by Gloria Foxx
“Werebears, that’s a good one,” I chuckled, “although you’re assuming that vampires, witches and weres are people. Maybe they’re not people or maybe they’re not human.”
“Ya got me there. I guess the whole looking like people thing throws me off.”
“Actually, anthropology is less the study of people as individuals and more an examination of their society and their culture. Seems to me anthropology could study zombie culture or were society.”
We laughed together at the notion.
“Hey do you watch football?”
“I love the Washington Redskins. They’re playing the Bears tonight you know.”
“They’re projecting the game at the commons. Let’s go.”
The Redskins lost, of course, and it was after eleven when Dominic walked me back to my dorm. He held my hand and we walked shoulder to shoulder. He was sweet.
“I have a really busy week, but we should go out again. How bout Friday? Maybe a movie?” he asked.
We didn’t get to talk much during the football game and a movie would be much the same. “How about a picnic?” I suggested. “We can always find a movie on Netflix later.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll pick you up here at six.”
We had reached my dorm and visiting hours were past so he couldn’t come up, not that I wanted him to. Maddie was there. We said goodbye, but neither of us moved. Our eyes were connected and we couldn’t look away.
I was tugged toward him by some unforeseen force, seemingly magnetic. We were close. I hesitated, glancing down to his lips then back to his eyes. I stopped breathing. He was overpowering, taking my breath away.
Dominic closed the distance between us, ducking his head and covering my lips with his. It was a gentle kiss, inquiring. He pulled away and our eyes met again, his questioning. It was me this time. I pushed myself up on my toes, hands resting lightly on his biceps, lips reaching for his.
Our kiss ignited a flame within me, creating a fever. He was the fuel, feeding the blaze. I consumed him, ravenous for more.
His tongue was teasing my lower lip, seeking access. I opened my mouth and his tongue dipped in, flicking against my own. I was tentative, but I couldn’t stop myself from responding, matching his rhythm.
Dominic’s fingers threaded into my hair, his palms holding my cheeks and tilting my head to meet his mouth. He was consuming me and I responded.
I tried to pull him closer, but he pulled away.
“I should go. If I don’t, you’re going to be embarrassed.”
My cheeks flared red. How come he realized that we were out in the open, washed by light flooding out of the windows in the building lobby.
“Oh my God. There are people in there.” I was mortified.
“It’s okay. Others are saying goodbye too.”
I looked around and sure enough, several couples were kissing. Some were even grinding and groping on the covered gallery that stretched the length of my building.
“Go inside now. I’ll pick you up here on Friday.”
He gave me a last quick kiss before I turned away.
“Bye Dominic.”
As I walked toward my room, I touched my fingers to my lips. They felt puffy, but my fingertips couldn’t detect any swelling.
Maddie noticed as soon as I was back in our room. “Good date huh?”
“Yeah. It was nice. I could really like this guy.”
“I can tell. You look ravished.” She smirked and gave me one of her outrageous winks.
“Ravished. That’s so Victorian. Do you say manhood instead of penis too?”
She laughed at my deflection, but when I turned to the mirror I had to agree. I looked ravished. My hair was wild, cheeks rosy and eyes dilated with wide black pupils. The worst was my mouth though. My lips were ruby and they looked puffy. I touched my fingertips to my lips again, thinking about Dominic. I was well and thoroughly kissed.
Chapter 9
I saw my doctor the next day, telling him I met someone.
“That’s great news Abbi. How does seeing someone make you feel?”
That’s how it works. I talk and he listens, sometimes questioning what I think or feel, often forcing me to think about my feelings and sometimes helping me to understand. It was a slow, steady plodding process, with nothing so momentous as a breakthrough.
“He makes me feel strong and in control, except when I’m not in control,” I said thinking about how I felt with Dominic.
“What do you mean, ‘not in control?’” He seemed suspicious or concerned. I’m not sure which so I’m careful with my words.
“I mean when I’m with him, I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid that I’m a whore or that I’ll become one. I don’t hear Aunt Jane ranting in my mind. I’m not afraid of intimacy, at least not with him.”
He asked again, “But what do you mean when you say, ‘not in control?’”
I tried again. “I don’t know. It’s like I lose myself in him. I lose track of where I am, I guess. I’m caught up in the moment.
“Okay then,” he said, sounding relieved. “It looks like you’re making progress. Tell me again why your aunt called you a whore.”
“Because she thought I was a whore or I would be.”
“I’m not looking for what she thought; I’d like to hear why. Something about her prompted what she thought and did. Think about why she did it.”
“I wish I could ask her that.”
“It’s okay. She probably won’t have an accurate answer for you. Just consider that she might have done it because of who she is, not because of who you are. Her words and actions probably had nothing to do with you and instead are all because of her background and her experiences.
I thought about that during the long bus ride home. Dr. Walsh might be onto something. I never did anything to earn the epithet. It must be Aunt Jane or some crazy old mixed up thoughts she had.
Life was looking up. Between Dominic and Dr. Walsh, I might just feel normal one of these days.
Chapter 10
Dominic was waiting for me on Friday when I got back to my dorm. I showed him my room quick and grabbed a jacket. Maddie wasn’t back yet, but she would be soon so I didn’t want to linger.
We walked to a nearby park. He spread a blanket, I kicked off my shoes, and we settled in to enjoy the picnic dinner he brought along. It was KFC original recipe, my favorite. He also had biscuits, of course, coleslaw and brownies.
“The brownies came from my mom. She said it’s a date so we have to have dessert. She can’t wait to meet you, by the way.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I said smiling. It was way too early to really think about meeting parents, but I was hoping Dominic’s mom might be like my mom, or maybe a good substitute.
We ate in companionable silence. I wasn’t frightened. I didn’t need to run. I didn’t hear Aunt Jane whispering “whore” in my ear. This was right and good.
“What are you thinking?”
“Aunt Jane would not approve.” I couldn’t tell him all the details. Instead I went on about how I came to be in college. “She was my great aunt, died last spring at 64.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. She was a miserable old bat and I’m glad to be free of her. She’d hate that I’m in college though and she’d hate it even more that I sold her house to pay for it.”
“You what?”
“She said I wasn’t meant for college. It would lead me astray with too much temptation. She might have been right,” I said with a grin. It’s funny that talking to Dominic about Aunt Jane is so much easier than I expected.
“She really thought you shouldn’t go?”
“Yep, but life had other plans. I turned eighteen in March thinking she would toss me out that very day, but she promised our parish priest that I would have a home until graduation. Then in April she had a massive heart attack and died. I was her only surviving relative so I inherited her house, promptly sold it, a
nd went off to college.”
“Well I, for one, am glad to hear it. Sorry. Does that sound disrespectful? I only meant I’m glad you’re here.”
“No it’s fine. I can’t imagine I would be here any other way.”
“What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“My mom died when I was six. I never knew my dad.”
Dominic commiserated. “Sounds like you drew the short stick in terms of family. What happened to your mom?”
“I’d rather not talk about it now. Maybe another time.”
“Okay. I drew the long stick on family. I have a bunch. I’m in the middle of four kids. I have an older brother who always does the right thing, younger sister who’s the only girl and takes full advantage, and youngest brother who’s the baby and can do no wrong, even when he does. Generally I like having family, although they can be a pain in the butt sometimes.”
“I used to wish for brothers and sisters when I was lonely, but I was also glad no one else had to be subjected to Aunt Jane and her cronies.
“Oh no, cronies!” said Dominic, laughing at me. No. He was laughing with me, making me laugh.
“Seriously Abbi. People have the power to hurt us, whether intentional or because they are careless, whether trying to help us or trying to help themselves. People hurt each other. It happens. However, they can only continue to hurt us, after they’re gone from our lives, if we give them that power.”
“I think I’m taking back the power. Aunt Jane was a terrible woman and I’m beginning to see that now. I’m seeing a therapist and it’s helped a lot.”
“I’m glad to hear it. There’s no need to struggle alone. Understanding what’s been done to us and why, then controlling or changing how we respond can help us move on. That’s really simplifying it, but it’s good to talk to someone.”
“You know my therapist said something similar earlier this week. I never thought about it that way. Aunt Jane probably didn’t intend to hurt me, or maybe she did, but either way she doubtless thought she was doing her duty as she saw it in her hellfire and brimstone mind. She thought I would never be any better than my parents and it was her job to make me strong so I didn’t sucumb like they did. I still don’t understand why she was like that, but I’m beginning to realize there was something about her that made her that way and it wasn’t me.”
I suddenly remembered that Aunt Jane was mean and vindictive long before my mother died and I had to move in with her. I’m sure she wasn’t born that way. Something in her life had molded her into a nasty old woman.
“While you’ll never be able to confirm because you can’t ask her, and even if you could, she might not truly understand why she did what she did, but it helps to know that people are dynamic. Our experiences come along with us like baggage, some heavy and dark, some light and airy, most somewhere in between.”
Dominic’s comments were so much like what Dr. Walsh suggested on Tuesday. Aunt Jane made sense from this point of view. As a child I didn’t see it. I was busy swimming through it. As an adult, I’m out of the water, standing on the other bank. I can see all of the water, what lies beneath, what floats above, who scrambles and thrashes through, and who glides effortlessly. I just needed to get out to see it all clearly and I suppose I need to learn to swim so I can glide effortlessly too.
We lapsed into silence, peaceful. I wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, sitting quietly with Dominic enjoying one of the few remaining balmy October evenings. The sun set and the air began to cool around us while we finished dinner, lending an intimacy to the setting.
Dominic leaned back, reclining on his elbow while I cleaned up the scraps. I reached past him to put our trash by my shoes, but I was too close and pulled back quickly just as Dominic reached out to me. He was left with his hand hanging in mid air, but he wasn’t discouraged.
He reached up to my cheek, caressing with the back of his knuckles before cupping the curve into his palm. I was looking at my hands in my lap, fingers twisting, but I leaned into the warmth of his palm and shivered, from his touch, not the cool air around us. Our eyes met then. I’m not sure if he tipped my head up or if I did, but once our eyes met, I was sucked in and lost. I didn’t have control as he pulled me to him.
I leaned into him, directed like I was the game and he had the controller. Our lips met, our eyes still locked, or should I say eye. I could only see one of his, but that didn’t matter. His gaze held me captive as his lips moved gently under mine, his hand sliding into my hair and tilting my head for better access to my lips.
He pulled away, pulling his hand from my cheek, his fingers from my hair. “Come down here by me.”
When I was stretched out beside him, his lips descended and our surroundings faded from awareness. My consciousness centered on Dominic’s lips covering mine. His lips were grasping, clinging to my upper lip and then my lower. Somehow, our arms had moved around each other. My right was trapped below him, my elbow under his neck, my arm reaching across his shoulders. His was under my arm, holding me close, pulling me closer.
His hand slid down my back, curved around my butt, pulling the center of me to him. I lifted my leg over his, sliding my foot and calf up his leg, pulling him to me. I groaned and tilted my hips in his direction as his leg insinuated itself between my thighs.
I was in heaven, even while I knew that this was only the beginning. I couldn’t wait for all that came next. I was already a puddle of sensation, expanding, contracting, building, growing … and waiting. There was expectation for what came next. This was a first. There was never anticipation and so far we were only kissing. Okay, kissing and a little more. When Dominic touched me, I was malleable like clay. He could do anything with me. I wouldn’t object, I wouldn’t pull back, I wouldn’t run.
Until I heard it. Then I was scrambling backwards across the blanket, away from him, wrenching my arm loose, and getting away. “Get a room!” said one. “Whore!” said the other. I don’t know where the voices came from, but their interruption brought back the dread, the panic. It was irrational, I know, but I was helpless to do anything about it.
Chapter 11
“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
Dominic’s voice was the calm in my storm, calling to me, pulling me out of myself. I don’t know how he did it. Not only am I not afraid of intimacy with Dominic, I feel more alive, more normal, more balanced than with anyone else, ever. We’re connected, linked in a way I can’t explain.
“Tell me,” he said. It was like a command, like I had to answer, but it was also encouraging. “What’s wrong?” Strangely enough, I really wanted to answer. I haven’t told anyone besides my therapist, but I could tell Dominic. I was sure of it. I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready for my past, hell, my entire existence to scare him away. I’ll tell him all of it, eventually. For now I could release some of the crushing weight pressing on me. I could tell him a little.
“Aunt Jane always called me that, me and my mom.”
“What did I call you? I didn’t realize I said anything. Tell me what it was and I promise I won’t do it again.”
“No. Not you. Someone walked by and shouted whore. That’s what she always said.”
“She called you that when you were a kid?” There was disbelief in his voice. He seemed incredulous. At first I thought he didn’t believe me and was crushed. He continued. “Wow. I’m sorry. Some people aren’t fit to raise kids.”
He believed me. I felt relieved, buoyant, validated. He was just shocked by Aunt Jane’s treatment.
“I’m not really a whore you know.” It came out in a whisper. It was hard to say aloud. I know logically that I’m not a whore, but after so many years of relentless, vitriolic pounding, I lacked confidence. “It’s not true.”
“Of course it’s not.” Dominic put his hand on my arm as if to convince me he was earnest. “Come here.” He pulled me into his arms. I was sitting between his legs, huddled into myself, wrapped tight in
his embrace.
“I can’t be. A whore I mean.” I was stuttering. The words, locked up for so long were hard to get out. They were rusted, corroded, stuck down deep inside. “I’m a virgin. I’ve never been kissed, until you.” Dominic rocked me gently, murmuring words I couldn’t hear, or maybe I couldn’t understand. A tear slipped down my cheek and he captured it with his lips. It was a gentle consoling, encouraging kiss. He was taking care of me.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying like a baby. I never cry.”
“Yes you should. You should cry, scream, be sad, get mad, and eventually talk about it, but only when you’re ready. You know what your aunt did and said. You know how she hurt you.”
“But I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to be afraid. I want life to be nice and normal. I don’t want to be the weird girl anymore.”
“You’re not weird Abbi. You’re beautiful, funny, courageous. You need to deal with the pain inflicted by someone who should have been loving and nurturing. You need to consider what it is about Aunt Jane that made her treat you the way she did.”
“Thank you.” I smiled wryly. That’s another thing Aunt Jane conditioned me to do, thank people politely. Again, he sounded a lot like Dr. Walsh.
“You know there are two kinds of pain, the senseless agony, stuffed down deep inside of you, hidden in the dark recesses of your being. You try to ignore it, pretend it didn’t happen or that it’ll just go away, until it takes over, controlling your life, your decisions, your actions.”
I knew about that kind of pain. I felt it most every day. I gritted my teeth, clenched my hands so tight that my fingernails left creases in my palms. I used every ounce of my strength to keep it stuffed down deep, locked away, but I couldn’t always control it. Sometimes it broke loose and I ran away.
“The other kind of pain is the kind that makes you powerful. It gives you control, makes you strong, prompts you to endure so you can move past. Talking can be painful, but it gives you strength to take back your life, rather than letting those who hurt you control your thoughts and interfere day after day. It’s your life Abbi, and it should be yours, not theirs. You can take back the power, when you’re ready.”