Conflicting Hearts

by J. D. Burrows

  The noon hour arrives, and Karen and Jack are at the door with a six-pack of beer, chips, and pretzels. I can see where this is going, but I’m not a football fan. Karen acts enthusiastic over the forthcoming game, so I assume she shares her husband’s interest in sports. I’m feeling out of my element again.

  As we sit down with drinks in hand—me with a cola and everyone else with a beer, I look at Karen and ask her if she actually likes the sport.

  “So you’re a football fan, I gather, like your husband?”

  “Oh, God, no,” she says. “I try and show an interest in what he likes.” She leans into me and whispers, “I find more entertainment watching my emotionally stable husband lose it screaming over a pigskin ball. It gives me an odd sort of comfort that he has tendencies of lunacy once in a while.”

  She sits back, takes a swig from her bottle. Jack turns his head and glowers at her. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.”

  Ian laughs.

  “You want to go out on the deck and talk?” Karen asks.

  I’ve never been much of a talker with other women, but Karen comes across as someone who could be a real friend. It’s compelling. “Sure, I’d like that.”

  “See you boys,” Karen says, as we head for the door.

  “Hey, don’t go talking about me,” Ian calls after us.

  I flash him a mischievous, toothy grin. He looks nervous. Good.

  We plop on the two patio chairs, and I look out at the ocean. “I really love the ocean. It’s my favorite spot in the entire world,” I sigh, letting her into that small part of my likes versus dislikes.

  “So, Ian tells me how you ran into each other.” She’s grinning at me.

  “Yeah, wasn’t that a hoot? I rear-end an attorney.”

  “I will admit that when I heard the story, I laughed. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “You kidding? When I look back on it, I laugh too. I thought he was going to scream and yell, but he was compassionate and concerned over my welfare right from the beginning.”

  “Yep, that’s Ian,” she muses.

  “What about you? How did you and Jack meet?”

  “Well, not quite as colliding as you two. I was working at a hospital in Boston where Jack did his internship. I was a clerk in the residency office. We sort of took care of the incoming residents and interns during their tenure.”

  “Really?” I’m surprised as hell.

  “Yeah. We just hit it off right away, and he asked me out on a date. The rest is history. We got married in his third year of residency. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

  I’m flabbergasted. Suddenly, I don’t feel so out of league with Ian. The two of them seem genuinely happy together.

  Karen and I spend the next hour talking about anything and everything. I like her. She’s down to earth, easy to talk to, and I don’t feel intimated by her at all. She is the first woman that I’ve ever met who I think that I could have a lasting friendship with. It’s sad that she lives clear on the other side of the country.

  The sliding door moves back, and Jack pops his head out. “What are you two up to?”

  Karen rises from the chair. “Just talking about you,” she says, patting him on the side of the face. She looks over at me. “Excuse me while I find the ladies’ room.”

  A moment later, Karen disappears, and Jack keeps his gaze on me. It’s obvious he’s waiting for my invitation. “Come on over, shrink. I know what you want.”

  It doesn’t take him long to close the door and sit down next to me. “What do you think I want?” he asks with a smirk.

  “You are curious about the crazy lady that’s dating your brother.” I look at him square in the eye. “Ian told me that he mentioned to you my childhood sexual abuse.” I inhale a deep breath. “So, you want me to tell you where I’m at with that?”

  “If you want to,” he says, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms. “I don’t want to cross lines, though. It wouldn’t be ethical of me to take your therapist’s place.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but I want to tell you, because I think as Ian’s brother you have the right to know what he’s getting into, if anything.”

  Jack’s eyes convey compassion. I don’t feel ashamed for some odd reason, because I know what comes out of my mouth on this deck will remain between the two of us and go no further. It’s a free session that I don’t have to pay for. Regardless, I am a bit nervous.

  “Okay, I’ll get this much out of the way so you don’t have to fret over these points.” I count on my fingers. “Number one, I don’t cut myself. I’ve never had the urge to either. I hate the idea of blood.”

  I glance up at him, and he’s intently looking at me. “Number two, I don’t throw up my food, nor do I starve myself. I’ve never had those problems either.”

  “That’s encouraging,” he says to me. “What do you do?”

  “Ah, the questions begin,” I tease him.

  “You started it.”

  He’s a snarky guy, and I like it. “For most of my life, my self-esteem has been in the toilet. I’ve been back in therapy for almost two months. I know it’s not much, but I can say I think my self-esteem has made it to the toilet seat.”

  He laughs. “Well, that’s a powerful analogy.”

  “Hey, works for me. One of these days, I hope to get off, wipe myself, and get on with life.”

  Jack’s face turns serious. “Are you on meds?”

  “Yes, I’ve been on anti-depressants for a few years.”

  “Have you ever thought or attempted suicide, Rachel?”

  I give him the eye-to-eye contact I know he’s going to want when I answer this question. “I’ve never attempted suicide, but there have been times in the past I’ve wished that I didn’t have to live, so the emotional pain would end. Frankly, my religious background threatens hell, and I’m more afraid of burning for eternity. Therefore, doing myself in, isn’t an option.” For a moment, I stop and think of my answer, then clarify further. “Those thoughts of not wanting to live are far and few between now.”

  “What have you dealt with as a result of the sexual abuse?”

  Okay, now the questions are getting tough. “The usual, like poor choices in relationships. My ex-husband was verbally abusive, and it took some doing to get me out of that situation. The other laundry list of symptoms, which you know already—self-esteem issues, depression, flashbacks, nightmares, self-loathing, eschewed ideas about sex, promiscuous behavior, inability to receive love, irrational fears—stuff like that.”

  I inhale a deep breath and painfully admit my other shame. “I’ve had trouble with self-gratifying sexual behavior.” I can’t say the “M” word, but I’m sure he knows what act I’m referring to.

  “Is the counseling helping you?”

  “Yes. I have a good counselor, who I trust. But I’m still worried about one aspect.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I flash him a worried squint. “You won’t talk to Ian about this, will you?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I’m not going to cross ethical boundaries here, Rachel. You’re right that I care about Ian. When he told me of your past, naturally, I was concerned. I’ve worked with quite a few women who have deep emotional scars from sexual abuse. It’s not easy to overcome the effects.”

  “You’re right, it’s not easy, but I’m trying for Ian’s sake, and my own, of course.”

  “Why?”

  Confession time. I bite my trembling lower lip to suppress the urge to cry. A few seconds later, I tell him what’s in my heart.

  “Because I love him, and I want to be loved. I’ve got to stop abusing myself and reliving that part of my life over and over again if I’m ever going to beat this. I know that.”

  My eyes start to well with tears as my little girl comes out of the back room and tries to talk about the hurt. “It’s my hunger for bondage and pain during sex that bothers me. I fantasize about it often, and I don’t know if I can win that battle. I certainly don’t want I
an to stoop to my level. It’s not fair to him. Besides, he’s not wired that way. He’s the opposite of sadistic behavior. He gives respect, not pain.”

  Jack sighs deeply and keeps his eyes on me, giving me a concerned, but kind glance.

  “I’ll tell you what I think, Rachel,” he pauses for a moment, as if he’s collecting his own thoughts before he continues. “I have patients who have never been sexually abused who still fantasize those thoughts and ask their partners to act on them. Some women like the bondage gig—it turns them on. I think it’s in the female DNA from the cavemen days to want a strong man to dominate, although I’m sure some liberal women will vehemently disagree with my take on the matter.”

  He flashes a knowing grin, and I’m shocked over his opinion.

  “If consenting adults enjoy it and nobody gets physically hurt, I’m not that opposed to the practice. However, that being said, I don’t agree when the need interferes with a person’s ability to function normally and indicates a deeper mental problem under the surface that turns into criminal activity and torture of a non-consenting adult.” He’s sounding quite serious in his clarification of the line he’s drawn.

  “I’m surprised you think that for some it’s okay,” I burst out nervously. “I constantly struggle with the guilt that my bondage fantasies are morally wrong.”

  “You struggle with it because that behavior was forced upon you as a child. In your developmental years, someone implanted that idea into your brain, and it took root and grew. You don’t know anything else, Rachel. Bondage and pain during sex is wired into your personality, because you were taught to relate to your sexuality that way by another man.”

  He pauses for a moment and then bombards me with a shockingly intimate question.

  “Do you get aroused when you just think about it?”

  I pull my eyes away, and stare out at the ocean. The shame covers me. “Yes. My body betrays me. Just the thought of it, and I’m aroused. It really bugs me, because I can’t control it, even if I try.”

  “That’s because you’re tuned to that frequency.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” I admit in a frustrated voice. “But I don’t want to have these masochist tendencies, because I keep reliving what my abuser did to me. That’s why I think of them as deviant behavior and perversion and not kinky sex to enjoy like other women.”

  “That’s quite understandable. Actually, the psychiatric community doesn’t categorize masochist tendencies in consensual relationships as a mental illness like it used to be, unless it adversely affects your life to a place where you can’t function or you put yourself in physical danger.”

  “My counselor told me that, too, but I don’t think it brought me much comfort, frankly. I feel terrible having these urges, and I carry a lot of guilt over it, as if something is terribly wrong with me as a human being.”

  “Rachel, in your case, if you keep abusing yourself privately, it only reinforces those beliefs, because you keep reliving the instance of abuse over and over in your mind. You’ll never think any differently. You need your hard drive erased and a new program installed.”

  I chuckle at his comment. Yeah, I’m a broken computer, that’s for sure. “I don’t get tenderness and love,” I admit. “It’s hard for me to comprehend or understand it. All I get is the does not compute error.”

  Jack takes a deep breath, and then reaches over and takes my hand. I’m shocked that he’s actually touching me. It’s clearly not the psychiatrist coming out of him now; it’s the brother of the man I love.

  “Rachel, being in a loving relationship with someone like Ian can help rewire your desires. If you stick with counseling and open your heart to learn to receive love, eventually you’ll want to experience it rather than the abuse. The desire to be hurt and bound will give way to the desire to be loved and freed. Believe me. It may be there even now under the surface waiting to be released at the right time when you decide to open that door.”

  That’s it. I lose it. The waterworks spill over my lower lids and run down my cheeks. “You two are unreal,” I say, looking at him and chuckling through my tears. “I didn’t know kindness still existed in the male species until I met the Richards family.”

  “Hey, we’re not perfect,” he quickly corrects me. “If you stick around long enough, I’m sure you’ll see our little quirks.”

  “I hope so. I know that Ian is trying to decide what to do about Susan.”

  “Susan?” Jack heaves a puff of air from his lungs and his face surprisingly turns dark. “Confidentially, between you and me, I’ve never liked the woman.”

  I’m astonished at his raised voice and intently look at him as he continues.

  “She was all wrong for Ian from the get-go. Susan is an arrogant, controlling, selfish bitch, and I’d wish she’d leave him the hell alone. She’s only screwing with his head and emotions, and that pisses me off,” he says angrily.

  “Wow, you do have faults,” I tease him.

  “Hey, I tell it like it is when it comes to family.”

  The door slides open, and Ian pokes his head out. “What’s going on out here?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jack says, shifting to his feet. He gives me a wink and I smile. “What’s the score?” he asks, walking back into the great room.

  Karen returns with a bowl of pretzels in hand and another pop for me. She gives me a knowing glance, and I feel relieved.

  “You’ve got a nice husband,” I say, taking a pretzel and shoving it into my mouth.

  “Yeah, he’s a keeper,” she says, taking one herself. We both sit there munching the snacks and looking out over the ocean. I feel relieved the quiz is over and hope that I didn’t flunk the test.

  * * * *

  The game ends and Karen and Jack are standing at the door saying their goodbyes. I feel like I’ve known them both for years and am sorry to see them go. Jack is remarkable, and so is Karen.

  “You guys leaving in the morning?” Ian asks.

  “Yeah, driving to PDX. We have an eleven o’clock flight back to Boston.

  “It was good seeing you both with mom and dad,” Ian says, reaching over and slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me to his side. I think he’s giving some kind of signal to Jack, but I’m not sure.

  “It was nice meeting you both,” I say, smiling. “I hope I get to see you again.” There, I’ve made my own statement of sorts.

  “Well, that’s possible.” Jack looks at Karen with mischievous grin upon his face.

  “Might as well tell him now,” she chides him.

  “Tell me what?” Ian asks.

  “I got offered a position as assistant head of psychiatry at the university medical center up on the hill.”

  “No kidding, bro! Did you take it?” Ian’s voice is ecstatic.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Take it, damn it!”

  “I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “It rains too much in Portland.”

  “Yeah, and when the Nor'easter blizzard hits you this winter in Boston, don’t go calling me up and complaining,” Ian ribs him. “I hear it’s El Nino this year, so you’re in for it.”

  Karen pokes Jack in the side. “Stop teasing your brother and tell him.”

  “I accepted,” Jack confesses with a big grin.

  “Great! Do mom and dad know?”

  “Yeah, I told them not to say anything until I had a chance to tell you. Mom’s delighted to have both of her boys back on the west coast.”

  “God, that’s great, Jack.”

  “I’ll be calling you to help me with housing.”

  “Hey, I’m on it. When you moving?”

  “The hospital is giving me a couple months to relocate.”

  I can sense Ian’s joy, and I’m happy for him. After we all exchange hugs, Jack and Karen drive back to the inn. The house feels empty. The day is coming to a close. I look at Ian feeling sad that it will soon end.

  “It’s late, are we heading bac
k to Portland?”

  Ian closes the door. “I don’t feel like driving back, Rachel. Would you mind staying the night, and I’ll drive you back early in the morning in time for work?”

  I smile at the thought. “Sure, I’d love to.” Ian looks at me adoringly. “So, what did Jack have to say about me?” I’m dying for him to spill the beans.

  “He said that you’re on the right track, and that I should keep you around.” Ian brings me into his arms and gives me a passionate kiss. I passed the exam and melt with relief.

  Chapter 24

  A Healing Moment

  Ian and I share the same bed and fall asleep hugging each other. A few hours later, a bright light suddenly awakens me. My eyes open, and to my horror, Susan Richards is standing at the foot of the bed. The vile look on her face gives me the shivers. She is dressed to the hilt and looks like a Vogue cover model. I can’t believe that she is here.

  “Ian.” I nudge him gently in the side.

  “What?”

  “We have company.”

  He stirs, and for a brief moment confusion flashes across his face as he wakes up.

  “Ian,” she hisses through her clenched jaw. “What the hell are you doing?” She thrusts both her hands on her hips and postures herself boldly.

  Casually, Ian sits up in bed, while I grab the sheet and cover my bra.

  “Sleeping” he answers. “What does it look like?”

  I can’t believe he’s so calm while the three of us are in his bedroom.

  “More like sleeping after fucking a whore, you bastard.”

  Suddenly her attention turns to me. She eyes me for a moment, and then the light goes on in her pretty little head. “I know you.” She scowls. “You’re that inept assistant at Kennedy Advertising.”

  Inept. What kind of shit remark is that? Now I’m pissed.

  “Boy, Ian, you must have been desperate for a lay to stoop to her level,” she spits. Susan glowers at me as if I’m a prostitute.

  “Shut your condescending mouth,” Ian angrily jabs back.

  He turns and looks at me and heaves a frustrated sigh. His eyes are ablaze, and I can see he’s mad as hell. “Stay here sweets, I’ll be right back.”