As soon as the words leave my lips, he reaches over and grabs my hand. His actions surprise me. I look into his eyes, and I see the Ian I know. He wants me, too, but he’s conflicted.
“No, don’t go, Rachel. Tell me about you. I have missed you, really I have.” He looks pitifully at me, like he’s a little boy again. “How are things with counseling?”
I look down at his hand that clings tightly to mine. His flesh is so warm and inviting, that I feel my eyes water. Shit. I can’t start crying now, I tell myself. I blink a few times to avert the flow.
“Uh, it’s going good. Learning a lot about myself and why I do the things I do. I’m trying to learn how to be loved.” I look him directly in the eyes. “And to love.”
“What about the other stuff?”
Oh, now he wants to know about the other stuff with my sexual issues. I feel a coldness flow through my veins. Anger rises in my heart, because I feel threatened. I lean forward and whisper.
“You mean my propensity for wanting rough sex and bondage when you fuck me?” He scowls at me, and his hand slips off mine. “Well, that’s what you mean, isn’t, Ian? You’ve met a masochist, and you want to know if I still want you to be sadist with me in the sack.”
I’m shocked at my own words and admission to another human being. It’s like AA, only for sex addicts. Hello, my name is Rachel Ann Hayward, and I have masochist tendencies.
He doesn’t say anything. I sound perturbed, but I’m being defensive. It’s far too difficult to dwell on the thought that I disgust him at this moment. I try to soften my voice.
“Let’s just say that I’m working on it, but I won’t know if I’ve conquered that desire until I get fucked again by another man.”
I’m saying the F-word far too much, but I’m irritated at myself for being so screwed up. If I was a normal woman, I wouldn’t be having this god-awful embarrassing moment in front of the man I love. I’m convinced now that he doesn’t love me, and all he sees is an emotional, unbalanced train wreck. It’s better that he goes back to his prissy and arrogant Susan.
Suddenly, I’m floating off somewhere in my head to where I want to be hurt and bound, because I don’t deserve him. I look into his eyes and realize that I am being hurt—by him, the man I love—only it’s an emotional thrashing and not a physical one, which is by far more painful.
Ian lowers his head, and he’s staring at the table top. His fingers play with the corner of his white napkin, turning the edge down and folding it. He’s hiding, and I can’t take it any longer.
“Listen, Ian, I’ll make it easy for you. You figure out what you want. If it’s me, I’d like to rekindle our relationship and see where it goes. If you want to go back to your wife, and hope she doesn’t get bored with you again, then I wish you all the happiness in the world. Let me know, and if you need a good counselor, I can recommend one.”
I rise to my feet slowly, flash him a gracious smile. Ian lifts his pathetic gaze and looks at me dejectedly. His lips remain closed in a hard line.
“I’ll be watching for you through the windshield of my car.”
My body turns to leave, and then I stop. I have to say it, or my soul will burst. “By the way, Ian, believe it or not, I really love you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Quickly, I run out the door and sprint to the parking garage. Tears stream down my cheeks. I pray with every footstep I take in my high-heel shoes, which are clicking across the concrete sidewalk, that at any moment he’ll come up from behind me and grab me by the arm. I want him here with me, telling me he loves and wants me, not with his haughty ex-wife; but he doesn’t, and I’m crushed.
I’ve done my duty. Kept my cool. Now I’m going to go home, cry, and probably masturbate with thoughts of some man hurting me to punish myself. It’s all I deserve in life. It’s all I’ve ever known. When someone hurts me; I hurt myself, validating my lack of worth.
“To hell with counseling,” I scream, as I push my key into my car door lock. “Why put myself through this torture? For what? Nothing ever changes.”
I crawl inside my car, slam the door shut, lay my head on the steering wheel, and lose it.
* * * *
My drive home is scary. After sitting in my car and crying for twenty minutes, I can’t process where I am or where I’m going. It’s that feeling you get when you drive through a light and get on the other side trying to remember if it was red or green. The road is a blur through my tearing eyes, and I’m afraid I’m going to crash into the concrete barrier on the Sunset Highway.
Finally, I take my exit and make my way down the street to my apartment. I’m numb and angry at myself, at him, and at his stupid wife for playing with his feelings. Inside I’m damning her left and right.
My firm grip on the steering wheel lessens as I turn into the driveway of my complex. I pull into my assigned parking space under the covered portion, turn off my car, and look in my rearview mirror. My heart stops when I see the back of Ian’s trunk. He’s standing there waiting for me. I don’t know whether to shoot him or kiss him.
For a few moments, I hesitate getting out. It’s obvious I’m avoiding him, because he walks over to the driver’s side of my car door and opens it for me.
“What are you doing here?” I look at him with my swollen eyes and tear-streaked face.
His face is distraught. “I couldn’t let you go.”
“You’re not making this any easier for me,” I complain, stepping out of the car and facing him.
“It’s not easy for me either,” he admits, closing the door with a bang.
He’s upset; I’m upset. It’s a standoff. We’re staring at each other eye-to-eye. I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling. The urge to throw myself at him tempts me, but the thought to be a gracious and mature brings sense back into my head.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, scooting by him and heading for my apartment. He follows me up the stairs, and the next moment my brain registers is when we’re standing in the living room ogling each other. My cat wanders out to greet me, and immediately the traitor runs to Ian and starts doing his dance around his legs.
“Whiskers!” I lift him into my arms, horrified at the thought of cat hairs on his suit.
“Hi Whiskers.” Ian’s voice is kind, and he reaches out and rubs my cat behind his ears. Instantly, the animal’s eyes glaze over, but I don’t blame him. If Ian rubbed me behind the ears, I’d probably do the same.
“Let me stick him in the bedroom so he doesn’t bug us.” Quickly, I walk down the hall, lay Whiskers on the bed, and then lock him inside. I can already hear him scratching at the door, but I’m going to tune him out.
I get back into the living room, and Ian is sitting on the couch. He looks relaxed. One arm is draped over the back, one leg is extended, the other in, and he’s placed his other arm on the rest.
“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, tea, pop? Sorry, no booze here.”
“No, nothing.” His dark eyes have clamped upon me, and I feel uncomfortable under his piercing gaze.
“What are you looking at?” He’s annoying me.
“You.”
“Well, that’s obvious.” I plop myself at the other end of the couch and gape at him in return. “So what are you doing here Ian Alexander Richards?”
He’s silent for a moment, and I wonder what he’s thinking. All the while he continues to stare at me with his piercing blue eyes, and it’s making me anxious.
“Our conversation ended too soon, and I felt like more needed to be said between us.”
I can’t handle his intense look any longer, so I pull my eyes away and fiddle with the hem of my skirt.
“Besides,” he continues. “You said you loved me.”
I find the courage to look at him again, and I see his smart-ass smile. “Oh, you caught those words, did you?”
I feel anxious wondering where he’s going with this. A part of me hopes it’s the couch, floor, or wherever. I’m aroused
looking at him, but then I think about the other stuff he’s been doing with his ex-wife, which douses me with a bucket of cold water. I’m angry he didn’t keep his pants zipped, or maybe she seduced him and that was her plan all along. My anger shifts toward her underhanded tactics.
His face turns deadly serious. “Did you mean it, Rachel?”
All right, now I’m really frustrated with him. Does that suddenly make a difference in his confused brain? Men, I bitch inwardly.
“What do you think?” I’m learning the tricks of my counselor—skirt the issue and ask questions instead.
“Don’t know.”
“Well, I guess you can either ignore it or figure it out for yourself.”
I’m sounding really bitchy, as I pull my eyes away from him and glance out of my sliding glass door. It’s really dirty, and I wander off thinking about how I need to grab some paper towels and squirt it with cleaner. My thoughts wander back where they should be.
His presence on the couch reminds me how much I love him, but I’m afraid to let my guard down. I don’t want to lose him to another woman, who never learned to appreciate him in the first place. It takes restraint, but I keep my face impassive and voice calm.
“Tell me what you feel about your ex-wife. I want to understand.”
My question breaks his stare and all of a sudden the relaxed Ian turns into pensive Ian. He drops his arm from the back of the couch, pulls in his leg, and inhales a deep breath. His body language screams volumes of agitation, but I’m not going to let him off the hook.
The seconds tick by, like he’s hoping I will relent, but I keep a constant, patient gaze in his direction. Oh, this is good. Rachel Hayward has the upper hand for a brief moment. At last, one word slips between his lips.
“Failure.”
His answer stuns me. I narrow my eyes. “Failure?” He bobs his head “yes.” Boy this guy needs a counselor too. “Explain.”
“I genuinely loved Susan when we wed. Having a lasting, happy marriage with her was an important goal in my life. When she left me, I knew I had blown it. I wasn’t the husband she needed.” His voice is trembling. “Now she’s back, I’m thinking it’s a second chance to make it right.”
Rachel the counselor kicks in. “Why do you take all the responsibility for the failure of your marriage? Don’t you think she had a responsibility to strive for a happy marriage too?”
“Well, sure,” he sighs. “However, it’s the man’s responsibility foremost.” He gives me a stupid look.
I can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Clearly, the woman is manipulating Ian. Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes, without a mean bone in his body, is as screwed up as I am—only in a different sort of way. I’m finding a strange sense of comfort in this dilemma, and a release of guilt for dealing with my problems.
“Don’t let her take advantage of your kind heart, Ian. Be wise and make sure she’s sincere, if you want to continue down that path of reconciliation.”
He’s back to staring at me again. I want to know what is going through his muddled mind. Where’s the chain saw when you need one?
“What are you thinking?” I pry.
“I’m thinking that I’m still attached to you, but I’m dealing with our conflicting sexual desires.”
We’re back to that subject. It’s clear the man isn’t going to give up his poking.
“Point taken,” I say, a bit annoyed. “Does it bother you that much?”
“I don’t want to hurt you Rachel. It’s not in me. There’s nothing sexy to me about causing you pain. It’s disrespectful to you as a woman.” He pulls his eyes from me and lowers his head. “In fact, it sickened me after what I did to you that night at the beach house. I felt like shit for days. After you left, I almost lost it.”
“Yes, and I felt satisfied but filled with shame afterward for leading you down that road.” I inhale a deep breath and scoot a bit closer to him. It’s time to get this out of my soul once and for all.
“Look, Ian. I didn’t ask to be this way. At five years of age, a monster pinned me to a bed, fondled me, masturbated upon me, and brought me to sexual arousal repeatedly. I’ve been abusing myself because of it for twenty-five years. In fact, I started masturbating alone as a child, because I didn’t know any better. All I knew is that if I put something hard between my legs, I’d feel good, and then relieved. I can remember hiding under the covers of my bed to keep that secret away from my parents.”
My cheeks feel as if they are on fire. I’m so embarrassed to be telling him these secrets, but I feel like I need to get every detail out on the table so he can make a decision about me one way or the other.
“Every time I think about being bound and hurt, I get turned on—really turned on. It’s revolting to you, I get that. But for me, I don’t know anything else, because I was molded that way as a child.” I’m sounding like a psychiatrist now. “I’m trying my best to understand why I react as I do and find a way to overcome the part of me that I despise. Somewhere in my soul is a little girl that needs to be set free and healed.”
After that long, ranting confession, tears well in my eyes. Ian looks shocked, but not repulsed. I see a hint of sympathy in his gaze.
“Even if you never hurt me in bed again, Ian, and you make the most beautiful and tender love to me in the world, I’ll probably fantasize in my mind that you’re doing to me what I honestly want—being rough and forceful. That alone will bring me to an orgasm, but I don’t think you’d want me to even imagine such degeneracy on your part. You’re too respectful of a person to be painted in that light.”
I’m emotionally spent and naked in front of the man I love. It’s clear that he’s trying to process all that I’m saying. He looks down at my hand and then reaches out and takes it into his own. His fingers are ice cold, and my hand is burning hot.
“You went to counseling because you loved me, didn’t you?”
“At first I did. After I got into it, I realized that I was also doing it for myself. I came to a place where I wanted to change.” I inhale a deep breath and squeeze his hand in return. “Now, I’m not sure if it’s worth it, if I don’t have you.”
My heart stops a beat as I look at him for a reaction. He’s rubbing my hand with his thumb and thinking. Then he leans forward heading for my lips. I see him coming, so I close my eyes. When he touches me tenderly, I can’t believe it, but he tastes like honey—sweet, warm, and loving. It’s wonderful to open my heart and accept the tenderness he gives.
Ian pulls away and lifts his hand to the side of my head. He affectionately strokes my hair for a few seconds and then brings his index finger across my lips.
“I’ve missed you,” he dotingly whispers.
A smile curls my lips, because he didn’t totally wipe me from his mind while we were apart. Yet, I feel like he’s committing adultery, because in the back of my mind, I see his ex-wife looking over his shoulder. He may miss me, but I still don’t think he’s decided which road to take.
“Come with me to the beach house this weekend.”
My mouth drops open at his invitation. I wasn’t expecting that move. The first reaction I have is to call Dr. Grayson for advice, but there is no time to talk it out.
“Why?”
“It’s important to me, that’s why. I can’t say any more than that.”
There’s longing and urgency in his eyes. I really do want to spend time with him, so I agree with a smile. “All right, I’ll come.”
“Pick you up at seven after work tomorrow?”
“Sure, but what about…”
“Susan is out of town.”
“So you’re cheating on her?”
“No, I’m not cheating on her.” He gulps. “There’s no agreement between us right now. I’m free to do as I will.”
I don’t want to let it go. “Does she know about me and what we had?”
“She doesn’t know it’s you specifically. Susan only knows that I had been in a relationship.”
I�
�m irked. The prospects are compelling, because I want to weasel my way back into his life and get my claws in him and be sure that she doesn’t.
My lips release a puff of air, thinking that he’s made love to her. Trust issues come to the forefront, as I feel like he’s cheated on me or something! God, this is screwed up, I think to myself. He was probably horny, and I’m reading too much into this. Men get horny and unzip their pants without thinking.
“Okay, then, seven p.m. I’ll be ready.”
“I’ve got reservations at a nice restaurant for dinner Saturday night. I’d like to take you out, so would you bring a nice dress for the occasion?”
I look at him cockeyed at his unusual request but comply. “All right.” If he’s suggesting a romantic evening together, I’ll do the dinner thing.
Ian smiles. I see in his eyes a glow of relief. He wants me with him, that’s all that matters.
“I need to go,” he says, rising from the couch. He walks toward the door, and I follow.
“Thanks for coming over, Ian. I wanted you to follow after me.” My eyes are filled with gratitude.
“Yeah, I knew you did. Just took me a minute to act upon it. Sorry.” He lowers his eyes to the floor as if he’s been reprimanded.
The moment is overwhelming, and I can’t help myself. Guardedly, I draw near to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and lay my head on his chest. The beating of his kind heart fills my ears. It’s peaceful.
He wraps his arms around me in return and rests his chin on the top of my head. Ian releases a sigh. For a few moments, we hold one another. In our embrace I sense a healing flow between us.
“Forgive me,” I whisper, tightening my hug.
“For what, sweetheart?”
“For hurting you.”
“Ah, Rachel, you know I forgive you.”
He pulls away from me and puts both of his hands tenderly on the side of my face. Ian’s eyes look deep into my soul. “Have you forgiven me for hurting you?”
In my heart, there is nothing to forgive, except for my resentment over his weakness with Susan. It’s obvious, though, by the look on his penitent face, that he needs a release of guilt for what transpired between us that awful night at Cannon Beach.
Conflicting Hearts Page 18