Pieces For You

by Rulon, Genna

“Really?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you in the area?”

  “Ev and I may have discussed our concern about the dinner with your parents. There was some debate over who would spend their evening killing time in the area, but I ensured I was here should you need back-up.”

  “What did you offer her in exchange for the honor of being my human Kleenex?”

  “Ev can’t be bribed.”

  “Then how are you here alone?”

  “Distraction. I enlisted help from the only person I know who can manage that spit-fire.”

  “Ooooh, Hunter is in so much trouble. It’s going to be a fun couple of days at home.”

  “He’s only in trouble if he didn’t do his job right. If his shock and awe campaign was a success and you return home in reasonably good health, he’ll be fine.”

  “Wrong. She will see this as yet another time he outwitted her, which will lead to retaliatory measures. Trust me, the condo is going to be better than an episode of ‘Survivor’ after this stunt.”

  I felt his smile on the top of my head, accompanied by a small kiss. I’m not sure why or how he always managed to show up when I needed him lately, but I hoped it wouldn’t stop.

  "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet." -Plato

  Thursday morning I awoke exhausted from a restless night’s sleep. I dreamt of myself as a child lost in a maze and unable to find my way out. It was the first time I’d dreamt of anything other than the attack and, regardless of the dream, it was good news.

  I joined Huntleigh at the kitchen table and helped myself to the pancakes and bacon that could only have been made by Hunter. Blueberries exploded in my mouth, making my taste buds sing. The man’s cooking abilities may be limited to breakfast foods, but with his skill I could eat breakfast for every meal. I vocalized my approval with unintelligible grunts and moans, my mouth never empty long enough to form actual words.

  When I had finished my first round of deliciousness, their odd silence registered.

  “If you are just going to sit there like statues and watch me eat, make it authentic—strike a ridiculous and unnatural pose…maybe hide an arm behind your back to make it look like it’s missing, at least that way I can pretend you’re art and not feel creeped out.”

  “Ha, ha. Tell me what the heck happened last night. You could have woken me when you got home,” Ev chided.

  “First, you were not asleep when I got home,” I said, grinning at their guilty faces. “PS, the neighbors called and said you need to keep it down, you’re working their dogs into a frenzy.”

  “I was worried…Hunter was distracting me so I wouldn’t obsess over what arrows your parents might sling—it’s his job to keep my mind occupied so I can stop being overbearing,” Ev said.

  “It’s a tough job, but I’m up for the challenge,” Hunter said cheekily.

  “Oh god, you are spending way too much time around Sam,” she muttered.

  “I love Sam, but more importantly, she tends to be where you are, which is where I want to be,” he countered with a look of genuine adoration on his face.

  “Awww, stop it you two, you’re making me misty.”

  Ev kissed his lips sweetly, the same love shining from her eyes. They were disgustingly perfect for each other, the ideal balance of independence, challenge, and devotion. Despite my fear that I would never be ‘fixed’ enough to find happily ever after, I was content to live vicariously through theirs.

  In an attempt to give them privacy, I relocated to the couch where they joined me a few minutes later.

  “What happened at Chateau Moneybags last night?” Ev asked, her distain apparent.

  I groaned, unsure if recounting the events would lead to another emotional vomit-fest or if I had really exorcized some of the demons last night. I steeled myself and delivered the blow-by-blow to my rapt audience.

  I still felt anger and sadness as I relived the showdown, but the devastating pain that had overwhelmed me the night before was markedly absent.

  By the time I finished, Hunter had laid himself across Ev in some complicated martial arts position to restrain her. She was raging, prepared to fight—out for retribution. She struggled against Hunter’s ironclad hold, desperate to get to a phone and enlighten the people formerly known as my father and mother regarding their many failings as parents and human beings. Eventually I tried to persuade her that a call would be a waste of breath—my parents would not hear her words and spontaneously gain self-awareness. Perhaps I was cynical, but I wouldn’t allow such hope to take root. I had been devastated and disappointed by them too many times.

  When he finally loosened his hold, Ev proved her merits as a self-defense student by flipping an unsuspecting Hunter over the back of the couch in an impressive Jiu-Jitsu move. He hit the ground with a loud thud, followed by a deep groan.

  Ev walked over to me and I high-fived her. “Bad ass!”

  She pulled me into a fierce hug, offering me the love and acceptance only family could provide.

  “They are self-absorbed, ignorant assholes who never deserved you—you are better off without them in your life,” Ev said with conviction.

  “You guys are definitely an upgrade. My assigned family sucks compared to the one I selected myself. Proof once again of my impeccable taste.”

  We ended our hug with an extra squeeze and I went to dress for my appointment with Thia. So much had transpired the last week, I wasn’t certain what to focus on for the session. I slid into a studded denim miniskirt and brown ribbed tank top, accompanied by my favorite brown cowboy boots and a chunky bronze medallion necklace. The outfit was fun, a little wild, and represented the Sam I was versus the cream-clad innocent I presented to my parents last night. It was me.

  I rushed to my car, not wanting to be late. Safely belted in the driver’s seat, I was about to pull out when I noticed something tucked beneath my windshield wiper. Annoyed by the physical equivalent of SPAM emails, I lazily rolled down my window and clicked my windshield wipers into motion. After several rounds of playing ‘catch the fluttering paper,’ I successfully snagged the offending advertisement. Unless this was a 50% off coupon for a designer outlet, I was going to be pissed.

  What the—? I read the message again, ensuring I had understood correctly. Did I just receive a poetic threat on my windshield? Was this how his people scared off all the other victims from testifying? Maybe lyrical threats and ransom notes were the new rage in the criminal underworld. I was glad to see he was bettering himself in prison and investing his time in creative pursuits. Jackass! If he thought this would frighten me, he had another thing coming. He had already done his worst…what more could he do?

  I shoved the ridiculous note under my visor and threw the car into gear. I had a therapy session to get to, and he had derailed my life enough. I arrived at Thia’s office and didn’t even have a chance to sit in the waiting room before she greeted me.

  “Hello, Sam. You came back…a brave one.”

  “Brave, crazy, the two are hard to distinguish.”

  Thia smiled at me and I caved immediately, unwilling to endure another staring contest.

  “It feels more like a month has passed, so much has happened in the last seven days.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I told her about my parents, wanting to share the worst of my week first. She listened intently, never interrupting my stream of consciousness. When I shared about my meltdown after leaving their home, she made a note on the pad resting on her leg.

  “What are you going to do now?” Thia asked.

  “Nothing, they’ve disowned me and I disowned them right back. I have a family to love me that doesn’t include them. Just because that family isn’t blood doesn’t make them any less significant,” I answered defensively.

  Thia laughed, “Retract the claws, I wasn’t questioning the
quality of your family unit. What I intended to ask was—how will you survive now, financially, after losing what could be considered a winning lotto ticket?”

  “I understand better than anyone that money will not buy happiness. It’s not the root of all evil, as far as I’m concerned, but it is low on my list of what really matters. I’ll be fine without the big payday after they croak.”

  “But how will you live, pay rent, car insurance, food, gas, etcetera? You haven’t had to worry about these realities before; it is added pressure during an already difficult time.”

  Oh, she was assuming I was a spoiled brat who had no clue how to survive on my own. Now I understood.

  “I’ve had a job since my freshman year of high school. When Ev began working I was bored, and if I had too much free time my mother would try to rope me into attending random social events, so I found a job, too. I’ve always enjoyed working and earning money independent from my family.”

  Thia nodded.

  “The condo was a high school graduation present from my parents, as was my car. They are in my name—no rent or car payment, just taxes and maintenance fees.”

  Thia nodded again, clearly expecting me to continue.

  “I haven’t touched a dime of my parents’ money since the attacks. I didn’t want their financial assistance if that was the only type of assistance they were willing to provide. I didn’t want to lessen their guilt for abandoning me; I even paid for TPC myself. It’s almost comical that my father still doesn’t realize I haven’t charged a single expense since my release from the hospital.”

  Thia smiled with pride. “You were well prepared for your parents’ ultimatum, even though it was unexpected. You’re confident you can get by with a low-wage job? You must have blown through your savings if you covered TPC.”

  “I’m fine. My Grandmere was an eccentric artist who left her husband and the United States once her children entered boarding school and moved to Paris. I only met her a few times, but we understood each other. She was the black sheep of her generation and apparently I am the black sheep of mine—shunning the money and the family name for real life and real friends. Of course, she and my grandfather never divorced—it was unseemly, as you know. So when he died, she inherited all his money. When she died a few years ago, she left most of it to my father, but secretly held several million in a trust for me without anyone’s knowledge, except her attorney. Grandmere left a note saying it was my ‘security’ to ensure I could always follow my heart and be true to myself. The trust came to fruition when I turned twenty-one. I’ve had access to the money for the last eighteen months. TPC was my first withdrawal. It’s not the obscene wealth my parents have, but if I’m sensible it could sustain me for the rest of my life.”

  Thia looked slightly stunned by my admission. I guess discussing four million dollars dismissively was shocking to most people. The money had already been invested, and my goal was to live off the interest. Not a bad annual stipend, but it still required fiscal responsibility.

  “Oh, and I did my homework and am now employed at Higher Yearning, which will provide supplementary income.”

  “Well, as long as you have the supplementary income from Higher Yearning, I guess I don’t have to be concerned with how you will pay for your sessions,” she said dryly. “So since I don’t need to kick you out, what else happened this week?”

  “In addition to the parental showdown and finding a job, I’ve eaten at least two square meals per day. And I’ve been to the gym every day with the exception of yesterday, but I’m meeting Griffin after our session to resume my routine.”

  “That’s a new name—Griffin. Tell me about him.”

  I gave Thia the low-down on Griffin, leaving nothing out.

  “Do you want a relationship with him?”

  “Am I capable of a real relationship with him…with anyone?”

  She scribbled on her pad again. Shit, that couldn’t be a good sign.

  “What are you writing?”

  “Grocery list—wouldn’t want to forget cat food. My seventeen babies would be distraught.”

  Oh my god, was she really a ‘cat lady’ or was she just messing with me? I couldn’t tell.

  “Have you experienced physical attraction or sexual arousal since the attacks?”

  “Yes!” I shouted triumphantly. “I was worried I would never be turned on again…I used to like sex. A lot.”

  “The return of your sexual desire is a good indication that you are making progress in your recovery. I assume Griffin was the inspiration?”

  “Oh yeah, if you saw him you’d understand. If I wasn’t turned on by him, then all hope would be lost.”

  “But you don’t believe he wants you?”

  “I think he’s attracted to me, but that isn’t the same thing as wanting to bed someone with all my baggage,” I said regretfully.

  “Any sexual partner, especially the first after the attack, will need to be aware of what you’ve been through and prepared for possible triggers. It’s a lot to ask of a casual sex partner.”

  “Don’t feel the need to sugarcoat it for me, Doc.”

  “That was the sugar-coated version. Do you want the ugly truth?”

  “Do you charge extra for the ugly truth?”

  “No, only sugarcoating incurs an additional charge, like sprinkles.”

  I gestured for her to continue.

  “You would be the exception to the rule if you have a beautiful experience the first time you attempt sexual intimacy. In fact, most women find it takes several attempts to complete the act. Your partner will have to be patient, prepared to stop at any time. Many rape victims also report it takes time before experiencing orgasm.”

  She observed my horror-stricken face and laughed before continuing.

  “Some men aren’t able to handle the pressure of performing while concerned about triggering a flashback. Additionally, male pride tends to struggle with the inability to produce an orgasm in their partner. Many established relationships and marriages can’t survive the strain in combination with the emotional baggage outside the bedroom. As you can imagine, the failure rate of new relationships is exponentially higher. It generally takes at least a year before most women are prepared to engage in more than a casual relationship.”

  “I liked the sugar-coated version better,” I groaned.

  “I’m sure you do. Time’s almost up, and while I’d love to gouge you for more of your hardly earned money, I have a class to teach at the University, so it’s homework time. Work on sexual stimulation by yourself—remind your body of the pleasures of sex without the pressure of a partner. Go out with your friends and push your comfort zone, a bar maybe. Go somewhere alone with a lot of people that makes you nervous…the park, a movie, I don’t care where. And continue eating, you’re still too skinny. I get hungry just looking at you.”

  “Got it; masturbate, bar hop, movie, eat. Should I take myself to dinner and a movie before I get frisky so I can still respect myself in the morning?”

  “Play hard to get. It is good to have standards,” she said straight-faced, but added a wink. “See you next week.”

  Once in my car, I withdrew my cell phone to text Griffin, only to find a text from him awaiting me.

  I was bummed to lose my exercise partner and my massage, but I soldiered on. It was my first workout alone, but I managed to remember everything Griffin had taught me. I kept my focus on my routine, hanging the proverbial ‘do not disturb’ sign with my body language. Thankfully, this time of day the gym was packed with stay-at-home moms. Not a lot of danger there.

  I ran home to shower after the gym before visiting the foot spa to make up for the massage I missed. Best $28 I had spent in ages. I would have to bring Ev back with me next time; she would love it, and we were long overdue for a girls’ day.

  I loved Hunter and he was perfect for my bestie, but I did miss our chick time. We saw each other every day and talked all the time, but rarely found time for the two of us to
just be silly girls. My life was seriously lacking silly the last few months. Hell, it was missing fun, too. We used to go to The Spot, the bar where Griffin worked, every Thursday to sip drinks and listen to local performers. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I would be at a bar now, but I missed our routine and wanted to try. Plus, it would accomplish one of my homework assignments. And I knew if I was with Griffin and Hunter, I would feel safe—even Ev could hold her own after months of Krav Maga classes.

  I arrived home excited about my idea. When Griffin showed up with Italian take-out, I laughed, reminded of Thia’s desire to stuff me full of pasta and meatballs. We all settled into our same seats as last week.

  “Hey, Ev. Do you think the boys choose to sit across from each other so they can play footsie under the table?” I asked with a smirk.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Ev concurred.

  “If I am playing footsie with anyone at this table, it’s not Griffin. He doesn’t have feet—those things are boats,” Hunter said.

  “No need to be jealous of my size fifteens, man. I’m sure your feet are perfectly—what was the word you used, Ev? Oh yeah, I remember—adequate.”

  Hunter’s gaze snapped to Ev.

  “What? It was during our break and I was mad at you.”

  He shook his head before leaning over to whisper in her ear. Her eyes widened and she nodded so vigorously she looked like a bobble head.

  “Before you two get any further with your post-dinner plans, I have a request,” I said, capturing everyone’s attention. “I want to go to The Stop tonight like we used to, all of us.”

  “I’m in,” Griffin answered immediately.

  Hunter and Ev exchanged a look with one another, a silent conversation.

  “We’re in,” Ev finally replied.

  “Yes!” I said enthusiastically.

  “Boys, you’ll have to do since you don’t have access to a wardrobe. Ev, I expect an ensemble that reflects the celebration of our first night out in months.”

  I ran to my room, nearly tripping over my feet in excitement. I flung open my closet door and surveyed my options. I wanted an outfit that was sassy and bold, something that illustrated the parts of myself I had reclaimed. The moment my eyes locked on the black Balmain leather pants, inspiration struck. I wriggled into the skintight butter-soft leather and tucked in my fitted, off-the-shoulder black shirt. As if by magic, I had curves and cleavage that didn’t really exist—sultry without being slutty. I should live in this outfit. I located a stunning pair of sky-high red Jimmy Choos. A wide black cincher belt and silver cuff bracelet added a little edge. I surveyed the effect in the mirror—perfect! It was the modern-day version of Sandy from ‘Grease’ in the classic carnival finale.