Addicted

by Zane

  Before we left, I did what I really came there to do and adopted a star. I adopted our star, the star Jason and I selected together the first night we kissed on my front stoop. The donated money went to help with the upkeep of the observatory. They gave us a framed certificate with the name of our star, “Ambrose,” which is Greek for immortal and undying just like our love, imprinted on it. Our names were also put on the certificate along with the words, Always has been! Always will be!

  It was time to head to our final destination, which was a cozy bed-and-breakfast inn in the countryside. When we got to the Waterside Inn, we were shown to our room, which had a balcony overlooking the small lake on the property.

  I had some chilled champagne delivered to our room and then asked Jason to take a hot bubble bath with me. I practically had a heart attack when he agreed. We took a long bath together in the old-fashioned bathtub. I sat behind him with my legs straddled around his waist. We had one of the most intimate, provocative talks of our marriage, and I was overwhelmed at how open he was being.

  We made love on crisp, white sheets underneath a handmade quilt and it was beautiful. We engaged in much more foreplay than we had in a long time. Back when we were still virgins, we would make out for hours, but when the sex between us started, it seemed like the intimacy went away. In one night, I was getting both the intimacy and the sex, and I was loving every minute of it. Everything was great until . . .

  . . . I tried to perform oral sex on him. He went ballistic.“Zoe, stop that shit! DAMN!”

  “Jason, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You know I’m not into that.” He jumped up from the bed and put on one of the heavy terrycloth robes provided by the hotel.

  “How can you not be into something you’ve never tried? I don’t get it.” I wanted to tell him how good the shit really was and how I was a pro at deep-throating a dick, but having him file for a divorce wasn’t part of my seduction plan, so I left that one alone. “Jason, come back to bed. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, baby.”

  He came back to bed, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms. I just didn’t want the whole night to be ruined. I had put too much heart into it for it to end with an argument. I was just happy we were making some sort of improvement in our sex life, even if it was a far cry from what I really needed.

  Way over in the morning, something happened to me. It was as if something snapped. I woke up, started crying, and ended up in the bathroom with the door shut, crouched down on the floor between the toilet and the bathtub. I didn’t want Jason to hear me wailing like a three-year-old, but I couldn’t hold it in. All I ever wanted was for one man to love me, and he does love me. He has loved me all my life. Whenever Jason and I make love, it is like winning the lottery to me, but at the same time, it almost feels like he is just doing me a fuckin’ favor.

  chapter

  twenty

  “Marcella, I’m totally exhausted!”It wasn’t so much exhaustion as it was stress. I’d been discussing my sex life with her for hours and still hadn’t gotten to the really deep part. Not that I was looking forward to revealing that situation at all.

  “Zoe, that’s fine. I understand.” I glanced up from the chaise longue at her. She was sitting in the leather wing chair beside it, scribbling away on her notepad. “We’ve covered quite a bit of ground today. We made a lot of progress.”

  “Did we?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Did we what?”

  “Make a lot of progress?”

  “Of course! The mere fact that you were able to discuss your problems is a significant breakthrough.” She smiled at me timidly, probably wondering if I was buying into her bullshit. “Like I said, we covered a lot of ground.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. They were sore from shedding so many tears. Half of the time I was talking, I kept my eyes shut so I wouldn’t even have to look at her. I didn’t want to see the disgust on her face. As I readjusted my eyes to the dim lighting in her office, Dr. Marcella Spencer didn’t appear disgusted at all. I knew she had to be hiding it below the surface. She didn’t want me to pick up on her loathing. How could anyone not hate a despicable, cheating, lying, manipulative tramp like me? Even those getting paid to pretend otherwise?

  “Yes, we covered a lot of ground, but—”

  “But what, Zoe?”

  “Do you think you can help me? Honestly? How do I stop this madness when it has taken total control of me?”

  “Well, the first thing I should ask is, How do you feel about Quinton and Tyson? Are you in love with either one of them?”

  I pondered her question. “I can’t be in love with Quinton or Tyson because I’m in love with Jason.”

  “So you don’t feel it’s possible to love more than one man at a time?”

  “I care about them both—Quinton more so than Tyson—but it’s not love. They give me things I need. I’ll admit that I’ve become accustomed to being with both of them. I never intended to be with Tyson more than a couple of times, but at this point, I’m with all of them every week. This shit has got to stop. That’s the bottom line.”

  “I see.”

  Damn, not that “I see” again! “Marcella, can you just answer my previous question? Do you feel as though you can help me get out of this mess?”

  She sat up on the edge of her chair, moving in closer to me. “I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. Sexual addiction isn’t exactly my area of expertise.” I wondered how far not exactly. “However, there are certain things that apply to all types of addictions.”

  She hesitated. The last thing I needed was to be held in suspense. “Such as?”

  “Well, are you aware that both alcohol and drug abuse rehabilitation programs work on a multi-step matrix?”

  “Excuse me?” I inquired, realizing all hope for a speedy recovery was fading fast. “Are you telling me I need to stop on a gradual basis?”

  “Something of that nature, but listen!” She raised her voice an octave, sensing my irritation. She was damn right too. I was mad irritated. “Just like any addiction, it’s extremely hard to go cold turkey on—”

  “Umm, hold up a second! Are you telling me I should keep fucking these other people and lying to my husband?”

  “Zoe, calm down.” She headed to her desk to get a cigarette. “You just have to relax and hear me out.”

  “Calm down, my ass!” I jumped up and started putting on my overcoat. “I can’t freakin’ believe this shit! I finally get the nerve to tell someone about all the fuckedup, backass, conniving shit I’ve been doing! I finally spill my guts about everything, and not to mention pay your ass to let me do it, and this is what I get for my trouble? You telling me to keep doing it? What do you suggest? To maybe cut back to two sexual trysts a week instead of four? Let Quinton hit it on Mondays and Tyson on Wednesdays, and everybody’s happy?”

  Her hand started trembling while she attempted to light the cigarette with her silver-plated lighter. Her ass was just as nervous as I was, and she was supposed to be the expert . “No, not at all Zoe! I am going to help you! Just hear me out!”

  I calmed down a little, plopped back down on the chaise, and stared at her.

  She retook her seat across from me, inhaling like a mofo. “I have a friend who specializes in sexual addiction. He has a practice down in Florida, and I think he might be able to help you.”

  “He? Oh, hell no, this shit just gets thicker and thicker. I can’t discuss this with a man. Men are the cause of all my fuckin’ problems.”

  “I understand, but—”

  I cut her ass off. “The main reason I came to you is because you’re a female, and I thought, at the very least, you would be able to relate to my situation a little better. But a man can’t begin to relate to the confusion going on in my mind.”

  “I understand what you are saying, but—”

  “Besides, what am I supposed to do? Tell Jason I’m going down to Florida on a business trip while I go check into some
clinic for nymphomaniacs? That shit is out of the damn question.”

  “Are you a nymphomaniac?” She asked the question as if she didn’t already know the answer.

  I got up and headed toward the door. “What the hell do you think?”

  I was halfway to the elevator when she started tugging gently on my coat sleeve. “Zoe, come on back in the office so we can talk some more. Off the clock. We need to settle this. I don’t want you leaving here so distraught. I really want to help you. Why can’t you believe that?”

  I tried to get my bearings and prevent my heart from pumping so fast. I sensed true sincerity in her voice as I pressed the call button for the elevator. The next words came out in a normal tone. “Look, Dr. Spencer—”

  “Marcella,” she corrected.

  “Marcella, I really appreciate you listening to me and fitting me into your busy schedule. I’m truly sorry for snapping at you just now, but all the pressure and stress I’ve been under lately is destroying me.” I started pressing the call button again.

  “I can see that it’s destroying you,” she agreed, rubbing my arm. “That’s why you have to let me help.”

  I gazed in her eyes, looking for some omen that she was my savior. “No, you can’t help me. No one can. I got myself into this predicament, and I have to get myself out of it.”

  “That’s where you’re dead wrong.” I noticed there were beads of sweat gathering on her brow. She was really stressing over my ass. “If you could get yourself out of this alone, you would have already. In fact, you never would have put yourself in this position in the first place if you had an option.”

  She had a point, but I still didn’t believe she could improve anything. “The bottom line is this. After all the shit I’ve gone through with Quinton, I’m still fucking him. After all the shit with Tyson and that bitch of his vandalizing my car, I’m still fucking him. There’s nothing that’s going to make me stop, short of Jason finding out and wringing my neck. That’s the truly pathetic part of all this.”

  The elevator doors parted. I got on and pressed the button for the lobby level. She prevented the door from shutting by leaning on it. “So what are you going to do now, Zoe? Just continue on your path of destruction?”

  I threw my hands up in the air and then started grasping the chrome bar surrounding the inside of the elevator. “Gee, I don’t know what I’m going to do now!” I fought back the tears, determined not to shed another tear in front of Marcella. “I love my husband to death, but maybe, instead of heading home, I’ll go let one of my lovers have their way with me. Who knows?”

  She sensed my sarcasm. “Actually, I do know what I’m going to do after I leave here,” I continued. “I’m going to visit my best friend and make sure her ass is all right. I haven’t seen Brina since I insisted on taking her to the emergency room last Saturday. And maybe, just maybe, if she’s not in the middle of another crisis of her own, I’ll ask her to let me cry on her shoulder for a change.”

  Marcella smiled at me. It was a weak, forced smile, but welcome just the same. She dropped her voice to almost a whisper. “Sounds like a good plan to me, Zoe. But listen—” She reached in the elevator and rubbed me on the shoulder. “If you ever want to talk again, I’ll be right here. You can call me anytime, day or night. I can’t make you continue therapy with me. I just want you to know I’m always willing. Always!”

  “Thanks!” The smile I returned was genuine.

  The elevator doors were halfway closed when she stuck her foot in. “Zoe, we never got a chance to discuss your third affair. You sure you don’t want to stay for another hour so we can continue the conversation?”

  I smirked, wondering how sick she would think I was if I told her the truth. Just threw the entire load of shit on her like I was tossing a penny in a wishing well. “Trust me, Doc. That’s the last thing I need to talk about right now. In fact, that’s probably something better off left alone, period.”

  She removed her foot. The last thing I saw as the elevator doors slammed was the perplexed expression on her face.

  chapter

  twenty-one

  It was drizzling when I arrived at Brina’s building. I didn’t go in for a few minutes. I was still shook up over the unexpected altercation with Marcella. The last thing I was prepared for was her admitting she didn’t have a clue what the fuck she was doing. She could’ve told me that from jump street.

  I should’ve told Brina all of the drama from the get-go and saved all the dead presidents I was going to have to kick out on therapy. Not to mention the aggravation and humiliation I endured by telling a complete stranger all of my business. Still, I liked Marcella. I sensed something real about her. I only wished she could have helped.

  I decided the heart-to-heart between Brina and I was long overdo. So what if she always viewed me as perfect? She understood the Zoe-Jason soap opera better than anyone. After all, she had a front-row seat to the whole thing. Gurlfriend was just going to have to get over the fact that her idol wasn’t a lady, but a tramp. Brina and I went way back, and out of everyone, she wouldn’t judge me. That much I knew for sure.

  After making a mad dash to get in the carpeted hallway of her building, I folded the newspaper I had over my head to protect my hairdo and jiggled the dampness off my coat. I knocked on her door and didn’t get an answer. Her car was parked out front, so I was surprised when she didn’t come to the door. After all, she was the one who went on and on about how she just went to work and came straight home every day. I couldn’t imagine her hanging out, and since it was raining, I knew she wasn’t out walking anywhere.

  I heard some music playing loudly and realized it was coming from her place. I figured she was probably in the shower or something and didn’t hear the door. I contemplated waiting out in the hall for a few minutes and knocking again. I was used to just barging in with the hidden key but for some strange reason, I felt it would be obtrusive that day.

  I decided to wait a few moments. I had no desire to go home and face Jason right then and running to one of my other lovers was out of the damn question. Besides, I wanted to check on Brina’s bruises and see if she planned to take me up on my job offer. Most of all, I needed to confide in her in the worst way. Enough of the lies!

  I swung around when I heard the door across the hall open abruptly. There was an old white woman standing there in a housecoat. She had a baseball bat in one hand and a demonic expression on her pale face. I immediately jumped back against the wall. An eighty-year-old white woman holding a bat and glaring didn’t sit well with me.

  She looked me up and down and lowered the bat, deciding I didn’t look like a criminal.

  “Something bad happened in there last night.” She whispered the words, like she was afraid of being overheard even though I was the only person in the hallway.

  I pointed at Brina’s door, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. “In here? This apartment?”

  She nodded her head. “Something real bad!”

  With that, she slammed the door in my face. I stood there, paralyzed with fear. What the hell did she mean by that? I started banging on the old woman’s door, but she didn’t answer. “What do you mean, something bad? Ma’am? What are you talking about?”

  My first instinct was to call Jason. I rummaged through my purse for my cell phone. After dialing the first five digits of our home number, I started laughing and turned the power off. This was ridiculous! That old woman was probably senile. For all I knew, she was making the whole thing up. Brina was just fine. She had to be. I’d just seen her ass the other day, after all.

  I retrieved the extra key and stormed inside her apartment. Her living room was dark, but everything seemed intact. There was a light emitting from the cracked door of her bedroom. The music was coming from in there also. I’ll never forget the song that was playing. It was Billie Holiday’s version of “God Bless the Child.”

  I went into Brina’s bedroom. I couldn’t breathe. At first, my eyes refused to register wh
at they were seeing. Ten seconds later, my screams began.

  To this day, I’m still confused about the chain of events that happened next. It didn’t really matter who ran in there, who called the police, who picked me up off the floor, who called Jason to tell him to come and get me, who did this and who did that. We were all too late. Brina was gone, and my life would never be the same.

  I remember Jason rushing into the super’s apartment, drenched with rain. At some point, the drizzling had turned into a full-fledged thunderstorm. The homicide detectives set up the super’s place as their base of operations so the coroner’s office and forensics team could do whatever it is they do when someone is brutally murdered in Brina’s apartment without other people traipsing in and out. Jason joined me on the couch and almost had to slap me silly to get a response. I could only manage to wail, sink into his warm, muscular arms and pray for the whole nightmare to go away.

  But it didn’t go away. It seemed like we were there for hours while I answered all fifty million of their questions. Some of them I knew the answers to, and some I didn’t. I told them they needed to go talk to that old heifer down the hall who didn’t bother to call the police the night before when she heard something bad going on.

  I described to them how I walked in the apartment and found Brina laid out in a funereal position on her bed, with her hands draped limply across her chest. All the bedding had been stripped away except the floral-patterned fitted sheet and mattress cover. I cringed at the thought of all the blood. There was blood everywhere. On the bed, on the carpet, even on the walls.

  A forensics technician barged into the room to inform the detectives he’d counted eighty-seven stab wounds, as if he was proud to be able to count so high. Jason spoke the words I was thinking: “Why does Zoe have to hear this? Don’t you guys have any compassion?”

  One of the detectives obviously agreed. He took the insensitive bastard out in the hallway so he could finish relating his findings. I resumed giving my statement, what there was of it, telling them everything I knew—what Dempsey looked like, where Brina had met him, what I knew about the beatings, how I’d pulled my switchblade on him once to make him leave, and how I’d taken Brina to the hospital a few days before her death to get medical treatment.