The two days since Tim choked me have been bleak and filled with nothing but a slew of random apologies, tears, and small gestures intended to woo me. I resent the apologies and cringe from the tears. The small gestures? Well, they’re the worst of all. The gifts he’s chosen are for a teenage girl who no longer exists, and it’s apparent that was the last time my husband paid attention to me.
My days and nights have been a minefield of stress and pain. All I want to do is curl in on myself and lick my wounds, but I also need to nurse Tim’s conscience. I’m sick of being the type of woman who would tell her attacker it was okay.
And I did.
I told him it was okay until I was sick of the sound of my voice. Then, I held his hand and prayed to God he would stop crying because our fathers always told us men never cry, and Tim doing so means we’re destroyed beyond repair.
I’m so uncomfortable with Tim’s apologies that I forget how afraid of him I am until my walls come down in my sleep. Assaulted by nightmares of his fingers wrapping around my neck, I always regain consciousness before he finishes the job. Worse than the night terrors is waking up to find the real Tim watching me with fake soft-blue eyes.
“Sera, Baby, are you okay?”
He strokes me with the same hand that tried to strangle me, and I swallow back my panic.
Please don’t kill me.
The first morning I feel alive, Tim and I go through our routines, and he leaves for work. Finally alone, I allow myself to look forward to my solo appointment with Shane. Despite everything that’s happened, my psychiatrist has become a safe harbor. My fantasies about him provide moments of relief, moments where I feel free, and I can’t deny how attached to them I’ve become.
Because I know the obsessive way I’ve been thinking about the man isn’t healthy I have the good sense to wonder whether my attraction to him is a response to all this garbage heaped on me, which could be. Or I was wrong about love at first sight and the sanctity of marriage. The cause doesn’t matter so much as the effect. And I’m desperate to see Shane, for him to lavish me with more of his gentle touches, to see if he spreads as much light as memory serves.
Tim’s appointment with Shane is tomorrow. He made several grand speeches about how seriously he plans to take things from here, but I still don’t know if he intends to go. He’s always been a big talker when he knows he’s messed up. There will be a lot of broken promises to come out of this little fiasco.
Though all the snow has melted, the wind steals any warmth the sun offers, and there’s been a lot of that cloying spring rain. I wrap myself up in a thick peacoat giving me the perfect excuse to wear one of my two scarves. I’m stuck between the heavy yarn or the silken scrap of fabric that won’t cover the bruises. I could use makeup, but Tim doesn’t like it, and for that reason, I have none.
I’m not sure what to do about Tim. I’m not making excuses for him, but I expected worse sooner. I’m not even sure I’m that angry. Hurt and confused? Absolutely! And I’ve hated every minute of the last two days, but part of me is relieved. Our lives can’t get any worse.
I climb into my car, contemplating how Tim’s given me more attention in the last two days than he has in years, even though it’s skin-crawling and nothing like what I imagined or craved. And as messed up as it is to be happy about it, he got hard for me right before he nearly killed me. He was hard for me.
That means this can work.
I shake my head, knowing how wrong I am. My shame burns me up, and the pain is too intense to tolerate without an outlet. I deserve to suffer, so, for a brief and out-of-character moment, I let myself dwell on what my father would say to me about my current situation if given half a chance.
Whore. Jezebel. Witch.
I know my father would wish Tim had finished the job to keep me from embarrassing him further.
I shake off my distraction, put the car in reverse, and head to my appointment. The little white sedan is safe and practical, as Tim pointed out when he ignored my requests for a different color and model. It’s not as if I hate it. It’s just a car, anyway. I adjust the rearview mirror and wonder why I need to.
Was someone in my car?
I roll my eyes and dismiss my concerns as I imagine Tim spying on me. Did he seriously think I had another man here with me? I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin, and my husband thinks I’m having an affair. If my situation weren’t so pathetic, I would laugh.
My drive across town does little to take my mind off my spinning thoughts. I’m not driving drunk, but I’m a menace to myself and others, enough that relief floods me when I pull into the parking lot. Pushing the thoughts out of my head, I steady my breathing and take the elevator up to Shane’s office. The thrill of seeing him has me almost swallowing my lungs.
After everything with Tim, I have had nothing but time to obsess over what I saw Shane do to himself the last time I was here. I salivate at the thought of tasting what he spilled. I clear my embarrassment along with with my throat as I approach his secretary scrolling social media on her phone. She looks up at me and offers half a smile.
“You can head back.”
“Thanks.”
She’s a lot less cheerful without my husband to ogle at, and I bristle as I walk to Shane’s office. Would she be so eager to see Tim if she knew what he did to me? Would she even care? Did the girl Tim screwed care that he has a wife? Did she even know? I set the painful thoughts aside for now, resolved to talk about my issues with Shane and not bring up what I saw last time. Regardless of my inappropriate fascination with the man, I need him.
The hallway stays solid this time, and I thank God for small favors as I hold my breath and knock.
“Come in,”
That’s a lot more reassuring than the indistinct “yeah” I heard the last time. So I open the door to find Shane seated in his armchair rather than at the desk. I swallow hard as the image of him spilling his release and groaning my name fills my mind. The change of scenery is a small mercy.
“Good afternoon, Seraphina.”
His voice is smooth and faultless. There isn’t a hint of embarrassment or uncertainty. His bright smile lacks all traces of force, and I’m stunned. For one thing, he’s even more handsome than I remembered. For another, he’s acting as if nothing happened and what I watched was a product of my imagination. This situation may be my fault, and I’m rethinking my entire casual act as I gather the fortitude to speak.
“Good afternoon, Shane,” I answer him with only a slight hitch.
“Close the door behind you and take a seat, won’t you?” he’s asking, but I’m sure I don’t have a choice.
“Okay,”
I do as he asks, and he smiles at me. His gaze lacks all heat, and I hear no catch in his words. I must be losing my mind because there’s no way I walked in on this guy masturbating. According to my faulty memory, I watched him come like the human version of a volcano, and now he’s talking to me as if nothing happened.
Yeah, Seraphina, that happened.
But then I blink, registering how easily I thought all those words and how little shame accompanied them. It could be like that for Shane. Perhaps he’s not pretending it didn’t happen, but he isn’t actually bothered.
I sit on the edge of the couch. It’s warmer here than I remembered, and I’m sweating within a minute. Shane wears nothing more than a light button-up shirt and slacks. The blue compliments his eyes, and I’m again startled by the tingle those eyes raise along my spine. Why do I get the feeling I could drown in the depths of his gaze and enjoy every moment until my lungs failed?
It’s clear he doesn’t share my thoughts as he pulls out a leather-covered legal pad and takes a few notes. I’m his patient, and if I behaved appropriately, I would never let him hold me or watch as he came. I’m a voyeur.
“How have you been since our last appointment? We didn’t part under the best of circumstances.”
He knows how to style his longish black hair to give him an artistic vibe without being too much, and I want to touch it so badly. His open, unguarded expression reveals the barest spark of heat in the depths of his eyes. My lips part, not yet convinced he’s going to talk about this with me.
“I, uh, I—” I stammer.
My cheeks are so hot they have to be bright red. I’m salivating profusely and trying to swallow before I choke.
“Have you and Tim had a chance to talk since he walked out?” he offers, likely to help me form some halfway intelligent response.
Oh, that’s what he means.
“We’ve done a lot of talking,” I answer honestly, and I can’t manage to keep the disgust out of my tone.
“I see,” he says, and I wonder if he does.
His gaze runs over me, and I hold back a shiver.
“Why don’t you take off your jacket and scarf? I know it’s hot in here—blame the Corporations. I can’t even control the heat in my own office.” He smiles, but I can’t return the gesture.
It is hot. I’m sweating, and I will never convince Shane I’m not hot in an eighty-degree office while wearing a coat and scarf. At the same time, I doubt he’ll believe my forehead is damp for some other reason. I’m wearing the highest collar I own, but it doesn’t cover the worst marks. The only lighting comes from a few mood lamps, so it’s not bright in here but hardly dark. I hope Shane won’t look too closely as I nod and unbutton my coat.
Thankfully, he’s not watching me. He’s looking over our notes from last time, and I see my name written with an artful flourish at the top of the page.
“So, Seraphina, tell me what you want to gain from therapy. I know we started to discuss these things last time, but we were interrupted.”
Is he saying that it was Tim’s fault? I hope he is, but I don’t want to read into things. I breathe hard, trying to work the lump out of my throat and avoid crying in front of this man again.
“Honestly? I don’t know anymore.” I stand and push my jacket off my shoulders while he’s still distracted. “I thought I was coming here because I wanted to have sex with Tim. I believed that was my end goal. But everything is messy now, and I don’t know what I want.”
In a calculated maneuver, I dip my chin and move my upper body, covering my neck with my hair as I lay my jacket and scarf on the couch next to me.
“You don’t want to have sex with Tim anymore?” his tone is so level, so professional, but I feel his excitement.
“I don’t know if it’s that. I think I still do on some level. I want to stay married to Tim.” I don’t bother voicing my fears about the improbability of my wishes being granted. “He’s the only person who’s ever been there for me.”
I drift off, thinking about how pathetic I sound, especially under the revelation of what happened.
“He admitted he cheated on me two nights ago.”
Shane doesn’t look surprised, and by that, I mean not even a little.
“You guessed,” I whisper.
My shoulders sag. How many other people know my husband is disloyal?
Am I that clueless?
“What I guessed isn’t important,” Shane says, his eyes finding mine. His gaze is kind, and somehow that makes it worse.
For no apparent reason, Shane goes still. One moment he’s normal and animated, and the next, he’s unmoving with a look threatening violence.
“Seraphina.” Goosebumps break out on my skin, my heart pounds, and my palms slicken. I’m terrified and transfixed by his intensity. “What is that mark on your neck?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” The lie falls from my lips as I try to readjust my hair, and we both hear it for what it is.
He’s out of his chair, approaching me in an instant, and I have to crane my neck to look at him. As I do, I forget myself, exposing the length of my neck for his inspection. He carefully reaches out, lining up each one of his fingertips with the five round bruises.
His eyes hold mine as he asks, “Did he do this to you?”
“No,” I rush to say.
“Don’t lie to me, Seraphina. I can see the truth all over your face.”
He can see more than the truth. He can see everything I’ve ever thought, and I need to get away from him before he cares enough to look deeper. Coming here today was a mistake.
“Don’t touch me. It’s inappropriate.”
I try to slap his hand away, but he doesn’t budge. He smirks ever so slightly, but the expression is cruel.
“I apologize, Sera.” There’s an edge to my name, and I’m sure he’s shortened it on purpose. “Some patients are comforted by therapeutic touch. I’ll note in your file that you’re not. Given a choice, I would never disrespect your boundaries.”
But he doesn’t move his hand from my neck.
Besides that little catch when he called me Sera, and his hand still pressing against my bruises, he sounds so professional. I question what’s happening right in front of my face, the touch I feel on my skin. Is he trying to make a point about the man I love who happens to abuse my boundaries? The man who choked me until I slipped into unconsciousness? Or is he just another man who crosses lines when he pleases?
I shiver, not moving an inch, aware of how hard it is not to overstep unset boundaries. Shane’s fingers trace the bruises once more before he returns to his seat, picks up his notebook, and starts writing in it.
“I’m not used to being touched,” I correct his earlier statement.
He cocks an eyebrow at me as his pen stills.
“Is that different from what I said?”
I nod, and he places the pen down, giving me his undivided attention.
“Yes, it’s different. I don’t know if I find touch comforting. I don’t remember anyone ever comforting me that way.” I wrap my arms around myself defensively.
“Except for my touch,” he corrects with a look that tells me there isn’t any use denying it.
“Yeah, except for yours.”
Though the admission excites me, it also stabs deep. Tim is right. I’m a whore.
“Did you enjoy it when I comforted you after Tim left our last session?” his perfect professional tone hasn’t slipped an inch, but I’m a mess as I answer.
“Yes,” I enjoyed it so much I was tempted to masturbate despite being unable to find my clitoris.
“Even though touch is unusual for you?” There’s a flicker of heat now, and I’m going to melt beneath it.
“I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it, but you asked me if I enjoyed it, and that day I did.”
He looks impressed by my bluntness, and while I’m surprised, I don’t share his approval. It scares the crap out of me. Is it him that makes me like this, or did Tim break me somehow?
“Did you like it when Tim put that on your neck?”
I stare at him, unable to form a single word. My heart clenches in my chest, stunned by his cruelty.
“Some people have kinks, Sera. That’s okay, and you can tell me if you wanted what happened. I won’t judge you.”
He’s still calling me Sera, and regardless of how practiced and courteous he’s acting, the reprimand is present in the nickname. Every other time he’s addressed me, he’s called me Seraphina.
“I didn’t want it.”
I don’t know why I say it, given I was trying to deny it even happened, but the words slip out, and the mask he’s been wearing falls with them. I see someone vicious beneath it, someone ready to kill, and I’m afraid of what that man might do. He stays in his chair this time, but I sense his desperation to approach me. Perhaps that desire is why he stays in place.
He clears his throat, and with it, the mask is back in place, “Would you like to talk about it, Sera?”
“No,” I answer too quickly.
“What would you like to talk about then? It’s your time, and I want you to get the most out of it.”
The question feels like a trap, as if he’s pretending to give me space and plans to work me back around to the topic he feels is most important.
I take a few minutes to consider his words. Assuming he’s going to give me what I ask and not back me into a corner, what do I want for my time? I don’t know how I muster up the courage to say what I truly desire, but something about him makes me feel safe to say anything.
“I don’t want to talk. I want you to hold me again.”
“Is that all you want from me?”
He’s asking if I want him to do more. I notice how his fingers twitch like he’s desperate to touch me. And God, do I want more from him.
“Yes, that’s all I want from you.”
Of course it’s a lie, but out of the two sins, that’s the one I can best live with.
For the second time, my insurance pays this man two hundred dollars an hour to hold me in his arms and rub soothing circles onto my back. I never feel an erection, and he never acknowledges what I saw last time, but it’s all I can think about. I’m aching, practically squirming by the time our hour is up, but he never gives me any suggestion he’s suffering along with me. Finally, he helps me to my feet and out the door.
“I’ll see you in a few days for our group session. We can protect you, Seraphina. Just let us know what you need before then. There are resources for women in your circumstances.”
I look into his eyes and offer him a comforting smile, “I’m a big girl, Shane. I don’t need you to protect me.”
“Everyone needs protection sometimes,” he leans forward, and I freeze, sure he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he leans into my ear and whispers, “even if it’s only from the monsters under your bed.”
