Until I Break (8 page)

Her question is a good one.

(Buraquinho_Dr): And why are you considering
one now? With this man?

I have to take my time answering, simply
because I know what she’ll probably say if I’m blunt and
honest.

(LauraDrake): I’m very attracted to him.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Why?

And there’s the kicker. Is it because of Alec
himself, of who and what and
how
he is? Or is it because he
reminds me so much of a man that lives only inside my head?

When I don’t answer, Dr. B prompts me.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Is it because he reminds
you of Mason?

She reads me well. Even though it’s not
only
because he reminds me of Mason, it has a lot to do with
it.

(LauraDrake): Yes. At least partly, I
think.

I can almost hear Dr. B clearing her throat.
At least that’s how I imagine the session going.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Do you think it’s healthy
to begin a relationship, especially one that you already expect to
have issues with, on grounds such as those?

Who’s the therapist here? I’m supposed to be
asking the questions and she’s supposed to be answering them.

(LauraDrake): Probably not, but do you think
there’s a possibility that this might help me in some way? Be
cathartic somehow?

The cursor blinks as I wait.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Well,
first of all, I think you’d like to think it will help you, but I
believe you have your doubts that it will or you wouldn’t be
asking
me. In my opinion, you are seeking
someone to agree with you, to justify you going forward in this
relationship. Secondly, I can’t know if it might be cathartic if I
don’t know the root of the problem. There is the possibility that
it could worsen things. I can make deductions and assumptions, but
those won’t really help. I’ll need more information.

But that will take time. And I don’t have
time.

Or do I? It’s not like he’s called me or
anything.

I squash the feeling of disappointment and
glance at the clock, ever mindful of the time. That’s something
that I find weird about therapy. It’s like I can hear the clock
ticking away the minutes inside my head. And now I’m down to the
wire. 11:58.

Where has the time gone?

I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere really. Or
have I? Has she just answered my question in a round-about way?

(LauraDrake): So you’re thinking that I
might be trying to justify doing something that I suspect will be
harmful. Is that about it?

I hope that didn’t come out as snippy as it
felt.

(Buraquinho_Dr): I didn’t say that. That’s
just a hunch. It sounds to me like you want to explore this person
because of his resemblance to Mason, but you’re afraid things will
end badly. And rather than avoiding the pain, you’re more
comfortable justifying it with the thought that it might be worth
it as a therapeutic tool.

Before I can answer, she goes on.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Truthfully, without knowing
all the details, which we don’t have time to get into today, I
can’t truly advise you or help you come to a conclusion that’s
healthiest for you. The best guidance I can give you is to say that
you should try to avoid an intimate relationship until we can
further discuss your mother’s role in your childhood and any sexual
development you achieved during your time with her. I’m guessing
some of your present dilemmas stem from that period.

She’s perceptive, just as I would expect any
therapist worth their salt to be. And she’s right. As much as I
wanted her to agree with Chris, I already knew the wise choice. She
just reiterated it.

That doesn’t keep me from wanting to kick
something in a fit of temper, though. I really wanted her to give
me the green light to explore my real-life Mason. But I’m smart
enough to realize that would end in disaster.

(LauraDrake): Thank you, Dr. B. Sorry I
wasted our whole session with this.

She’s gracious, of course.

(Buraquinho_Dr): If it’s important to you,
it’s something that needed to be addressed. We’ll get into more
next time.

That reminds me of my new schedule for next
week—Oregon. I might as well tell her so that she doesn’t find out
some other way and think I’m avoiding her. Which I actually am. Her
office is in Portland.

(LauraDrake): I’ll be in Portland next week,
but I’ll still be able to log on for our sessions.

Another pause.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Thank you for telling me.
I’d really like for you to consider coming into the office. I know
you think you’re not ready, but you really don’t have to hide from
me. I’m here to help you.

I sigh.

(LauraDrake): I know. And I’ll think about
it.

Just before I log off, I see her
response.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Fair enough. See you on
Tuesday.

The notice pops up that Dr. B has logged off.
She got the last word, one that says she fully expects me to come
to her office on Tuesday.

We’ll see,
I think, not having any
real intention of going in for a visit.

I try, ineffectively I might add, to push all
thoughts of therapists and mysterious men from my mind as I plunk
down on my bed to do my nails. The doorbell rings. I know exactly
who it is and she won’t be happy when she sees I’m not ready.

I walk to the door and check the peephole
just to be sure. I see my sister standing in the hall, holding two
cups of my favorite coffee.

I open the door.

“I’m almost ready.”

“What’s this almost crap? I told you
wha—”

“I had a therapy session today, remember?
Therapy
I
didn’t even want. Therapy
someone
aggravated me into taking.”

She rolls her eyes, knowing she can’t say a
word about it now. “Fine. I’ll gloat until you’re dressed
then.”

“Gloat?” I shut the door behind her and take
a coffee cup from her hand. I remove the little stopper and take a
sip. “At least you came bearing gifts. I need this after the
sleepless night I had.”

Chris gasps and I glance up at her shocked
yet hopeful expression. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep because
you were stuck between a mattress and a hard man.”

Shaking my head, I turn back toward my
bedroom. “Not everyone wants their bones jumped on the first date,
Chris.”

“Yes, they do. They just won’t admit it,” she
says from behind me. “Besides, I’ve never seen two people more
ready for the bedroom than you and Alec.”

I’m glad she can’t see my frown. I sit down
on the bed, gathering supplies to my side. I glance at all the
assorted tools and accoutrements. Sadly, my mani/pedi will just
have to be a fresh coat of paint. I won’t have time for anything
else now.

I pick up a bottle of red polish and shake it
vigorously.

“Well?” Chris says.

“Well what?”

“No comment?”

I shrug. “We might both
want
the same
thing, but that doesn’t mean it’s good for me.”

I draw my knee up to my chest.

“Here, give me that,” Chris says, taking the
bottle from me. “You do your nails. I’ll do your toes.” She pulls
my foot into her lap and unscrews the cap on the polish. After she
paints a few streaks of ruby lacquer on my big toenail, she blows
gently on it before speaking. “I’m not gonna pry. I figure you’ll
talk to me about whatever happened when you’re ready. But, Sam, you
need this. You need to get back out there. And this guy is into
you. What’s the problem?”

“Getting back out there is different than
jumping into a sexual relationship, Chris.” I try to remain casual
as I paint clear polish on my fingernails in slow, even
strokes.

“Let me tell you something, Sammy,” she says,
pausing in her painting to look up at me. “I’ve never seen two
people with more chemistry. It’s not a matter of
if
you’ll
have sex, but
when
you’ll have sex. I know it’s been a
while, but it’s like riding a bike. Trust me, it’s not something
you forget how to do.”

“I’m not afraid I’ve forgotten. I think
that’s more the problem. That I
can’t
forget.”

Chris says nothing for a minute as she
concentrates on getting a smear of red off my skin.

“Whatever it is that you refuse to talk about
won’t be fixed by avoiding it. Even if you never tell me about it,
tell
someone.
That’s why I wanted you to see that sex
therapist. Even women who were raped—”

“I wasn’t raped, Chris,” I interrupt. I don’t
want her mind going in that direction, although I think it’s very
curious that it did.

“Well, whatever happened, you can’t let it
ruin your life.”

“It’s not ruining my life. I—”

“Sam, when you’re afraid to date because
you’re afraid of sex, it’s ruining your life. I don’t want you to
be alone.”

I look up and meet her eyes in a moment of
bald honesty. “I don’t want to be alone either.”

“Then fix it. Take the leap.”

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

“That’s what therapy’s for. And, hopefully,
that’s what Alec is for.”

“I think we need to talk about something
else, like how happy I am that your life’s ambition wasn’t to work
in a nail salon. Did you get
any
polish on my
actual
toenail?”

“Oh, stop. They don’t look that bad,” she
assures, tilting her head to one side as she considers her
work.

“Well, they’ll have to do. I don’t have time
to repaint them,” I say with finality, hoping she’ll take the hint
and drop this conversation.

“Sam, promise me something.” Chris lays her
hand on my knee, her expression serious. “Please don’t let yourself
get in the way of happiness. Lots of people have less-than-ideal
childhoods and—”

“Less than ideal? That makes it sound like my
parents got divorced or I had to get a job at sixteen.”

“Okay, horrible. But still, you’re not the
only one who has a lot to overcome.”

Chris is right. In fact, she’s one of those
people. She has her own story from the school of hard knocks. Her
issues are just a little more…typical than mine.

“Here, blow,” I say, sticking my foot in her
face as I try to lighten the mood and change the subject.

“That’s what he said,” she says deadpan,
easing the tension and causing us both to laugh.

“All right,” I say, scooting off the bed.
“Now stop harassing me and get out of here. I need to figure out a
way to get dressed without ruining my nails.”

“What kind of a sister would I be if I
stopped harassing you?”

“Somebody else’s, I guess.”

“You know it,” she replies sassily, strutting
to the door and swinging it closed behind her.

CHAPTER TWELVE- Alec

I stretch back in my black, padded-leather
chair and look out the window. The view is one of the biggest
benefits to working from home. The sky is blue, the sun is bright
and that sand is calling.

I think a little horseback riding on the
beach is in order.

After a vigorous workout and plowing through
most of my morning task list, I’m feeling pretty good about myself.
I know those accomplishments aren’t responsible, though. I’m
feeling proud and in control because not only did I
not
seduce Samantha Jansen last night, which would’ve been all too
easy, but during my sleepless night, I made up my mind to stay away
from her. For both our sakes. And today, I’m feeling much better
about my progress and the level of common decency to which I’m
capable of rising.

There was a time when I wouldn’t have been
able to say no, when I wouldn’t have been able to exercise
self-control. Well, that I
just wouldn’t have,
not that I
necessarily
couldn’t.
It’s only been in recent years that
I’ve really
wanted
to get out of such a destructive cycle.
It’s hard to want to stop something that feels so good and that
satisfies you on so many different levels.

It’s not really that the activities
themselves are bad. It’s more the end result. Once I’ve had my fill
of a woman, I lose interest. Completely. I seduce, I dominate, I
control and I abandon. It’s why I try to be honest about it up
front, about what I want and what she should expect. About what I’m
capable of, emotionally.

But that doesn’t seem to matter. They go
forward thinking that it’ll be fun, which it is, but then they’re
devastated when it’s over. While that’s not my fault (they
were
warned, after all), I’m tired of being that guy. It’s
not healthy for them and I’ve recently begun to see that it’s not
really healthy for me either. I need to live beyond my vices.

My problem at this point is two-fold. Number
one, where am I going to find a woman to hold my interest,
especially away from my…predilections? And number two, what kind of
woman is going to love someone as broken and twisted as I am, even
if I did look for something more?

At times like this, I find it harder not to
give in to my old ways, times when the future seems bleak without
them.

But I won’t. I’m stronger than any
addiction.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN- Samantha

“How many times are we gonna walk this strip
looking for them?” I ask Chris. “We’re obviously not going to see
any today.”

Chris doesn’t look at me. She keeps her eyes
trained on the sand. “Patience, grasshopper,” she whispers.

I roll my eyes and follow along at her side,
although I’m no longer even looking at the sand. My eyes are
staring off into the distance, taking in the bright glint of the
sun on the waves as they roll in.