by Skylar Cross
"So I was talking to Katie," says my mom. Katie lives across the street from us. Friends with my mom for years. "Tim has prostatitis, can you believe it? What do you think?"
Tim is Katie's son, a couple of years older than me. Haven't seen him in years.
"That's terrible," I say. "What is prosta... what?"
"Prostatitis," she says. "It's an inflammation of the prostate. Now, what do you think?"
I look up from my Kindle at her. Her eyebrows are raised with that somebody-is-doing-something-bad smirk.
"What do you mean, what do I think?" I say. "I know nothing about prosta... titis... or whatever it is, mom."
"Well," she says, "Tim has been following the Dave Matthews Band. He goes wherever they go. Now, what do you think?"
The woman on the couch facing us glances up from her magazine at my mother.
"I think Tim likely has some issues," I say. "He never was the sharpest tool in the shed."
"Yes, but don't you think that because he goes to these concerts he's having groupie sex? That's why he has prostatitis at such a young age."
"Whatever, mom," I say.
"Well, I just think it's strange," she says.
"Sure."
"Don't you think it's strange?"
"Will you just say what you mean, mom, please? Be direct for once."
"Well, I'm just saying if he has prostatitis then I think he must be having sex with both women and men."
The lady across the way looks up from her magazine again, catching my eye this time.
"And I bet they do all that tie-down stuff everyone is into nowadays," she says. "It's disgusting."
"Mom, please," I say.
"Well, I just know that people do sinful things nowadays. They put things up their anuses. Their anuses! Can you believe that?"
I flip back to the previous page on my Kindle. I read it, but it doesn't sink in.
Focus, Annika. Don't blush.
"They lick them too," she says. "With their tongues!"
The woman across the way puts down her magazine and folds her arms, looking away with a frown on her face.
"Mom!" I whisper while gritting my teeth.
"Oh, was I talking loud?" she whispers back.
"A little."
"Well, they do, you know," she says. "The anus was never meant for sex. God created sex as a beautiful thing between a married man and woman for the purpose of creation. It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. You would never let anyone put anything in your anus, would you?"
I'm flipping Kindle pages fast now, not even seeing them. I don't answer, my teeth grating on each other.
"Disgusting perverts," she says. "Men who dress up as women. Women who dress up as men. They'll find out, you know. They shall know. They shall know! When thy God Jehovah cometh to cleanse the earth of all its filth, they shall look up and wish they had listened. They shall know who was right. Then they shall be destroyed!"
I get up.
"Where are you going, Annika?"
"I'm going to get a soda. Would you like anything?"
"No."
I catch the eye of the woman on the other couch. Her look says it all.
I walk down the hallway past the painted portraits of the founders of the hospital.
God, now I'm fucking aggravated again! What fucking business is it of hers what people do in their own free time with their own free bodies?
It's like she wants to control the world.
I arrive at the hospital cafeteria. I know they don't have what I really need which is a stiff Grey Goose with Ocean Spray Ruby Red grapefruit juice.
I pick out a blueberry muffin and a coffee, then stand in line behind two nurses. One wears scrubs with little teddy bears all over them.
Why do I let my mother bother me? Why can't I just tune her out? She seeps under my skin and infects my brain so I can't concentrate.
I pay for my muffin and coffee. As I walk toward the cafeteria exit, I notice a familiar shape sitting at a table to my right. I stop.
"Andrea!" I say. "Is that you?"
The girl sitting at the table is a mess. Straggly blonde hair everywhere. Looks like she hasn't showered in days. Wearing grubby old clothes that need a wash.
"Annika!" she says as she stands up and hugs me. "Oh, Annika. It's so good to see you."
Andrea and I went to high school together. Haven't seen her since graduation four years ago. We're the same age but she looks ten years older than me.
"Is everything okay, Andrea?" I say.
"It's my dad," she says, her eyes filling with tears. "He's... he's..."
"What's wrong?"
"Advanced lung cancer. He only has... not much longer."
"Oh, Andrea, I'm so sorry."
I start to cry too. I hug her again. She sobs into my shoulder. We stay like that for a second but she breaks it.
"Sorry," she says. "I'm not myself lately. He was fine. Everything was fine. Then last month he couldn't breathe. So we came in for some tests and... and... but I haven't seen you in so long. I'm sorry. How are you? What are you doing here? Are you okay?"
"I'm just here with my Mom for a follow-up appointment."
"Your mom had cancer, right?"
"Yes, but she has to come in every six months to get screened again, just in case."
"It's so unfair. I need my dad. I can't make it without him."
"I know, honey" I say, clasping her hands. "I know."
A tall girl with similar features to Andrea comes up to us. About thirty. Well-dressed. She's visibly upset too.
"Rachel!" says Andrea as she hugs her. They clasp together and I just stand there feeling awkward. I should probably leave, but I don't know how.
"Annika," says Andrea, "this is my sister Rachel. She lives in Texas and just flew in."
"Nice to meet you, Rachel," I say as I put my hand out.
"Nice to meet you too, Annika," says Rachel as she takes my hand.
"Annika and I went to high school together and just ran into each other here," says Andrea.
"I'm so sorry about your dad," I say.
"Thank you," says Rachel.
"So..." I say as I turn to Andrea, "I'd better go. I know we haven't stayed in touch, but I'm here for you. Call me if you need anything at all."
"Thank you so much, Annika," she says and hugs me again.
I move off, bewildered and mystified at the reality of life.
I'm back in the hallway with all the portraits of the hospital's founders. When I was headed the other way, I was all pissy at my mom. Now, after seeing Andrea and what she's facing, I want to hug my mom.
As I reach the waiting room, I stop and look at her sitting over on the couch. She's talking to the woman who had been sitting across from us. Probably trying to convert her.
She looks good for being in her late fifties. Black hair like me. Cut short now, which I hate.
I sit next to her and wrap my arms around her.
"I love you, mom," I say.
"Annika!" she says as she kisses my cheek. "I love you too, my sweet child."
"Jane Spenser!" says a nurse in blue scrubs holding open the door that leads to the exam rooms.
My mom nods to her and gets up.
"I'll be right here, Mom," I say. "Just like always."
She follows the nurse through the door and the door closes.
I don't think I could ever make it without her.
Chapter 22
"You cannot be serious!" says Isabella.
She leans on the door to her room... well, it's been my room too for the past few days... but it's going back to being her room.
"Yeah," I say as I pack my things. With some of my Damien Cage money I had splurged on a couple of new outfits. Now, two days later I'm out of clothes.
I could gather some of my things and bring them here, but I've decided to just go back.
"You're unbelievable," she says. "Just when you've made such progress, you're going back to... to... that woman."
<
br /> "Iz," I say, "she needs me. There are some... abnormalities... on today's test."
She bites her lip and stares down at the floor. God, she's sexy when she does that.
Satan is in you, says my mother's voice in my head.
"Is the cancer back?" says Isabella.
"No. They just want to run an extra test, that's all. Probably nothing. But it could be something."
"That's no reason to run home, Annika. She's not dying tonight."
"I know. I just feel bad."
"Annika, she can live without you! She's not going to wither away."
Isabella steps forward, taking my hand. She turns me toward her, but I can't seem to look at her face.
"What is it?" she says. "There's something more to this."
"I don't know, Iz," I say, breaking from her. "All this. It's kind of overwhelming. In the course of a week I lose one job, get hired to do another job way out of my comfort zone, have sex with my best friend, then... some other things. It's been a fucking weird week, Iz! I'm just looking for a little normalcy."
"Normalcy?" she says. "Is what we do not normal? Are you saying I'm not normal?"
Shit, I stepped in that, didn't I?
I break away from her.
"No, Iz," I say. "It's great. I love what we do. Maybe I can't believe I love it. Maybe it bothers me that by going down this path I won't ever have a husband who respects me, or kids. Maybe it's just too weird for me. Maybe there's a part of me that is just on overload, I don't know. I just need to go home for a while."
"I can't believe this!" she says. "You're doing it again. Overthinking! Overanalyzing! You were making such progress. But now you're just going to run back to that Bible-thumping bitch and your dingy little room."
An anger comes from somewhere deep inside me and explodes to the surface.
"Hey!" I say. "Do not talk about my mother that way!"
"Sorry," she says, "It's just that... Annika, I love you. I want only the best for you. I understand that you love your mother and want to help her but you can't be a slave to the past."
"Slave to the past? What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means that you're afraid of abandoning her because your father abandoned her."
Iz can be smart when it counts.
"Shut up!" I say.
"Don't tell me to shut up!" she says. "I have known you long enough that I can speak my mind with you. And I care enough about you that I will damned well say anything I want... including about her! The last time she inferred that God is going to make me disintegrate because of the length of my shorts was when I promised myself I would never set foot in that house again."
I grab my hipster satchel and head to the door.
"She's a manipulative, controlling woman," says Isabella, "who wants you to stay with her forever. She guilts you into it and you fall for it every time."
"You know, Iz," I say, "you always have to be right, don't you? You're just Miss Got-All-My-Shit-Together! You think you know everything but you don't. Just fuck this person. Fuck that person. That's all you do. Is there anyone you wouldn't fuck?"
"Oh, sure, insult me! That's mature!"
"Well, don't insult my mom like you did!" I'm screaming now. "You have no right."
"You're afraid, Annika. You're lashing out. I don't deserve to be lashed out at and you know it. I've done nothing but be on your side, always. You're experiencing a lot, that's all. I understand. It's a lot of emotions. But please... please... don't go back. If you don't want to live here, fine. Let's find you a place. Damien is paying you enough to afford one."
"I know. I just... um... want to go home right now."
She makes that frustrated catlike noise she makes when she gets mad.
"You're hopeless, you know that?" she says. "Hopeless! You're a goddamned child who doesn't want to grow up!"
"You know, Iz," I say, "this was a huge mistake."
"What was a huge mistake?"
"You and me. This. Us."
Oooh, I went over the line.
I see anger in her eyes. And tears.
"You know what, Annika?" she says in a quivering voice. "Get out. Just get the fuck out!"
I march to the door and slam it on the way out.
As I make my way to the underground garage, I notice that my own eyes are filled with tears.
I put my key in the ignition and start my car.
Chapter 23
"How did it feel to be back in your own bed?" says Delphina.
"So good," I say. "Comfortable. Tucked in. Safe."
Delphina is back to pink today. Her eyes are particularly squinty too, like she's really trying to figure me out but having a tough time.
"Kind of like this office," I say. "Hidden. Safe. Nobody can see me here."
"You like to be hidden?" says Delphina.
"Yes. It's cozy. When I'm hidden I can be free. It's like I'm protected."
"Protected?"
I look down at my hand. A broken nail is bothering me. I want to bite off the sharp end.
"Yes," I say. "Protected."
"Who protects you?" she says.
"Um... I don't know."
The pillows on the couch have been moved. The angles don't match up properly. Do people still lie on the couch in these sessions like in the old TV shows?
I look back at Delphina. She's doing that head tilt and nod that silently says go on.
Damn. I hate when she does that.
"My mom, I guess," I say.
"What's a time you haven't felt protected lately?" she says.
"With Isabella. While it was exciting, and I feel like it was the right thing to do... I... just... felt..."
I stare at the couch again.
"Felt what?" says Delphina.
"Um..." I say, clasping my hands together. "Like I was on the edge of a cliff. Could fall at any moment. Vulnerable, I guess."
"Vulnerable?"
"Yeah, like the world can see me. Like I'm doing something wrong and everyone is going to find out. Then they'll judge me."
Wow, not sure where that came from.
"Who is judging you, Annika?"
The room suddenly feels cold.
"My mom," I say. "And God."
She just nods. Head tilt.
"I felt it that night at the party," I say. "I was having a flood of happy emotions in that room. Watching these girls who were... sexually free. I was so jealous of them. I wanted to be them. I wanted the room to see me in all my sexuality. A girl who likes sex. A slut. A happy slut."
Delphina's eyebrows go up.
"Then I heard my mother's voice in my head. Satan. It's Satan. The evil spirit is taking you over. Get thee behind me, said Jesus. Which is why I had to get out of that room. I don't get panic attacks, but I think that was one. I couldn't breathe."
"Mmm-hmm," says Delphina. "What's another time you've felt unprotected or vulnerable lately?"
"Umm... every time I'm with Damien. Again, it's the same feeling of sexual arousal when I'm with him. Uncontrollable. Scary. Vulnerable."
"Have you told him about your mother?"
"No, but he just seems to know. It's like he looks at me and can see right through me. Like a mind-reader."
"Do you hear your mother's voice say Satan when you're with him?"
"No, not really. But she does believe he is Satan. I had his picture on my wall as a teenager and she told me to take it down. Once I did, she even said a prayer. I swear she was cleansing my room of an evil spirit or something."
"And now you're writing a book for the Devil himself?"
I laugh.
"Yes, apparently," I say.
"Is there another time you've felt vulnerable or unprotected lately?"
"Yes," I say, putting my hand up to my mouth. "The other day I... um... had... sex with... uh... four... girls."
Delphina's eyebrows go way up. She shifts in her chair.
"Four girls?" she says.
"Yes, Damien has a rotation of about a h
undred or so girls who hang out at his estate. The other day I ended up having sex with three of them. And his public relations manager. Who is a... trans... something."
Delphina takes a sip of water from a plastic bottle. She clears her throat, uncrosses then re-crosses her legs.
"All at the same time?" she says. Her voice is shaky. First time I've heard her sound like that.
"Yes," I say.
"How did this happen?"
I tell her about the incident on the patio with Damien, Jasmine, and the blonde nymphs. She keeps licking her upper lip as I talk.
"So Damien hammered that word pretty hard," she says.
"What word?" I say.
"Slut. That's a pretty charged word."
I realize I'm clenching my fingers together. I take a deep breath and loosen them.
"Yes." I can't look at Delphina while I say this. "But in a good way. It felt good. He changed the meaning of the word for me. He made me want to be one. And..."
"And what?"
"And when I stayed and had sex with the three other girls, I realized I've actually become one. And I was quite happy about it. Until I drove out of there and heard my mother's voice in my head again. 'She's nothing but a slut! Look at that tramp! Don't grow up to be a whore, Annika!'"
Delphina squints and closes her eyes for a second. Then she opens them again.
"What is a slut, Annika?"
"A girl who enjoys sex too much."
Head-tilt. Nod. Go on.
"Women aren't supposed to enjoy it so much," I say.
"One of your mother's ideas again?" she says.
"Yes."
"And you want to please your mother, don't you?"
A tear rolls down my cheek.
"Yes," I say, "Well, part of me does."
"And you can't do that if you're a slut, right?" she says.
I just nod.
"But at what cost, Annika? Do you want to stay at home with your mom every night until she dies? Aren't you afraid you're going to miss out on what you want? What about what Annika wants?"
"I don't know what Annika wants," I say. "Annika is very confused."
"I think you do. Maybe not exactly. But you seemed to be having a good time experimenting with Isabella and now with these other girls. Developing a sense of sexual freedom and experimentation. What's wrong with that?"