Not after I’d hurt her like that.
I spent the rest of my Sunday sitting on the edge of my bed, my eyes fixed on the broken remains of my guitar.
It was late when there was a knock on my door. I had expected it sooner. I thought for sure Stephen would have called Robin right after I pushed him out and she would have wanted to have a session about my anger. Or perhaps they waited on Dr. Emmanuel.
My heart raced at the thought that he was at my bedroom door.
“G-g-g-gggggo aw-w-w-way.”
“I just want to talk to you.”
My head whipped around to look at my locked door.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave like that, but you … Can I come in?”
I moved to the door and threw it open. I was so happy to see her that I nearly grabbed her into my arms and crushed her to me, but remembering how I had hurt her earlier, I didn’t touch her.
“Sophie.”
Her eyes scanned my face and then immediately dropped to my hands. “Stop hurting your hands,” she whispered.
I shoved them into my pockets and moved out of the way, letting her in.
She looked at my desk and my wall and what was left of the guitar. “Why’d you do that?”
“I w-w-was m-m-mmmad.”
She turned to me. Her eyes were soft and worried. “Were you mad at me?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want her to know that I had been upset over her constant physical need. “N-n-n-no.”
“Don’t lie. Were you mad at me?”
My neck bent and I looked at the floor, ashamed of my answer. “Y-yes.”
“You were mad at me so you smashed your first guitar?”
I looked up at her in surprise. I hadn’t thought she would be able to tell which of my guitars was which.
“Just because I was high doesn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m ssssssorry.”
“For what?”
I shook my head, hanging my head again, not wanting to tell her.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were mad at me instead of breaking the things you like?”
I stepped away from her, my head still hung low. I balled my fists at my sides, but decided to be honest. Adding lying to my list of sins wouldn’t help anything. “I d-d-don’t kn-know hhhhow to.”
She sighed. “You say, ‘Sophie, I’m mad at you. In fact, you pissed me off and here’s why’.”
I smiled just a little, but didn’t show it to her. I knew I could never say that.
But she was determined to make me. “Say it.”
“W-w-what?” I asked, trying to avoid repeating what she’d said.
“It’ll make you feel better.”
“What?”
“Say what I just said you should say. Don’t leave out the swear words either.”
This time I did look up at her. She was so pretty with her little apologetic smile and wide blue eyes.
“At least let me know why you were mad at me.”
Even if I couldn’t say it the way she wanted me to, I did need to tell her why. She deserved some kind of communication.
“I w-was m-mad at you because you w-w-want things from me that I d-don’t know if I c-c-can give you.”
She was silent for a while. I felt nervous. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my body as she just looked at me. Just when I felt like I was going to pass out from my nerves, she said, “Someone hurt you.”
My eyes widened in terror. She knew. How did she know? Who told her and what exactly did she know?
I felt sick.
I felt weak.
I felt like I would die.
I felt like maybe I wanted to.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
The muscles around my stomach relaxed slightly.
“I do want things from you, but we’ll find … other ways … I mean, can I still kiss you?”
I nodded.
“Can I still run my hands through your hair?”
I nodded emphatically. I would hate it if she didn’t do that anymore.
“Can I touch your chest?”
I didn’t nod quickly this time.
“Because you have an awesome chest.”
How could I not concede when she said things like that? I nodded.
“Can I still sit on you? I mean, at least every once in a while?”
I thought for a moment. I didn’t want her to be afraid to touch me. When I really considered it, I liked that she pushed me beyond what I thought I could handle. It was good for me.
Robin always tried to get me to do things that brought on panic attacks, to desensitize myself to them. If I told Sophie that she couldn’t touch me or sit on me, I’d never have the chance to get any better.
I had told Dr. Emmanuel that I wanted to have sex with Sophie, and I did. I wouldn’t be able to do that if I was never able to have her physically close to me.
Slowly, I nodded. “M-mmmmmaybe.”
Sophie smiled, but her words were low and honest. “I’m sorry that I had to … go.”
I could say nothing.
“When you grabbed me,” she said, stopping to swallow hard and cock her head to the side. “I just … there were … things that went through my head and I …”
I moved to her at this point, hating that she was so upset.
“SSSSophie?”
She gave me a look. “Say it again.”
“SSSophie.”
“Again,” she whispered.
“Sophie.”
Her smile grew and I tried again. “Sophie. I-I’m sorry.”
By mid-week I felt better. The heaviness between us had worn off. She was smiling more, which made me happy, and there were times when both of us would actually laugh.
Jane was still in the hospital, which made my house tense, but with Sophie things were good.
I hated that Jane was in the hospital all alone, but Stephen and Robin wouldn’t let me go see her. Trent could only see her after school for an hour. I didn’t know why those rules were imposed but none of us were happy about it. The only blessing was that no one said she was going to D.C. to be “evaluated” again.
My hope was that she would be home in a week. It was nearing Christmas. I didn’t really like this time of year, but Jane always made it better.
But if Jane couldn’t help me because she was in the hospital, I knew Sophie would. It was terrifying to think about letting her in, but it was exciting, too.
I wanted her to know everything about me. I wanted it out in the open, but it was difficult to actually let it happen.
Elliott was tripping me the hell out. For as much anxiety as he had about sex, the guy kept on trying. He freaked out for a second when I guessed that someone had hurt him at some point, but he still seemed to want to try with me.
Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster that he wanted to try with me because I loved his mouth on my neck, and anywhere he put his hands felt fantastic.
All I had to do was relinquish a little control and let Elliott push himself.
It was Friday afternoon, about a half-hour after school let out and we were at my house. It would be crowded at Elliott’s, so we decided to get to tonight’s session right on time. Until then, we were making out pretty heavily on my bed.
He had yet to explore anything lower than my belly button and he seriously seemed like he had no interest in me touching him just about anywhere. As awkward as it was to not grab at him and push forward at my own pace, I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to break him. The feelings I had made me want to protect him from that sort of shit, even though it still seemed inevitable that he would hurt because of me.
I knew he was pushing himself bec
ause of me. There was a part of me that thought he shouldn’t and wanted to tell him to stop when it was so uncomfortable for him, but the bigger part of me, the selfish part of me, absolutely loved that one day, he’d be over that shit and I could be as physically close to him as I was emotionally.
I had convinced him to take his shirt off, so both of us were half-naked and I managed to glide my fingers over his ribcage as his hand did wonderful things to my breast. His mouth stopped moving against my neck for just a moment.
I hated the bumpy flesh of his back, even though in a sick way, it fascinated me. It was horrible to know that Elliott’s father had whipped him so hard and so many times that his back was a maze of welts and scar tissue, but I wanted to feel it, taste it, know it like it was my own.
Helen was a sick bitch, but she never made me recite anything while she beat me. His father was a dick and I hoped he was dead. One day I would ask Elliott if he was. One day I would know all of the things that he didn’t want me to know about him. I would know because he would tell me himself.
My breath caught as he pulled my earlobe between his lips and slipped his hand from my breast down to my stomach. His little finger rested on the button of my jeans and my mind couldn’t help but run quickly through fantasies of his hand moving lower.
Elliott was hot. He didn’t know it, but he was the hottest guy I’d ever been with and the crazy part was that just his lips on my earlobe could make my body arch and twist. The sounds that came from me were like those of another person, a stranger, but I didn’t care how I sounded, I just wanted more of him.
He shifted and more of his weight pressed on me. His left leg moved over mine and the knee rested between my legs. Holy shit, this was the closest he’d ever been to me while we were lying down.
I had to keep my mind focused on not moving much because if I did, I would usurp his power for sure and this was a moment where he needed to retain it.
His breath was shaky and I swallowed hard.
“Oh, god!” I gasped as he put his mouth on my breast for the first time. That was unexpected, but so sexy. The sensation was intense. It had been so long. I could’ve exploded just from Elliott’s mouth on me.
I wanted him. I wanted him so badly I could’ve screamed. I knew that he wanted, no needed, to go slow, but damn! It took all the strength I had to just go with his flow.
His hand moved to my other breast and gently kneaded it before his beautiful, long fingers rolled the little peak.
My right hand fisted in my comforter as my back arched up. I was desperate for more contact with him. I could feel the heat of his chest on my belly. I wanted to look at him, but my eyes were squeezed shut.
What I wouldn’t have given for his hand to move between my legs! My thighs pressed together and almost on its own, my left hand moved up and pressed against the bare skin of his chest.
I just happened to touch his nipple and then I shook my head as I felt him pull away. I wanted him to stay with me. I wanted him to push himself further. For a moment, I didn’t care if he broke during the process because I needed him to do it. I needed to have sex or at least be closer to him than I was right now.
But my eyes opened and my selfish thoughts quieted in my head. They didn’t go away; they just lessened as I studied him. His body was tight and although he was sitting up, his legs were drawn close to his body and his head was bowed, resting on his knees.
I could hear his rapid, panting breaths.
I sat up, hating how his body tensed further as I ran my hands over his arms to his shoulders and then to his hair. It was only after long minutes of silence that his muscles loosened.
“I-I-I-I’m ssss-sss-ssssssorry.”
I moved to press myself to him, less because I needed the contact and more because I knew he did. I continued to stroke his hair, but moved one arm to wrap around him. I could tell that he hated me touching his bare back, but loved that I was hugging him.
“Don’t be sorry, that was awesome.”
His face turned to me, his expression questioning.
I nodded. “It was good, baby.” I bit my lip and rolled my eyes at myself. He didn’t like it when I called him baby, but sometimes I couldn’t help it. “Sorry, I mean …”
I glanced at my alarm clock. “We have to go.”
Watching him tug on his shirt made me sad. Elliott was so sexy and now his body was hidden from me again, but we had to go back to his house or we’d be late. As much as I hated therapy, I knew I had to go.
Within a half-hour I found myself sitting across from Wallace again. She asked me what I wanted to talk about, so I thought about it.
I could talk to her about Tom and Linda, but that would just make me sad. I didn’t know why, but I knew it did. A week or so before Thanksgiving, Tom said we would be having Linda and her kids over for dinner. I supposed it was his messed-up way of introducing her as his girlfriend. He said I didn’t have to cook, because he didn’t want to put that on me, but then he suggested pizza.
What guy gets pizza on the day you introduce some chick as his girlfriend to his daughter? Isn’t that kind of important? Shouldn’t he have wanted to make it special or some shit?
I cooked lasagna.
Linda said she liked it and kept asking me questions about stupid stuff like school and oregano. It was bullshit and as soon as I was finished, I invited Olivia upstairs. It wasn’t that I wanted her in my room, but it was better than hanging out with Tom and his lover.
I had to invite Jamie up, too. He sat in the rocking chair looking at my copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. All Olivia did was text on her phone.
Like I cared.
I didn’t really want to talk to Wallace about any of that since she’d ask me questions about how I felt about Linda and if I thought she was good for Tom. I didn’t know how I felt and who the hell knew what was good for Tom? Although I did notice he didn’t drink as many beers that night as he usually did.
There was really only one thing that I wanted to talk about and that was Elliott. I didn’t figure she would give me much to go on, though. She was pretty tight-lipped about stuff regarding other people.
But I couldn’t contain it.
“Why does sex petrify Elliott?”
She took in a deep breath but said nothing, her eyes narrowing a bit.
“Did his junkie mother screw him or something? Or was it his bible-thumping father?”
“Why are you so sure something like that happened to him?”
I gave her a look that should have told her I knew she was playing stupid, but she just raised an eyebrow at me.
“Just like yours, Elliott’s secrets aren’t mine to tell.”
Ah ha! “But there is a secret, right?” I could tell that she wasn’t going to say, but I knew that she knew. “You know, don’t you?”
“I know a lot of things about Elliott, but I’m not discussing them with you.” She paused. “May I ask you something?”
I rolled my eyes. “If I say no, will you ask anyway?”
“Probably.”
“Then yes, go ahead.”
“What do you like about Elliott?”
Wait. That was it? No deep question about why I like sex or who banged me when or what my mom did when situation X happened? Damn, talk about an easy topic!
“Elliott’s so … um, he’s so …” Okay, perhaps it was easier for me to think about what I liked about him rather than speak it. “He’s so pure and passionate and he smells nice.”
I bit my lip while I watched her smile. “He sees the good in people when I can only see the bad. I can tell he’s been hurt so many times but he keeps … He carries this huge weight around, you know? I don’t know how he can be so … so innocent and forgiving.”
“Do you wish you were more like him?”
I though
t for a moment, my eyes darting over to the big medical books on Dr. Dalton’s shelf. “Maybe.”
I thought about how dependent Elliott was on Dr. Dalton, on Wallace, on Jane and I shrugged. “I wish he was more like me, too. He needs to stop thinking that people will always be around to help him. I don’t really understand that. The only person you can truly trust is yourself and he doesn’t get that.”
“I take it from your question that sex is something you’ve explored with him.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. I shouldn’t have asked anything, because now she would flip it all around or something. I could have just answered her outright, but with her it was just instinctual not to give up anything easily. “My experimentation in celibacy, as you called it, is still in place.”
She wrote something down. “You don’t seem happy about that.”
“I like sex.”
“So you’ve said. Have you discussed your sexual history with Elliott?”
Okay, that was pretty much enough. She was practically his stepmother. I was not going to give her information about what the hell went on between Elliott and me. “I’m not telling you that shit.”
She folded her hands on top of the notebook that rested on her lap and leaned toward me. “I’m not gleaning information about my boyfriend’s son’s girlfriend. I’m asking a young woman I counsel if she’s disclosed her sexual history to her boyfriend before attempting to engage in sexual activity with him. It’s the responsible thing to do.”
I looked away. I didn’t want him to know my “sexual history.”
“He knows parts.” Just like I knew parts of his.
“How many partners have you had?”
At the question I stood up and crossed the room to get a better look at Dr. Dalton’s books. Most of them were medical in nature, but he had a few on wildlife of the Mid-Atlantic states and a couple of books on the Vietnam war.
Huh. Dr. Dalton owned the Tao of Pooh.
“Sophie?”
I knew that just like Elliott, she would keep asking until she got an answer. “I don’t know how many guys had sex with me.” My voice sounded dead even to my ears.
“How many men have you consented to have sex with?”
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