Authors: Jessica Gadziala
“Maybe
it's just my face,” I said, smirking, trying to guide the
conversation away because it felt like it was heading toward a
confrontation, and I did not handle those well.
“No,
your face is soft and sweet and gorgeous enough to launch a thousand
god damn ships,” he objected. “Why won't you talk to me?”
“Do
you do this to everyone?” I countered, watching him, suddenly
very curious.
“Do
what to everyone?”
“Try
to brow beat them into telling you what they are thinking. Not all
our thoughts are meant to be shared, you know.”
“I'm
not...” he started, looking away from me and I could see the
muscle in his jaw ticking in his tension. He let out a loud, long
exhale, shaking his head, then turning back to me. “Okay. We
are just going to let that go. All of it. Time for a subject change.”
He
left it at that, making it clear it was my job to come up with the
new topic. Which I sucked at, but anything was better than trying to
continue that awful discussion. “Do you have any siblings?”
I went with, cursing myself.
“Ten
or fifteen close ones.”
“Wait...
what?” I blurted out, half choking on my wine.
He
offered me a humorless smile. “I was in and out of foster care
most of my life. One year with my mother, then they would decide she
wasn't fit again and pull me out, throw me into another home with
other foster kids. You cling to them when you're young and confused.
I've kept in touch with a lot of them.”
In
and out of foster care? It was hard to imagine Chase young and
powerless, but he had been. And I had been in that job, watching kids
get ripped away from their families and thrown into the shitholes
that were foster homes (often no better than the houses they were
being pulled from). I knew how awful an experience that must have
been for him. What was wrong with his mother that he needed to be
taken away from her so often?
“You
can ask me, Ava. I have no secrets.”
“Why
did you keep getting taken away?”
“My
mother was bi-polar. She didn't know that. I didn't know that. The
social workers didn't know that. All they knew was that she would
drown it in bottles or at the bottoms of pill bottles, or even,
later, in needles. And because of all that, she would forget to clean
my clothes or buy food for me for days or weeks at a time.”
“Oh,
Chase,” I said, my voice sad, my hand going out to rest on top
of his.
“Don't
feel sorry for me, princess,” he said softly. “I wasn't
abused. And the school fed me when I was there. I had it a lot better
than a lot of the kids I got to know in the system.”
He
looked down at my hand, turning his underneath it and lacing my
fingers in through his. I looked up at him, knowing without a doubt,
that my heart was in my eyes, because all I could think about was
poor little Chase hungry and dirty and in need of someone to take
care of him. He looked back at me with what I could only describe as
wonder...
And
then our plates were dropped down on the table, making me
automatically pull my hand away... like we had been doing something
obscene. I thanked the waiter, pulling my bowl toward me and focusing
on it like my life depended on doing so.
“Are
you going to eat or just keep pushing the lettuce around?”
Chase asked, sounding amused.
I
stabbed an enormous fork full and shoved the contents into my mouth,
licking my lips slightly. “Happy?” I asked, trying to
chew and struggling with how much I had jammed in my yap.
But
it was worth it to watch Chase throw his head back and laugh like a
little kid. The sound so happy and amused that it made my belly flip
flip again.
He
reached out with his thumb, brushing my lips. I imagined, wiping some
stray dressing. Then he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it
off and I mean...
Panties.
Soaked.
Then
a slow, knowing smirk toyed at his lips. “Having some dirty
thoughts, huh?” he asked.
My
eyes flew down to my food. “You wish,” I tried, knowing
it was juvenile, but not caring.
“Damn
straight I do.”
I
let that one slide, focusing on my salad which was great, but it
wasn't what I really wanted. My eyes kept drifting over to his plate,
cheesy and saucy and so good smelling it was practically orgasmic.
The
next thing I knew, there was his fork in front of my face. My eyes
went to his and he was smiling. “Go on. I know you want to.”
And
I did.
So
I did.
We
ended up sharing both plates, me eating more of his ziti than he did,
but he didn't complain. We talked casually about his college years,
skirting around the topic of sexual surrogacy. We talked about my
family. Safe, tame topics.
Then,
too soon, he was driving his car and parking it next to mine, getting
out and opening my door for me.
There
was silence, words needing to be said, but both of us reluctant to
say them for our own reasons.
Chase's
hand reached for my face then let his hand fall, sighing hard.
“Monday. Seven,” he told me, getting into his car and,
once I got in my car, he pulled quickly away.
Monday.
Three and a half days away. Which was good. Or, at least, I tried to
convince myself of that. I needed space. I needed to get a hold of
myself.
As
I drove home, stopping at a red light, I had a realization that felt
like a kick to the gut.
I
didn't ask him before he left so I didn't know what the hell the next
session was.
No
fucking idea.
Which
was just
wonderful
. I could spend the entire weekend freaking
out about that. Now that naked was the thing, I was sure it would be
the thing again. And with naked... came other things. But what other
things? I had no idea. So there was no way to prepare. There was
nothing I could except but work myself into knots about it. Which was
just
lovely.
Third
Session
Alright.
Monday was a bitch. There's really no other way to put it. After a
weekend of Jake telling me to chill the fuck out, I was no more...
chilled out. Actually, I was just frazzled nerve endings and
sleeplessness, walking around my office jumping when anyone brushed
against me, but at the same time...in a weird sleep-deprived fog.
“Yo,”
Shay said, snapping in my face. “What the fuck girl?” she
asked, lifting up the edge of her lips in... disgust, that was really
the only way to put it. Shay was a lot of things, not the least of
which is blunt. She's six feet of gorgeous, flawless dark skin, her
crazy long hair twisted into dreadlocks and pulled back into a huge
ponytail at the base of her neck. Shay's father was a veteran. And
her uncle. One of her brothers. Seven of her cousins.
“Sorry,”
I said, shaking my head at her.
Her
head tilted, watching me with her bright brown eyes, way too keen for
my liking. “You got a man,” she accused.
“What?
No! Don't be ridiculous.”
“Bullshit,”
she said, moving to come behind my desk. Shay was the epitome of
modern beauty standards. Thin waist, thick hips and thighs, a ample
enough natural bust and seen-from-the-front buttage. Even in jeans
and a simple white t-shirt, she was stunning. Not pretty. Or even
beautiful, but stunning. That was the only correct word to use when
describing her.
“I
swear, Shay. I'm single as a twenty-nine year old gamer living in his
mother's basement.”
She
snorted, shaking her head. “Fine, don't tell me,” she
huffed, getting up and moving to storm away. “I tell you about
all
my men,” she said, turning back.
Of
that, I was all too aware.
“Shay,
I swear... when I have a man to talk about, I will tell you anything
you want to know.”
“Including
dick size,” she said, firmly.
I
laughed. “Yeah, Shay. Even that.”
“Fine,”
she said, going back to her own desk.
I
forced down half a pot of coffee (which I generally hate) which gave
me the energy I wanted, with a heavy punch of, you guessed it, more
nervousness. By the time I got home, I was just a mess. And with only
two hours until I had my session, there was no hope of getting it
together.
“Jesus,”
Jake hissed as I walked through the door.
“What
now?”
“You
look like you haven't slept in a week.”
Four
days. But he was close.
“Yeah,
I know. I've been anxious.”
“Isn't
the doctor supposed to be, like, helping with that?”
“Yup,”
I said, slamming the bathroom door behind me and stripping, getting
under the blessedly hot water and trying to let it run over me,
smooth the frayed nerves. The water ran cold before I reluctantly
stepped out, brushing my teeth, towel drying my hair, and taking a
look in the mirror. I
could put some effort into makeup, but honestly, I was so pale and
tired-eyed that it wouldn't do any good. I traveled back to my room,
digging out plain black panties and a matching bra. There was no use
going all out when I was sure I would be out of them quickly. I slid
into a pair of black leggings and a huge sand-colored sweater that I
positively swam in and came down to about mid-thigh. I slipped into a
pair of tan flats, grabbed my keys, and made my way out.
“Wow,
seriously?” Jake asked, eyeing me over a Chinese take-away
carton.
“Yup.
Fuck off,” I growled, closing the door behind me.
I
wasn't angry. Jake just brought that out of me.
I
was worried. Freaked. Anxious. Beside myself.
And
on top of all that, bone deep freaking exhausted.
I
walked from the garage to the office with what felt like weighted
feet. Each step closer felt harder, made my chest feel tighter. I
grabbed the handle, going inside, and slamming back against it.
Chase's
head shot up, surprised, looking way too rested and put together in a
dark blue suit and crisp white shirt. “Ava...”
“Please,
please,” I said, holding up one hand. “Please just tell
me what this session is.”
His
shoulders dropped, his head tilting to the side. “Oh, baby...”
he murmured, closing the distance between us and quickly pulling me
off the door, enclosing me in his arms. I heard the lock click and
then his lips come down on the top of my head.
“Next
time you're this anxious about needing to know something, you call
me. I don't want you stressing over something I can easily fix.
Actually,” he said, reaching for my hand and pulling out my
cell, “I will give you my cell so that, no matter what time it
is, you can call and I can talk you down. Okay?”
“Okay,”
I said, numbly, closing my eyes and listening to his heartbeat,
breathing in his scent. “You still haven't answered me.”
“I
know,” he said, moving away and slipping his arm around me,
guiding me through the waiting room, his office and into his other
room. The door closed. I went to the stereo. He offered drinks, which
I refused. The last thing I needed was alcohol to make me even more
tired. I selected the same music as the night before and turned to
him, and he was watching me. “Babe, how long has it been since
you've slept?”
“For
how long?”
He
rolled his eyes slightly. “For more than an hour at a time.”
“Wednesday.”
He
shook his head slightly, holding my phone out. “Next time, you
call me,” he said, putting the phone down next to the stereo,
and taking my hand. He led me over to the bed, slipping out of his
shoes, discarding his jacket and belt. Then stopped. “Hop in,”
he said. And I really didn't need to be told twice. I kicked off my
shoes and crawled under the blankets.
He
slid in beside me. Not touching me. Not reaching for me. Not asking
or telling me to do anything. Just lying there. His arm went out
across the back of my pillows.
In
the end, it was me who moved.