by Hawk, Ryanne
I kept my voice even and calm, not blaming her. “But that’s what they want. What about what you want?”
“What about my needs?” she asked with such a defeated tone, I reached across the table and held her hand, begging her to look me in the eye. When she didn’t, I tugged and she met my stare.
“What you want is more important than what they want, sweetie. You are an individual—a person, with your own thoughts and feelings. Your life is yours to live and yours alone. Don’t allow them to control your future.”
“Taking control is not that easy.” Her eyes pooled with tears. “I have to please them. If I don’t be who they want me to be, they fight about me or over me. They argue and throw things at each other. They yell and usually one of them leaves. I don’t want to be the reason for their anger. I don’t want to tear apart my family.”
I sat there patiently holding her hand, not saying a word as silent sobs wracked Tara’s body. I wanted her to know she was safe here, and it was okay for her to let her emotions free. I also wanted her to reach inside herself and find her own strength. I fought back the urge to send her more energy. She needed to win this battle by herself.
The slam of the door closing to the unit across the hall from my condo made me focus outwardly. Probably my hard of hearing neighbor Aunt Bea coming home late from playing bingo. She always shut her door too hard. I wonder if she heard the racket Sol made in the hall this morning. If she had, so far she’d kept mum.
Slowly, Tara’s sobs ceased.
I released her hand and sat back. “There’s a box of tissues on the table next to you.”
She grabbed a handful and blew her nose. The sound reminded me of a mutant foghorn, and I chuckled. She looked up at me, and she started to laugh too. Before I knew it, she and I were both laughing as if we’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.
“I just want to be happy and not feel as if my life is not my own,” she said suddenly. “Is that too much to ask?”
I was so proud of her. I’m sure my smile almost blinded her. “No, Tara, that’s not too much to ask. Will you eat a cookie?” I asked to change the subject before she stopped talking all together.
Her chalky porcelain skin lacked shine, and I knew she hadn’t been eating. Tara took her control from food. When she was stressed or when her parents fought, she stopped eating. Every hunger growl appeased her mind.
“Please? I made your favorite, oatmeal raisin with chocolate chips.” She smiled at me as I let go of her hand, and I sent her a very faint healing energy. A balm for her frenzied brain and warring thoughts, a calm pulse to ease her worries.
Her depression leeched up to the surface of her skin. The mist danced softly like a ballerina, caressing her and holding her hostage. Pretty soon I’d be able to take the pain from her, little by little, and hopefully give her the strength to stand up for herself to replace the darkness.
She took a small bite of one of my cookies, and I grinned at her. “Good, right? I made those special for you.” My unique blend of herbs would help keep her emotions even. They’d activate when she left my condo after I’d worked a little of my mojo on her.
Tara polished off the cookie and reached for a chocolate croissant.
“I got those from the bakery down the street because they’re my personal favorite. I could live on those and be happy.” They were still warm and the chocolate melted inside. The outside had a fluffy, buttery, flakey crust.
We ate in silence for a few moments, and I got up and poured two glasses of homemade sweet tea to wash down our goodies with. I’m sure Sol would have growled at my choice of beverages, but I’m a sugar junkie and he’d have to deal with it.
“Come on, let’s go sit on the couch in front of the fire where the seats are more comfortable.”
“Okay.” She grabbed her glass, set the perspiring drink down on the coffee table, and plopped on the couch the way teenagers do, pulling her legs up to hug her knees.
“Let’s talk about sex,” I said trying to hold in my laugh. Every time I say those words I thought of the song.
She pursed her lips then burst out, “Baby! Let’s talk about you and me!” Her arms waved in the air from side to side.
I really enjoyed when she was free spirited and able to relax. She called to me in a sisterly way. I found myself momentarily wistful, and I wished I’d had a sister to share my life with.
I shook my head. Now was not about me. “So. Travis still pressuring you?”
She looked away and worried her fingernails. “Yeah. He says I have to give my virginity up because I belong to him. Because his daddy is big and important and my parents want me to. I hate them all.”
For fuck’s sake what was wrong with parents today? “Tara, your body belongs to you. I know you know this. You don’t have to have sex with him—or with anyone you don’t want to.”
“We were sitting in his basement, watching a movie the other night, and he grabbed my hand and shoved it down his pants and told me to start stroking or else.” She looked away, and I saw the embarrassment and horror cross her face. “I was so afraid.” Her whispered words made me ache.
“What were you afraid of Tara?”
Her body rocked slowly on the couch. I don’t think she was conscious of how she dealt with the trauma. She stared blankly at the wall of windows and said without looking away, “I was afraid I was going to stroke him wrong, and he’d yell at me. I was afraid he’d make me do other things I don’t want to do. Like use my mouth on him, or he’d stop being so patient with me and just take my clothes off and have sex with me anyway.”
This was a delicate conversation, and I didn’t want to hurt her any further, but at the same time I had to make her understand what she talked about was rape. I briefly wondered if I should go and have a “talk” with Travis. My darker half stirred at the notion of handling this slime ball and all the parents involved, but I stopped the thoughts. Maybe later.
“Tara?” I waited for her to look at me, to make sure she was listening. “No one can force you to have sex. You understand, right? Even if he is your boyfriend, forcing you to do anything you aren’t ready for or comfortable with is against the law. It’s rape.” I reached out to touch her fingers but a powerful static electricity zapped my hand and I jumped, shaking my wrist. She didn’t seem to notice the sting. Interesting.
“I’m afraid being together will hurt.”
“Sex?”
She nodded, so I continued, “The first time does hurt, honey. Breaking your hymen is like a sting, but if you are aroused and wet, it will make things much smoother and more pleasurable. Also, having a partner who cares about your emotions and body will help. Your first time should be with someone willing to take care of you and who loves you.” I tried to hide the bitterness in my words, but they crept through.
“Your first time wasn’t good, was it?”
I stared into her eyes and let her feel my words. “No. My first time was much like you described. I had a selfish partner who cared nothing for me; only, I didn’t know he was such an asshole at first. I thought he loved me. He made me be quiet. He tried to arouse me for a few moments first with his fingers, but when that didn’t work, he decided just to take what he wanted from me anyways.” My mouth dried like cotton and straw, so I reached over and grabbed my tea, trying to compose myself.
I cleared my throat. “After the sex was over, he told me to get up and go clean myself in the bathroom. He never hugged me or held me. He never kissed me. When I came out—he told me to go home. The memory and the feelings after are some of the loneliest times I've ever felt.”
As one of my deepest darkest secrets tumbled from my lips, I realized I’d never shared that with anyone.
She moved closer to me, grabbed my hand, nothing more than coolness radiating from her, and squeezed hard, a light tingle wound up my arm. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” The tingle bloomed for a heart beat and burst before the feeling disappeared.
The fact she tried t
o comfort me made me soar with appreciation. Her soul was still steeped in light. I wanted to keep her glowing.
“Me too. And I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to feel what I felt. You should have a bond with someone you have sex with. Sex without emotion leaves a desolate hole once the pleasure recedes.”
“I don’t either.”
We sat quietly together for a few minutes, gathering our thoughts and lost in our own memories. I let her be and didn’t invade her privacy; instead, I allowed her thoughts and emotions to race over me and away. We’d had enough for tonight.
After some lighter idle small talk, I said, “Okay, meditation time.”
We both got down on the floor and sat cross-legged with our hands on our knees, palms up.
“Tonight, I thought we’d do a spiritual strengthening. Close your eyes and listen to the chimes. Listen to your heart and remember spiritual strength and capacity is the willingness to go forward even when the easiest thing is to stay still.”
I closed my eyes and opened myself to the sounds, scents, and world around me. I tugged at the depression strands and pulled them closer to me, away from Tara. Her breath relaxed with every exhale as I drew her darkness into myself and replaced the despair with a light, earthy joy. The words I sent her were “life is a gift, and we should remember we are only as strong as we tell ourselves to be.” I told her she was in charge of her destiny, not her parents. They were only her guides. She was her master.
My mantras ran through my mind, all 108 of them, my daily gratitude's, and the small things that brought me joy and happiness. All the ways to remind myself life was good and humans were innately good, and that it was okay to be me.
“Okay, Tara, times up for tonight.”
As she used the bathroom, I prepared a to-go bag for her filled with the sugary snacks, hoping she’d eat them.
She came out of my small guest bathroom, looking lighter and more luminous. Her skin had a pearly finish, and her flushed cheeks made me smile.
“Thank you, Ms. Kelly. I’ll see you next week, right?”
I hugged her, giving her an extra squeeze. Something told me she wasn’t hugged enough or given easy affection, and she craved the closeness and contact.
“Yes, of course. You can call me anytime, okay? If you need something, don’t hesitate to pick up the phone, or text me.”
She beamed me a thousand watt smile and said, “Okay. I’ll keep your secret; you don’t have to worry.” As I handed her the bag, she left with her shoulders square and her head high.
I believed her. I sighed with relief and contentment, closed and locked the front door then went to the window to watch her leave safely. After she was gone, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat by the fire contemplating my life.
Chapter Four
My house permeated peace and tranquility. My furnishings were sparse, but comfortable, with an overstuffed couch and loveseat, carved cherry wood tables resided here and there holding vases of fresh flowers and pictures of my family. The kitchen boasted white cabinets and steel grey granite with black flecks. Most of my walls were painted white but had splashes of color from the myriad of picture frames holding sacred mementos.
I burned sandalwood incense and drifted in and out of consciousness as I lay in my bed, contemplating the day as I stretched. Such a whirlwind of emotions raced around my system, short-circuiting my brain and causing my heart to pound. In the one hundred and fifty years I’ve roamed alone, I’d only come across a few others of my kind. Sol wasn’t like any of them. I had no box to put him in, nothing to compare him to. I only had to go on feel.
For so long, I’d allowed myself to drift in isolation and insulated myself from others.
And now I felt electric, balanced, and safe.
How was it possible such heady feelings wove so quickly into my heart? Why was it when I was in his presence, I almost felt complete? I exhaled the questions and inhaled my latest contemplation:
“Clarity is your sense of knowing, completely beyond doubt and even beyond thought. Integrity is the alignment of all the levels of your being and your life, an experience of complete congruency. Transparency is letting what is inside you shine outward. They all come from a single source, but each of the three is a different way of experiencing it.”
So far, Svaroopa yoga had been good for my mind. I released my latest pose and rolled over to my knees, pausing for a moment before getting off my bed. I walked on fieldstone pavers and traipsed off to the bathroom to bathe. I filled the sunken tub, added some calming oils, and relaxed my body into the steamy, fragrant water, allowing the heat to loosen my muscles.
“What am I going to do?” I asked the small, quiet lives living in my bathroom.
For some reason, going on a date just seemed wrong, but at the same time, Sol and I had no claims on each other. I’m sure he dated and slept with others at his will. From what I’d learned of him through our soul gaze and what little he shared with me yesterday, I was sure he had a plethora of company. I doubted the man ever lacked for carnal attention.
“Isn’t that great?” I mocked.
I stood up in the tub and opened the window wide to allow the singing birds to filter in and soothe me. Soon, a flock perched on my windowsill, quietly serenading me with their poignant melodies. I closed my eyes and enjoyed my time of peace. I so rarely found my center.
After the water cooled to a tepid temperature, I toweled off and stepped onto the springy moss that covered my bathroom floor. I let the droplets dribble down my legs and feed the moss, giving my appreciation of its life. The compulsion to fulfill some of the lessons taught to me in my formative years stayed with me still. The greenery, plants, flowers and earth helped me remain connected. They made me feel at home, and at peace. I'm not sure where I'd gotten the idea from, it sort of just hit me out of no where when I'd first bought my Condo. Yet the scents, the softness, the utter rightness of having moss and pretty shrubs surround me never made me question the oddness of it all.
The darker side of myself slumbered, so I picked out sunnier clothing to wear on my date tonight—an A-line, knee length skirt in lavender paired with a white scoop neck top. I debated shoes for far too long, before finally deciding on a pair of navy leather heels. Should I have need for my protective psychic cloak tonight, I shut my eyes and imagined a beautiful iridescent silver with navy stars to be available at a moment’s notice.
Now, what stones to wear? After rifling through my jewelry box and searching my necklace rack, I decided on my double stranded moonstone chocker with my sardonyx and labradorite bracelets. They would aide in keeping me grounded and centered. At this point, with my darker half often making appearances at the wrong times, I used as many precautions as possible.
Don’t get me wrong. Her and I are the same person. You could call her my baser, more animal side, and I am the moral and conscious side. You could call her the right side of my brain, and I the left. We are not two separate people inhibiting one body. Sometimes when my body fires on different cylinders, this is the result. Sometimes emotional trauma can cause a rift or tear in one’s soul, fracturing a person beyond recognition.
I am shy, quiet, and secretive. I learned at a very young age how to detach myself from situations that could hurt me, and I learned how to disassociate. Both are defensive and coping mechanisms so I can survive. I keep myself contained, and I keep my cards close. I don’t share how I feel about things that pertain to myself. I have always done what’s best for others, putting their needs above my own, often to my own detriment. Shutting myself off so I can function how others need me to be.
No, I am not multiple people. I don’t want you to think I am crazy.
I can be cold, logical and pragmatic when the situation calls for me to be so, but also loving, giving, and nurturing without thought to reciprocity.
Sadness coated my throat, and I choked the spittle down to the pit of my stomach. Tonight would be a happy night, dammit. I stole one last deep, calming b
reath then marched out of my apartment on a mission.
No, not a mission—trying to find Mr. Warren G.
I snorted. The song lyrics that float through my head on occasion were classic. I hailed a cab then twiddled my thumbs as the cabby drove me to meet Dixon Sharpe, CEO of Sharpe enterprises.
Maybe tonight would be fun for a change.
★★★
Dixon waited at a small corner table reserved for the wealthy. The privacy was nice and afforded us plenty of space to talk. I followed the well-groomed hostess of the swanky upscale restaurant and sat in the chair Dixon motioned to me.
He reeked of nervous energy and pent up aggression. The dizzying mix of emotions slithered across my skin and made the hairs on my arms stand on end. He didn’t stand up or greet me. Surprising since I had the impression he was a gentleman, but according to rumors chivalry was dead.
“Thank you, Dixon. This is a lovely restaurant.”
His stare was forced, too hard. There was something scary about the look in his eyes that prickled the back of my neck and roused a flight instinct. If I’d been any other woman, I would have walked away, but the healer in me wanted to know if I could help ease his burdens.
“Hey,” I said as I reached my hand across the table and touched his arm trying to change whatever thought pattern had put the faraway look in his eyes. “Are you all right, Dixon? If you want to do this another night…” I let the reprieve dangle out there, hoping he’d take the bait because quite frankly, I didn’t feel much like socializing and making nice.
Dixon pulled his arm away with a jerk, and his eyes narrowed. For a second he seemed otherworldly, but then he recovered and his eyes cleared. He shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, Cordelia. Today has been rough. I doubt I will be good company.”
“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
He shrugged and lifted his hand in the air with his empty glass, signaling for more of whatever liquid courage he’d been drinking. “Not really.”