  "Essentially."

  "But, Will, isn't that the natural next step for us?" I freed one of my hands from his to run my fingers through his hair, then down to stroke the soft skin of his neck. “I want you, too." Part of me couldn’t believe I was actually voicing my desire for him. But it was, after all, the truth. And a very potent truth at that.

  "I know," he said, gently. "And that is part of what's making it so hard for me. I know you would go with me as far as I wanted. But it isn't that simple. The next step for us, yes. But it's a huge one.”

  He got back up and sat next to me. "Would you be willing to listen while I try to condense years of thought and conversations with Dad into a few minutes?"

  I answered by settling back to concentrate on what he was about to say. Maybe I could detect some error which would allow us to logically go ahead and do what we both wanted to do.

  "First, Dad has had lots of clients with a variety of issues. And many of those cases have involved sexual activity, one way or another.

  "Dad explained to me that when that boundary is crossed and sexual contact happens, there is a compounding effect. Physical pleasure is only one of its results. It involves the rest of the body, the brain, the emotions―the whole person. It even changes the body's biochemistry to facilitate bonding."

  I couldn't take exception to anything so far. But I wasn't going to give up.

  "It's not just a matter of wanting it. It's a matter of being prepared for it, and for following through on the emotional attachments that come with it. Not just using someone for sex―which must feel pretty shallow and empty anyway―but making a whole and lasting commitment so that it's a part of the relationship, not the reason for it."

  He was still making sense. Darn it.

  "Dad says love lasts, but sex doesn't. When people let their sexual urges make decisions for them, they're setting themselves up for relationship failures. It takes self-discipline and maturity to make a relationship work. And that comes from love, not lust. So, the love and commitment―marriage―first. Then you have the foundation, and emotional safety net, to truly enjoy each other completely, including sexually."

  Will had really thought this through. And he was absolutely serious.

  I hadn't had much experience with relationships―of any kind―but I knew that a legal commitment had been necessary for Mark and Gina to adopt me. And I hadn't felt at all sure about them truly loving me and being willing to stick it out with me until that was final. So I couldn't deny knowing for myself that there was some truth to the commitment part.

  I also knew that they had "waited" until after they were married, and expected me to do the same. I had previously agreed, believing that there would never be the temptation to do otherwise, because there would never be an opportunity. Who would ever want me? And why would I want to even consider exposing myself so completely―emotionally or physically―to anyone?

  But all that was before Will came back to me. My Will. I felt so utterly safe and loved and already known with him. Strong new feelings had replaced the old fears, and physical urges had surfaced which were becoming harder for me to resist as I spent more time with him. I had long understood that waiting was wise, but I now felt compelled to question if it was absolutely necessary.

  Will continued, "Dad is convinced―and I think he's right―that with the way you and I communicate telepathically, everything in our relationship will be magnified many times over. You know how powerful it was when I let you in for a while this afternoon?"

  "Yes." “Powerful” was an understatement.

  "Imagine that increased exponentially when we add physical intimacy." I did, and it struck me as irresistibly desirable. "If you haven't finished processing and learning everything you need to, including some coping skills to make everyday life easier for you, you're not going to be ready for that even within marriage. And Dad says with your 'uniquely sensitive psychological makeup' (his words), it would be unforgivably foolhardy to put you in that position."

  I hated to admit it, but I knew myself well enough to see that he was right. I had been hanging on by my fingernails for the last ten years. Then, on top of that, this past week had been quite an emotional roller coaster. And today's revelations―well, they, too, were taking a toll on me. No matter how happy most of them were. And it wasn't over yet. And, apparently, it wouldn't be over for some time.

  "I don’t want to risk it, Cassie―you, your happiness, maybe even your mental health―for some short-lived pleasure.

  "Will you help me?"

  What could I say? He had been thinking about me, worrying about me, preparing to be back with me during the whole ten years we were apart. This wasn't a fruitless exercise in carrying out some ill-conceived, unrealistic behavioral standard with no basis in fact. This was a carefully considered, heartfelt plea with only my happiness and well-being as its motivation, because he sincerely loved me.

  He was waiting―probably on pins and needles, from the way he was sitting―for my answer.

  "Yes, I will," I promised. It was my turn to show that I would not quit on him or let him down. He read as much in my eyes, and thanked me with his. "What do I need to do?"

  "Have you been okay with what we've done so far?" What a silly question! Was I okay with it? I reveled in the delight of our physical affection. But that wasn't what he meant, and if I was going to keep my promise, I would have to be straight with him.

  "Well,” then a pause. “Sometimes I do feel like I'm about to go over the edge. You know what I mean?" I said rather awkwardly.

  "Oh, yes. I know exactly what you mean." He was silent for a moment. "But why haven't you?"

  "Well," I started, ruminating aloud, "either you stopped, or I stopped, before it got that far." An insight was forming in my mind. "I guess it was really because, on some level, I recognized I wasn't ready. I felt scared. Not of you, but of getting in over my head, and sort of drowning―emotionally, I mean. So I backed off inside myself, then outside with you." I shrugged, dubious as to whether or not any of this was even comprehensible.

  I hadn't been looking at anything in particular while I thought and spoke, but my eyes had been aimed toward the carpet. Now, a hand carefully moved my head so they refocused on the most familiar, beloved face in my life. And I knew that somehow he had managed to understand what I had struggled to express. So where does that leave us? I sent to him, unwilling to break the outward quiet.

  Will shifted us next to each other and put both of his arms around me before answering, "Very much in love. And needing to be careful."

  I realized I needed outward clarification. "How careful?"

  Will drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. "I'm pretty sure we'd better not go any farther than we already have.” He waited for a moment before asking, “Agreed?"

  I could live with that―for now. But not forever. "Agreed."

  "And each of us will have to let the other know if we're getting close to the edge, whatever we may be doing. Agreed?"

  Same. "Agreed. For how long?"

  He smiled. "Until the second we are pronounced husband and wife."

  "Will," I began, turning in his arms to face him, "when will that be?"

  "Why? Are you in a hurry?"

  "Yes!"

  He smiled. "Good. So am I. How about as soon as possible? But, first, you need enough time to get your memories put back together, and to learn to protect yourself from the world―the voices and all. You worked on that before, and you made good progress, but Dad says the memory block prevented you from accessing it. We really want to help you with that now. Would you like that?"

  "Yes!" Finally, a way to control it all! "Any idea how long that will take?"

  "I would guess―roughly, mind you―a few weeks, if the previous work comes back to you. But that's really a question for Dad."

  "Alright. So if I can accomplish all that in say, a few weeks, c
an we get married right away?"

  He looked straight into my eyes. "You're seventeen."

  "Right." And . . . ?

  "Do you think Mark and Gina would give their consent for you to marry before you're eighteen?"

  That might be sticky. They hadn't married until their twenties. The three of us hadn't really discussed that kind of thing because there hadn’t been any need, and it hadn't seemed like there would be. But, especially with my difficult childhood, they would urge caution and, yes, probably refuse consent. "Probably not." Eleven months. Almost a year. It seemed like an eternity, particularly in light of what we had just determined about our physical relationship.

  "Will, I really don't know if I can hold out that long," I moaned.

  He held me tighter. "We'll make it work somehow, Love." He sighed. "I've got plenty of experience at waiting. And, in spite of the challenges, I prefer waiting with you." That sounded better to me, too.

  "There might be one other possibility," he went on.

  Really? "What?"

  "If we can locate your birth parents, I'm pretty sure they would give their consent." He pulled away a little to read my face.

  "They're alive?"

  "We believe so. And that makes at least two things we need to discuss with Dad. Shall we?" he asked, standing and holding his hands out for mine. I gave them to him, he helped me up, and we started for the door. Then stopped.

  "Do you remember asking me a question earlier? On the way to lunch? And you agreed I could answer it later?"

  I had to think for a minute because lunch seemed so long ago. "Yes,” I responded tentatively. “About who it was you had practiced with in your dreams."

  "Right. Well, it's later. You wouldn't have been able to believe the truth earlier, because you didn't remember how long I had known you, and loved you. You know the answer now, don't you?"

  I hoped I did. "Me?"

  "Who else?"

  Then―as if waiting for this most propitious moment―the one and only conceivable answer penetrated to my very core. And I knew absolutely, irrevocably, that there was no one else. And never had been.

  I threw my arms around him so energetically that it almost knocked him over. Will quickly put his around me in self-defense as he took a step back to keep his balance.

  He laughed. "Convinced?"

  "Yes!"

  "Good," he asserted decidedly. "Feel better?"

  "Yes!"

  "Good," he declared, punctuating his pronouncement with a kiss to my forehead.

  "Let's go find your dad." I unlocked the door, grabbed him by the hand, and led him from the room.

  .

  Chapter Eleven

  Will's dad―and mom and sister―were all in the family room watching a movie. Melinda was lying on the floor with at least two large bean bags and several pillows supporting her at just the right angle to see the screen. Dr. and Mrs. Stuart were sitting together at one end of an L-shaped sofa which was the main piece of furniture in the room, along with a recliner, and a low table which also served as a footrest for the sofa. Will and I snuggled together at the other end of the sofa.

  I couldn't really say what movie it was, because Will and I didn't see much of it. We were busy talking. Silently, that is―to everyone but each other.

  Will?

  "Yes?"

  So we are . . . engaged?

  "I sure hope so. Especially after all the effort it took to get a clear answer out of you. Why?"

  Well, usually . . . I mean, when people get engaged, there's usually …. I was sure having a hard time with this. Spit it out, Cassie, I told myself.

  "Spit what out?"

  I took a breath and went for it. A ring?

  He had the strangest look on his face. "You're going to spit out a ring?"

  No! Alright. Enough was enough. He knew darn well that's not what I meant, and he wasn't helping at all. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Are you going to give me one?

  "Sorry that upset you, Cassie.” He meant it. “You did kind of set yourself up, though."

  I thought about it briefly, and grudgingly agreed. I guess I did. But are you going to answer me?

  "Yes, I will answer. And, yes, I am going to give you an engagement ring. I don’t have one for you right now because I wasn't really planning on proposing today. I was hoping, but there was no way to be sure how things were going to go.

  "Now that you have finally agreed to marry me,“ he raised his eyebrows, as if daring me to comment, “will you go with me so we can pick out a ring together?"

  What a lovely idea! Yes! And another idea occurred to me. I would like to give you a ring, too. I would have to get a job, because I would pay for Will's ring myself. But Sam would be tickled to death if I finally accepted her―and her mother's―long-standing offer to work at her mother's shop after school.

  Will was stunned, but pleasantly so. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I would love that!" Suddenly, he backed off enough to look intently into my face. "You're saying that you are going to buy me a ring?" I nodded. "How will you pay for it?"

  My friend Sam―Samantha―her mom has a shop downtown, Belle's Boutique. And she's been wanting me to work there after school with Sam. She thinks that Sam will be more likely to do her homework if I'm there with her. And she wants to take a couple of hours off to go home, fix dinner, see her husband and the boys, stuff like that. But she won't leave Sam alone. She doesn’t think it’s safe.

  "Are you ready to handle that?"

  I have to be, don't I? It'll be a good opportunity to practice the techniques I'll be working on with you and your dad. And that should speed things up so you and I don't have to wait any longer than absolutely necessary.

  Will ran his fingers gently through my hair. "Are you sure?" he asked, concern clouding his face. "I don't want you doing too much, too soon at all, let alone on my account. I would much rather have you well and happy than have a ring."

  Well, he was going to get both. I looked him straight in the eyes. Yes, I'm sure. But he still seemed dubious. Trust me. Please?

  He smiled. "As you wish, Love."

  "What did I tell you? Wasn't that good?" exclaimed Melinda, indicating the movie was over.

  "Yes. Thanks for suggesting it, Sweetheart," responded her mother.

  As the credits began and Melinda got up to remove the DVD, Mrs. Stuart addressed me, "Cassie, I got hold of Gina. We had a nice chat."

  "Yeah, for more than half an hour," Melinda stage whispered toward us, her hand to the side of her mouth.

  Mrs. Stuart went on. "You're fine to spend the night, with certain caveats," and she looked significantly at Will. "I'll loan you some pajamas, and I'm sure we have some extra toothbrushes around. If you need to wash some of your clothes for tomorrow, just let me know. Then Gina and Mark are coming over tomorrow afternoon to visit for a while and stay for dinner."

  Tomorrow, not next week? That soon? Too soon? But, wait―There wasn't really anything to be anxious about, was there?

  I must have looked nervous, because she added, "Is that alright with you, Cassie?"

  I had started biting my lower lip. I stopped so I could answer her. "Thank you for calling, and everything." How did I say this? "We aren't going to tell them about the telepathy and all, are we?"

  Dr. Stuart responded, "No, Cassie, we aren't. That is really not our information to share. It's yours." He glanced at Will. "It would probably be wise to at least acknowledge that you and Will are, shall we say, interested in each other."

  Understatement of the century, I mentally commented, smiling at Will.

  "Or perhaps the millennium?" suggested Will, smiling back at me.

  Then we both turned back to his father, who seemed to be waiting for some indication that our interchange had ended before he continued. "I don't think there's much chance you're going to be able to hide it." He couldn't have been more right.

  "So, Cassie, are you ready to talk?" he continued.

  "Yes," I resp
onded emphatically. "With Will, right?"

  Dr. Stuart smiled, "That's a given, isn't it? Let's go." He led the way to his study, closing the door behind us. We again settled where we had been earlier in the day.

  "Cassie, I know you've got a lot of questions," Dr. Stuart began. "I think I can answer a lot of them quickly by giving you a brief history of your life from when you started at Paladin until you came here. Okay?"

  "Alright," I agreed, hoping he was right. I was feeling impatient to know about so many things, but didn't know where to even begin.

  "Do you remember what I told you earlier about the four-year-old girl?" he asked.

  "Yes," I answered.

  "You know I was talking about you, and your birth parents?"

  "Yes."

  Dr. Stuart explained that Will was his primary reason for wanting to work at Paladin. He and Mrs. Stuart had similar experiences with him to what my parents had been through with me―although Will didn't have as much difficulty with anxiety as I did. Will had been a student there for about three and a half years before I came.

  Dr. Stuart recounted that after my mom and dad (still sounded a little strange, it had been so long) had found Paladin Associates on the internet and contacted them, they took me with them to check it out. They were so impressed by the program and faculty that they actually moved there (we had been living in another state) so I would be able to attend the school. My mother and I had come first, moving into a house she and Dad purchased near the Stuarts’ home. My father stayed behind to wind up some business with his firm (he was an international business law attorney) and sell the house there. Fortunately, that only took a few weeks and, in the meantime, he was offered a good position with a prestigious firm within commuting distance of our new home.

  When I arrived at Paladin, Will and I instantly discovered that we could easily communicate with each other telepathically. Although others at Paladin had that general ability to one degree or another, it was different with us, and our personalities seemed to be a virtually perfect match for each other, similar and dissimilar in almost ideally complementary ways.