Authors: Jessica Gadziala
So
that was the way it was.
I
felt the quick, nauseating stab of pain accompanied by the twisting
sensation of jealousy. My eyes dropped, looking up at Tate.
Well,
fuck Chase.
And
fuck his rules.
I
was three drinks in an hour later, inhibitions low, as I pressed my
body into Tate's, his arms going around my back. Way too tight. And
if I wasn't dealing with a nice buzz making my skin feel tingly and
foreign, I would have pushed him away, freaked out and ran, anything
other than sink into it.
“You're
so gorgeous,” Tate murmured close to my ear.
“Thank
you,” I said, swaying my hips against him.
“Ava.”
Chase.
His
voice was the equivalent of having a bucket of ice water dropped on
me. Sober. I was suddenly so incredibly sober it was ridiculous.
I
felt myself stiffen, moving to put space between me and Tate.
“She
said she ain't with you, bud,” Tate said over my shoulder,
looking like he was ready to defend my honor if he needed to. Which
was sweet. I would have realized how sweet it was if Chase wasn't
right behind me, no doubt completely disapproving of my behavior and
giving me one of those
looks
of his.
“She
was mistaken,” Chase said, his voice cool. “Ava... it's
time to go.”
I
felt my spine straighten. “No, I think I'm good here, Chase.
Thanks for your concern. You may leave without me,” I said, not
turning around.
“Ava...”
“I
said go, Chase.”
And
then he did.
I
entertained the idea of Tate for a while, trying to push past the
growing knot of anxiety inside. But soon his arms felt like a prison,
his cologne smelled overpowering, the collective energy of the crowd
felt stifling. And I couldn't breathe.
“You
alright?” Tate asked, watching as my hand went to my throat, as
my eyes got wide and panicked.
“I...
I have to go...” I said, turning.
His
arm closed around my arm, pulling me back, making a rush of panic
rise hysterically in my throat. “Wait. How can I get in touch
with you?”
I
swallowed hard against the knot in my stomach as he pulled out his
phone, trying to pull away gently, but his hand was like a vice. I
mumbled off the number of Shay's disloyal best friend, which made him
smile, wretched my arm away, and ran.
I
burst out of the front doors what felt like forever later, having to
push through the crushing throngs of people inside to get to the
exit.
The
air outside hit me, cold and comforting as I stumbled in the opposite
direction of the line of people waiting to get inside.
“Ava...”
My
head snapped up, looking around and finding Chase leaning against the
wall of the club, looking tired. His eyes fell on my face, softening
immediately. “Hey... babe...”
Why
did he have to be so fucking nice?
I
mean, even after being a jerk.
It
wasn't right.
It
was causing all kinds of conflicting feelings inside.
And
I wasn't in any condition to fight them.
So
they surfaced. Through the panic. Tears blurred my eyes and I turned
away again, walking in the other direction, away from him.
His
arm wrapped around my hips before I had even taken two steps, turning
me, steering me away from the crowd. “It's alright,” he
murmured, close to my ear as I blindly followed him as he moved me
around the building. “Take a breath, Ava,” he instructed
and I tried, but it got caught in my throat. “Hey,” he
said, stopping, grabbing my face and pressing me against the back of
the club, “look at me.” My eyes slid up slowly.
“Breathe.” I sucked in a shaky breath, feeling like
sulfur, burning my nose and throat. “You're okay,” he
said, his eyes willing me to believe him. “I'm right here.”
The
tears slipped over and I leaned forward, resting my head against my
spot, taking another breath, breathing him in. His arms went slowly
around me, hesitant to trap me. But the effect was like a
tranquilizer to my system. Like a warm blanket over my brain.
I
blinked the tears furiously away, more angry at myself than I had
been in a long time. Giving myself a panic attack because I was
trying to be spiteful was so incredibly immature. And the plan
backfired in the worst way possible, not only did I freak out and run
away, but I broke down in front of Chase. Again. I clung to Chase.
Again. I let Chase fix me. Again.
I
needed to learn to fix myself.
He
wasn't going to be around.
I
couldn't run to him anymore.
I
needed to stop leaning on him.
I
straightened, pulling away, wiping my cheeks before I looked up.
“You
alright, baby?”
“Yeah,
I … it was too crowded and loud and hot. I... couldn't fight
it anymore.”
“You
should have left with me.”
I
took a breath, dropping my eyes to his collar because I couldn't lie
to his face. “I was having a good time.”
I
saw the muscle in his jaw start to tick again. “What did you
say to your... friend?”
“I
gave him a fake number and just... ran.”
“A
fake number, huh?” he asked, sounding almost amused. “I'm
assuming that way Shay's idea.”
“Yeah.
It's the number of someone she hates.”
Chase
snorted, reaching up and slipping out of his jacket, placing it
around my shoulders. “She's got a good head on her shoulders.”
“Yeah,
except she's sleeping with Jake,” I said, shocking myself.
“They'll
probably be good together,” he said, putting a hand at my hip
and leading me back toward his car.
“They're
not together. They're just sleeping together.”
“Sure
about that?” he asked, giving me a knowing smirk. “Those
two will be dating in under a week, mark my words.”
“I
thought you were a sexologist, not a love expert,” I said,
cursing myself when his eyes got guarded. I always said the wrong
thing.
“True,”
he said in a clipped tone, opening my door for me then sliding into
the driver's seat. Then we drove in silence again until we pulled up
next to my car in the garage. “We have our final session on
Monday.”
“I
know,” I said, looking at my hands.
“Seven.”
“As
always,” I said, getting out of the car.
As
always, but for the last time.
After
the Session
I
cried. A lot. Then hated myself for it even more. It was a fun
weekend.
Tenth
Session
We
never discussed what our final session would be. And I had spent my
weekend debating my options. I could pick any one of our sessions:
kissing and holding each other, chaste naked touching, mutual
masturbation, fingering and hand jobs, oral sex, sex, toys, anal sex.
I
considered each and every one of them.
Because
I wanted him to kiss me again. Like we were waiting for the world to
end. Like it was the last thing we would ever do. I wanted him to
look at my naked body with the wonder of the first time. I wanted him
to watch me touch myself, to watch him bring himself to orgasm. I
wanted his fingers inside me, and to feel his cock in my hand. I
wanted his face between my thighs and I wanted his cock in my mouth,
to taste his desire. And, god, I wanted him inside me. I wanted him
inside me with a need that was painful, both physically and
emotionally.
I
wanted him in every position.
I
wanted him soft and sweet and loving.
I
wanted him fast and rough and wild.
I
just... wanted him.
I
wanted him so badly.
In
the end, sitting at the edge of my bed on Monday after work, I
decided to skip them all. I decided to make it a clean break. I
needed to move on. It would be easier to do so when things had been
strained for the past few sessions. It would make walking away from
him hurt a little less. And by “a little less” I meant...
not the soul crushing ache inside I had been dealing with non-stop
for days.
I
showered, towel dried my hair, skipped the makeup, and slipped into a
pair of dark skinny jeans and a pale pink sweater. I sprayed on
Jake's perfume. And I felt more like myself than I had for a while in
all those skimpy dresses and too much makeup.
“You
don't have to go,” Shay said, sitting on the couch, watching
me.
“Yes,
I do.”
“Do
you really think you are going to get closure by doing this?”
I
grabbed my keys off the table, shaking my head. “No.”
“Then
why go?”
I
took a breath, looking up at her. “To prove to myself that I
can.”
I
let myself into his office and locked the door, but Chase was nowhere
in sight. I took a few steps in, glancing around, checking the time
to make sure I wasn't super early. But I was right on time. And he
was always waiting. I moved toward his open office door, about to
call out his name, when I saw him.
He
was sitting in the chair he had sat in during our introductory
session, his jacket off, his white shirt looking wrinkled. He had his
head resting in his hand, a scotch in his other, resting on his
outstretched leg.
And
he just looked so... lost.
I
had never really stopped to consider the toll his job must have taken
on him. Not so much the surrogacy, but the therapy. Having to hear
everyone's horror stories, helping when you can, knowing that
sometimes you couldn't. It must have always felt like a weight on the
shoulders. And that was what he seemed like, his shoulders down-
weighted.
“Chase...”
I said softly.
He
didn't start. He simply turned his head slowly toward me. “Is
it seven already?” he asked, his eyes small and tired-looking.
“Yeah,”
I said, stepping into the room, moving toward him. “Are you
okay?”
He
gave me a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. “That's my
question.”
“Well,
I'm borrowing it,” I said, sitting down across from him.
He
chuckled, setting his scotch down. “Do you want a drink?”
“No,
thanks. I'm good on the alcohol front for a while.”
He
ran a hand across his brow, looking at me. “You look better.”
“Better?”
I asked, scrunching my brows together.
“Yeah,
I don't know... more like yourself.” He paused, shrugging.
“You're beautiful.”
There
it was.
I
swallowed, looking down at my hands as the blush crept up. “Thank
you.”
“I
figured you wanted a talk therapy session,” he said, waving a
hand out.
“Yeah,
I... yeah,” I said dumbly, cursing myself. “How does this
go?”
He
waved a hand. “We can talk about anything you want. How you
think therapy went. Any concerns you have for the future...”
“How
do you think therapy went?” I asked, worrying my hands together
slightly.
The
air in his office felt thick. Depressing. Like he had breathed it out
and it stitched itself into every fabric and surface in the room.
He
sat up slowly, leaning his elbows on his knees toward me. “Ava,
you did so much better than I had anticipated.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,
baby,” he said, wincing slightly. “Yes,” he said a
little more firmly. “I really wasn't sure we would finish the
sessions in the allotted amount of time. You were so withdrawn and
timid and then you just... is blossomed too cliché a word?”