“I love you, man,” I call over my shoulder.
“I know.”
I drop onto my bed, and I hear the back door close ten minutes later and Michel’s truck rumbling down the road. I think I’m going to go right to sleep, but I don’t.
I stare at the ceiling.
I miss my wife.
I feel empty. Cold. Alone.
I already miss the huge rush that I had this afternoon when Zoe sent me the picture. It was amazing, like the hit of a powerful drug. As a therapist, I know what it was. Dopamine is the hormone associated with pleasure. It’s a spark plug in your brain, something that triggers pleasurable feelings and assigns them to objects. It is a drug, so to speak, and as humans, we subconsciously do things to access that pleasurable feeling.
Feeling empty, I want to experience that again, to fill the void of my wife’s absence. To eradicate the anxious feelings that consume me lately.
So I use my phone to pull up some porn.
It’s harmless, faceless. Anonymous.
I go from site to site, one after another.
After a while, I realize something.
All of the girls I’m looking at look the same.
Like Zoe.
Fuck.
I close out of the porn sites because they make me feel like shit, but at the same time, I get a surge of adrenaline. Because Zoe is a real live person out there who wants me. I have proof in my hand.
I pull up her picture and stare at it again.
Between the dopamine and the scotch, I feel drunk on life, and I swear to God the room almost spins with it.
I’m embarrassed to realize as I stare at the picture that I’m not even looking at the girl’s eyes. I don’t have to. This is porn, in a way, and I don’t have to make a personal connection, and I don’t have to behave decently. I’m behind closed doors with a picture that a young flirt sent me.
I stare at her tits, and at her hand that is on her own crotch.
The dopamine rises in my blood and I ride that wave, and I’m almost blurry with it when I act on impulse and snap a picture of my erect penis in my hand.
Before I can think twice or clearly, I send her the picture.
Stunned, I watch my phone and see that my text was delivered.
Sweet Jesus.
The room comes into focus and what the fuck did I do?
I’ve never in my life done something like that. What the hell is wrong with me?
The reality of what I just did...the inappropriateness, the elicit nature of it all... It slams into me and I feel sick. Just in time for three bubbles to appear.
Dick pics don’t do it for me. What else ya got?
God.
Holy shit.
Holy.
Shit.
I’m so far beyond pathetic that it’s ridiculous. I feel like a complete dumbass. Who in the hell does something like this? I’m utter, utter scum.
I text back and I do the only thing I can do.
I lie.
I’m sorry. That was meant for my wife. Your number was pulled up and I made a mistake. I’ve had one too many drinks.
I wait.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
So I add, I’m sorry. Please disregard my text.
Finally, after what seems like forever, there are three bubbles.
I wait.
I feel like shit. Like pathetic shit. And finally, words appear.
Too late.
10
Now
Corinne
“You don’t want me to see my husband.”
I repeat Dr. Phillips’s words, astounded.
He nods. “Just for now. I want you to focus on yourself, rather than on how your actions might affect him.”
“How does that make any sense at all?”
Jude is my rock. My world.
Dr. Phillips shakes his head. “It’s not that we don’t want you to see your husband. It’s that we want you to take a few days to not worry about him, but to think of yourself. It’s standard procedure, Dr. Cabot.”
“Does Jude know? Did he agree to this?”
“He doesn’t like it much, either. But he does agree that you should be focusing on getting better at the moment.”
I feel deflated, like a balloon that has been stomped on.
“I don’t really know how to operate alone,” I admit. “It’s been Corinne and Jude for so long. Focusing on me, and me alone, seems foreign.”
Dr. Phillips nods. “Exactly. Which is why you need some space. Your husband will be waiting for you when you’re ready.”
I swallow and contemplate that. Why do I feel so anxious about that? Of course he will be. He’s my husband. In sickness and in health, for better or worse. We took vows.
“This might cheer you up,” the psychiatrist mentions, and I narrow my eyes. “You do get to have a visitor today.”
“I can have visitors, just not Jude?”
Dr. Phillips shifts his gaze. “While we feel like Jude might be distracting, I do think it might be beneficial for you to not be alone at this juncture.”
I’m still, and when I speak, my words are slow. “Who is it?”
“Your friend Lucy. She’s very concerned about you. She calls and checks on you every day. We’re truly trying to help you, Dr. Cabot.”
He sounds so sincere, yet so clinical.
“Fine,” I say simply. “I’m happy for the visitor. But don’t forget. I’m here on my own volition. No one in their right mind would hold me here if I change my mind.”
“No one plans to,” he agrees. “You’re here because you know it’s best.”
“For now,” I reply carefully.
Dr. Phillips nods. “For now.” He stands up. “Let’s go out and meet your friend.”
I follow him to the common room, where Lucy is sitting uncomfortably on a sofa, surrounded by patients. She’s as out of place as I feel. She looks up and sees me, and I can’t help but notice the way she looks at my wrist, eyeing the bandage, probably looking for the crazy.
But she smiles and gets up and hugs me, and she hands me a coffee.
“Your favorite,” she assures me. “With an extra shot of espresso.”
“Thank you,” I tell her genuinely. “This place has shit for coffee.”
“Okay, well, on that note, I’ll take my leave,” Dr. Phillips says. He looks pointedly at Lucy. “Don’t forget what we discussed.”
She nods but seems a bit uncomfortable. “Okay.”
He walks away, and I pull Lucy to a corner to sit in two chairs with me.
“What did you discuss?” I demand as soon as we sit.
She shrugs. “He doesn’t want me to focus on Jude, or anything from the outside. I’m just supposed to be a set of ears for you to vent to, if you want.”
Her eyes are swimming with sympathy, and I hate it.
“They don’t even want me to visit with my sister,” I tell her. “I’m surprised they let you in.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m more impartial,” she suggests. “I won’t remind you of anything from the past, or stuff like that.”
“Maybe.”
She sips her coffee, and her feet are fidgety. “Do you want to talk about anything?” she asks softly.
I’ve been confiding in her for a year, but I don’t think I can talk about this. It’s just too much. So I shake my head.
“Are you sure?” she asks doubtfully. “It looks like I’m all you’ve got for now.”
I think about that, and it’s honestly tempting. I’ve never wanted to talk about any of it, but I was out in the world and surrounded by the hustle and bustle of life, and it was so easy to distract myself. In here, there’s nothing to steal my attention. Nothing I can do to keep my mind busy
. And I decide that’s the method to their madness here.
They literally force you to think of nothing else but your issues.
“My panic attacks weren’t caused by the hospital,” I begin. “I let you think they were, but they weren’t.”
Lucy nods. “Okay.”
“They’re from other issues. Old issues. Issues from a long time ago,” I continue, my words slow. “My dad was cheating on my mother, but I didn’t know it. By the time I found out, it was too late.”
She waits, her legs crossed and her fingers wrapped around her coffee cup. “Too late?”
I nod. “Yeah. My father killed his mistress and her husband. I was there babysitting. I was eighteen.”
“Oh my God. Corinne.” She’s stunned, as anyone would be. “I didn’t know. I would never have guessed. Oh my God.”
I look at the floor. “Yeah. So apparently, they say I’ve suppressed issues and memories, which I know I have, but they’ve caused me to sort of implode now. As you know.”
Lucy fidgets uncomfortably.
“But I swear to you. I’d never try to kill myself. Never. I don’t know what happened.”
Lucy’s eyes are drawn to my bandage again, and self-consciously, I hide it under my other arm.
“You must’ve just been...” Her voice trails off. “I don’t know. Overcome?”
“With what?” I ask desperately. “With crazy?”
She shakes her head. “Of course not. Don’t say that.”
I’m silent. I take a drink. I look at the floor again.
“You really don’t remember anything at all from that day?” she asks, and her eyes...they’re both dubious and fascinated.
I shake my head. “No.”
She stares off into the distance, her slender fingers drumming her knee.
“Why haven’t you told me about this stuff before?” she asks gently. “We’re friends, Corinne. I like to imagine that we’re good friends. You could’ve trusted me with this. Trying to deal with this alone...that’s a heavy burden to bear.”
My eyes well up. She has no idea.
“That’s what Jude says. Sorry. I know I’m not supposed to focus on him.”
She fiddles with her cup awkwardly.
“Well, thank you for listening today,” I tell her, and honestly, it did almost feel good. “You won’t mention this to anyone, will you?”
She shakes her head vehemently. “Of course I won’t. Ever.”
“Does anyone know where I am?”
She shakes her head again. “Not that I know of.”
“They don’t know why I’ve been gone?”
She looks away. “I’m not sure.”
“Lucy.”
She looks at me reluctantly. “They know about the...incident. You were brought into our ER, Corinne. You know how gossipy some of the nurses are.”
“Great.”
She’s silent. She can’t fix this.
“I think our time is almost up,” she says now. “Can I come visit you again?”
“Of course you can.” I hug her. “And bring some more coffee.”
She laughs and stands up, and her pants almost fall off. I roll my eyes.
“You seriously need some new clothes, Luce. You’re so beautiful. You should act like it, not dress like you’re eighty-five.”
She grins. “I’m doing mankind a favor. If I unleash this—” and she gestures at her body “—they would all be devastated by my natural beauty.”
We’re both laughing when Dr. Phillips walks over.
“Can I escort you out?” he asks her. She nods, and I do sense reluctance there, but she’s in a loony bin. Of course she’s reluctant.
“I’ll see you soon,” she tells me. And then she pauses. She turns around, and her mouth is next to my ear.
“You don’t have to worry about Jude,” she tells me. “You know. What your father did. I know your husband would never do that. He loves you. So while you’re in here, don’t worry about him at all.”
I have to chuckle at that.
There are many things in life that I worry about, but Jude being unfaithful isn’t one of them.
11
Ten days, fifteen hours until Halloween
Jude
Last night, I texted the waitress a picture of my dick like a fucking slimeball.
That’s the plain truth of it.
Now I’m standing at the door of Vilma’s, watching that very girl wait on tables, and trying to decide how to handle this situation.
I’m not going to shirk away from it. God, no. I come here every day, and this is my place. She’s new, and it was simply an error in judgment. I’d had too much scotch, and fuck it. I’m not going to make excuses. I’m married. I love my wife. I made a dumb mistake, and that’s that.
I stride inside.
Vilma is hunched over the hostess desk, her gnarled fingers adding up tickets. I smile at her when she looks up.
“Can I have the window table?”
“Of course.” She nods. “Follow me.”
Zoe is in the kitchen, and so I’m relaxed as I decide upon coffee and toast, and when I look up, she’s bustling back through the kitchen doors.
Fucking-A.
I’d forgotten how blatantly sexy she is. She’s like a bright neon sign, blinking on and off that she’s got young, firm tits and that my dick should stand up and take notice. Her uniform is tight, her legs are long. She’s curvy, and I can tell that in ten years, she’ll be plump. But right now, her curves are like a ripe peach, just perfect for biting into.
I swallow hard as she bends over at a table and her ass strains against her short skirt. I can see the outline of her butt cheeks, and she’s not wearing panties. She’s a bit on the trashy side, but in a young and immature way, like she’s wild and unrestrained. When I think of it that way, it doesn’t repel me like it did the other day. In fact, it gives me a strange rush.
I gulp hard, right as she glances up and meets my gaze.
She stops in her tracks, her temples damp from rushing around, and for a minute, it’s just her and me in the middle of the busy café, frozen as we stare at each other.
An invisible tether connects the two of us, her eyes to mine, and she seems real now, instead of the vague abstract that she was last night on my phone screen. Her face is flushed in an attractive way, the glow of youth radiating from her. Her lips are full, her eyes are bright. There is something there, an unreadable something, but she masks it and smiles. The world unfreezes, the sounds and smells coming back to life around me.
I smile politely back, and she walks straight to my table, holding my credit card in her hands. She offers it to me.
“I’m sure you’re wanting this. If you see strange shoe purchases, don’t blame me.” She giggles and I roll my eyes.
“Thank you for holding it for me.”
“Not a problem. This isn’t my section,” she tells me. “But I’m gonna take care of you anyway.”
She grins again and her tone is a bit suggestive, and I’m wondering if that was on purpose. She’s gonna take care of me.
“About last night...” I don’t know what to say.
She grins again, waving her hand. “Forget about it,” she tells me lightly. “I already have. You clearly were texting your wife while drunk and accidentally sent it to me. It happens.”
Except that’s not what happened, and I think she knows that.
But I play along because she’s giving me a generous out, and neither of us mentions that she sent me a picture, too. I’m the married one here. It’s my job to be good.
“Exactly,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”
She dips her head until her lips practically brush my cheek. “On the contrary,” she whispers, and her breath s
mells like spearmint. “Your wife is one lucky woman.”
I feel a pang in my gut and I flush, and when she straightens, Michel is standing behind her with a glib look on his face.
“Hey, bro,” I greet him, pretending that my dick isn’t stiff with Zoe’s implications. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll go get your coffee,” Zoe tells us before she sways away, and Michel looks at me knowingly as he sits.
“Someone looks nice this morning.” He watches her go, and he laughs and I laugh, because that’s what brothers do, even when one is a priest. “I think maybe Jezebel had a hand in designing that one.”
I watch Zoe pour coffee into mugs, and she leans over so that I can see her tits better, and I decide Michel is right. Zoe is a modern-day Jezebel. She’s showing me her goods on purpose and trying to make it seem innocent, and this all has the very real possibility of crossing a line.
That makes me uncomfortable. Having a fantasy was fine, but reality... Well, reality isn’t.
I try to ignore her eyes when she comes back and sets our cups down in front of us. I bury my face in my mug and don’t look up.
I catch her watching me a few times, but I don’t stare at her.
In fact, I make sure I don’t look at her.
I’m good.
I’m good.
There’s a strange feeling in the air, a very tangible knowledge that if I wanted to, I could cross a line with this woman. It’s in the way she stares at me pointedly, in the way she moves around me.
It makes me feel awkward at the same time as it’s a bit exhilarating and flattering. It’s a strange feeling, half unpleasant and half amazing. I could have those curves in the palm of my hand, and I... God. I push the thoughts away.
I’m good.
“How’s Co?” Michel asks, drumming his long fingers on the table. His fingers are identical to mine, and I find myself spacing off as I watch them. “Jude?”
I look at his face. “Yeah. She’s okay.”
“Sister Esther was in Mercy ER the other day. She fell and broke her arm after hours. Corinne set it. Esther said the place was a madhouse, but that Co was very kind.”
“She is kind,” I agree. “And the place is a madhouse. I swear it’s sucking her lifeblood out.”
Such Dark Things Page 8