Conflicting Hearts (23 page)

Chapter 23

Confidential Confessions

The noon hour arrives, and Karen and Jack are at the door
with a six-pack of beer, chips, and pretzels. I can see where this is going,
but I’m not a football fan. Karen acts enthusiastic over the forthcoming game,
so I assume she shares her husband’s interest in sports. I’m feeling out of my
element again.

As we sit down with drinks in hand—me with a cola and
everyone else with a beer, I look at Karen and ask her if she actually likes
the sport.

“So you’re a football fan, I gather, like your husband?”

“Oh, God, no,” she says. “I try and show an interest in what
he likes.” She leans into me and whispers, “I find more entertainment watching
my emotionally stable husband lose it screaming over a pigskin ball. It gives
me an odd sort of comfort that he has tendencies of lunacy once in a while.”

She sits back, takes a swig from her bottle. Jack turns his
head and glowers at her. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.”

Ian laughs.

“You want to go out on the deck and talk?” Karen asks.

I’ve never been much of a talker with other women, but Karen
comes across as someone who could be a real friend. It’s compelling. “Sure, I’d
like that.”

“See you boys,” Karen says, as we head for the door.

“Hey, don’t go talking about me,” Ian calls after us.

I flash him a mischievous, toothy grin. He looks nervous.
Good.

We plop on the two patio chairs, and I look out at the
ocean. “I really love the ocean. It’s my favorite spot in the entire world,” I
sigh, letting her into that small part of my likes versus dislikes.

“So, Ian tells me how you ran into each other.” She’s
grinning at me.

“Yeah, wasn’t that a hoot? I rear-end an attorney.”

“I will admit that when I heard the story, I laughed. Hope
you don’t mind.”

“You kidding? When I look back on it, I laugh too. I thought
he was going to scream and yell, but he was compassionate and concerned over my
welfare right from the beginning.”

“Yep, that’s Ian,” she muses.

“What about you? How did you and Jack meet?”

“Well, not quite as colliding as you two. I was working at a
hospital in Boston where Jack did his internship. I was a clerk in the
residency office. We sort of took care of the incoming residents and interns
during their tenure.”

“Really?” I’m surprised as hell.

“Yeah. We just hit it off right away, and he asked me out on
a date. The rest is history. We got married in his third year of residency.
Best thing that ever happened to me.”

I’m flabbergasted. Suddenly, I don’t feel so out of league
with Ian. The two of them seem genuinely happy together.

Karen and I spend the next hour talking about anything and
everything. I like her. She’s down to earth, easy to talk to, and I don’t feel
intimated by her at all. She is the first woman that I’ve ever met who I think
that I could have a lasting friendship with. It’s sad that she lives clear on the
other side of the country.

The sliding door moves back, and Jack pops his head out.
“What are you two up to?”

Karen rises from the chair. “Just talking about you,” she
says, patting him on the side of the face. She looks over at me. “Excuse me
while I find the ladies’ room.”

A moment later, Karen disappears, and Jack keeps his gaze on
me. It’s obvious he’s waiting for my invitation. “Come on over, shrink. I know
what you want.”

It doesn’t take him long to close the door and sit down next
to me. “What do you think I want?” he asks with a smirk.

“You are curious about the crazy lady that’s dating your
brother.” I look at him square in the eye. “Ian told me that he mentioned to
you my childhood sexual abuse.” I inhale a deep breath. “So, you want me to
tell you where I’m at with that?”

“If you want to,” he says, leaning back in the chair and
folding his arms. “I don’t want to cross lines, though. It wouldn’t be ethical
of me to take your therapist’s place.”

“Yeah, I get that, but I want to tell you, because I think
as Ian’s brother you have the right to know what he’s getting into, if
anything.”

Jack’s eyes convey compassion. I don’t feel ashamed for some
odd reason, because I know what comes out of my mouth on this deck will remain between
the two of us and go no further. It’s a free session that I don’t have to pay
for. Regardless, I am a bit nervous.

“Okay, I’ll get this much out of the way so you don’t have
to fret over these points.” I count on my fingers. “Number one, I don’t cut
myself. I’ve never had the urge to either. I hate the idea of blood.”

I glance up at him, and he’s intently looking at me. “Number
two, I don’t throw up my food, nor do I starve myself. I’ve never had those
problems either.”

“That’s encouraging,” he says to me. “What do you do?”

“Ah, the questions begin,” I tease him.

“You started it.”

He’s a snarky guy, and I like it. “For most of my life, my
self-esteem has been in the toilet. I’ve been back in therapy for almost two
months. I know it’s not much, but I can say I think my self-esteem has made it
to the toilet seat.”

He laughs. “Well, that’s a powerful analogy.”

“Hey, works for me. One of these days, I hope to get off,
wipe myself, and get on with life.”

Jack’s face turns serious. “Are you on meds?”

“Yes, I’ve been on anti-depressants for a few years.”

“Have you ever thought or attempted suicide, Rachel?”

I give him the eye-to-eye contact I know he’s going to want
when I answer this question. “I’ve never attempted suicide, but there have been
times in the past I’ve wished that I didn’t have to live, so the emotional pain
would end. Frankly, my religious background threatens hell, and I’m more afraid
of burning for eternity. Therefore, doing myself in, isn’t an option.” For a
moment, I stop and think of my answer, then clarify further. “Those thoughts of
not wanting to live are far and few between now.”

“What have you dealt with as a result of the sexual abuse?”

Okay, now the questions are getting tough. “The usual, like
poor choices in relationships. My ex-husband was verbally abusive, and it took
some doing to get me out of that situation. The other laundry list of symptoms,
which you know already—self-esteem issues, depression, flashbacks, nightmares,
self-loathing, eschewed ideas about sex, promiscuous behavior, inability to
receive love, irrational fears—stuff like that.”

I inhale a deep breath and painfully admit my other shame.
“I’ve had trouble with self-gratifying sexual behavior.” I can’t say the “M”
word, but I’m sure he knows what act I’m referring to.

“Is the counseling helping you?”

“Yes. I have a good counselor, who I trust. But I’m still
worried about one aspect.”

“And what’s that?”

I flash him a worried squint. “You won’t talk to Ian about
this, will you?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not going to cross ethical
boundaries here, Rachel. You’re right that I care about Ian. When he told me of
your past, naturally, I was concerned. I’ve worked with quite a few women who
have deep emotional scars from sexual abuse. It’s not easy to overcome the effects.”

“You’re right, it’s not easy, but I’m trying for Ian’s sake,
and my own, of course.”

“Why?”

Confession time. I bite my trembling lower lip to suppress
the urge to cry. A few seconds later, I tell him what’s in my heart.

 “Because I love him, and I want to be loved. I’ve got
to stop abusing myself and reliving that part of my life over and over again if
I’m ever going to beat this. I know that.”

My eyes start to well with tears as my little girl comes out
of the back room and tries to talk about the hurt. “It’s my hunger for bondage
and pain during sex that bothers me. I fantasize about it often, and I don’t
know if I can win that battle. I certainly don’t want Ian to stoop to my level.
It’s not fair to him. Besides, he’s not wired that way. He’s the opposite of
sadistic behavior. He gives respect, not pain.”

Jack sighs deeply and keeps his eyes on me, giving me a
concerned, but kind glance.

“I’ll tell you what I think, Rachel,” he pauses for a
moment, as if he’s collecting his own thoughts before he continues. “I have
patients who have never been sexually abused who still fantasize those thoughts
and ask their partners to act on them. Some women like the bondage gig—it turns
them on. I think it’s in the female DNA from the cavemen days to want a strong
man to dominate, although I’m sure some liberal women will vehemently disagree
with my take on the matter.”

He flashes a knowing grin, and I’m shocked over his opinion.

“If consenting adults enjoy it and nobody gets physically hurt,
I’m not that opposed to the practice. However, that being said, I don’t agree
when the need interferes with a person’s ability to function normally and
indicates a deeper mental problem under the surface that turns into criminal
activity and torture of a non-consenting adult.” He’s sounding quite serious in
his clarification of the line he’s drawn.

“I’m surprised you think that for some it’s okay,” I burst
out nervously. “I constantly struggle with the guilt that my bondage fantasies
are morally wrong.”

“You struggle with it because that behavior was forced upon
you as a child. In your developmental years, someone implanted that idea into
your brain, and it took root and grew. You don’t know anything else, Rachel.
Bondage and pain during sex is wired into your personality, because you were
taught to relate to your sexuality that way by another man.”

He pauses for a moment and then bombards me with a
shockingly intimate question.

“Do you get aroused when you just think about it?”

I pull my eyes away, and stare out at the ocean. The shame
covers me. “Yes. My body betrays me. Just the thought of it, and I’m aroused.
It really bugs me, because I can’t control it, even if I try.”

“That’s because you’re tuned to that frequency.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I admit in a frustrated voice. “But I
don’t want to have these masochist tendencies, because I keep reliving what my
abuser did to me. That’s why I think of them as deviant behavior and perversion
and not kinky sex to enjoy like other women.”

“That’s quite understandable. Actually, the psychiatric
community doesn’t categorize masochist tendencies in consensual relationships
as a mental illness like it used to be, unless it adversely affects your life
to a place where you can’t function or you put yourself in physical danger.”

“My counselor told me that, too, but I don’t think it
brought me much comfort, frankly. I feel terrible having these urges, and I
carry a lot of guilt over it, as if something is terribly wrong with me as a
human being.”

“Rachel, in your case, if you keep abusing yourself
privately, it only reinforces those beliefs, because you keep reliving the
instance of abuse over and over in your mind. You’ll never think any
differently. You need your hard drive erased and a new program installed.”

I chuckle at his comment. Yeah, I’m a broken computer,
that’s for sure. “I don’t get tenderness and love,” I admit. “It’s hard for me
to comprehend or understand it. All I get is the does not compute error.”

Jack takes a deep breath, and then reaches over and takes my
hand. I’m shocked that he’s actually touching me. It’s clearly not the
psychiatrist coming out of him now; it’s the brother of the man I love.

“Rachel, being in a loving relationship with someone like
Ian can help rewire your desires. If you stick with counseling and open your
heart to learn to receive love, eventually you’ll want to experience it rather
than the abuse. The desire to be hurt and bound will give way to the desire to
be loved and freed. Believe me. It may be there even now under the surface
waiting to be released at the right time when you decide to open that door.”

That’s it. I lose it. The waterworks spill over my lower
lids and run down my cheeks. “You two are unreal,” I say, looking at him and
chuckling through my tears. “I didn’t know kindness still existed in the male
species until I met the Richards family.”

“Hey, we’re not perfect,” he quickly corrects me. “If you
stick around long enough, I’m sure you’ll see our little quirks.”

“I hope so. I know that Ian is trying to decide what to do
about Susan.”

“Susan?” Jack heaves a puff of air from his lungs and his
face surprisingly turns dark. “Confidentially, between you and me, I’ve never
liked the woman.”

I’m astonished at his raised voice and intently look at him
as he continues.

“She was all wrong for Ian from the get-go. Susan is an
arrogant, controlling, selfish bitch, and I’d wish she’d leave him the hell
alone. She’s only screwing with his head and emotions, and that pisses me off,”
he says angrily.

“Wow, you do have faults,” I tease him.

“Hey, I tell it like it is when it comes to family.”

The door slides open, and Ian pokes his head out. “What’s
going on out here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jack says, shifting to his
feet. He gives me a wink and I smile. “What’s the score?” he asks, walking back
into the great room.

Karen returns with a bowl of pretzels in hand and another
pop for me. She gives me a knowing glance, and I feel relieved.

“You’ve got a nice husband,” I say, taking a pretzel and
shoving it into my mouth.

“Yeah, he’s a keeper,” she says, taking one herself. We both
sit there munching the snacks and looking out over the ocean. I feel relieved
the quiz is over and hope that I didn’t flunk the test.

* * * *

The game ends and Karen and Jack are standing at the door saying
their goodbyes. I feel like I’ve known them both for years and am sorry to see
them go. Jack is remarkable, and so is Karen.

“You guys leaving in the morning?” Ian asks.