Page 108 of Bend
“I figure I’ll stay with my parents for a few weeks, then decide. I mean, unless the prosecutor decides for me.”
“Will you try to see Deacon?”
“Why?”
“It could be dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“I don’t know if it’s safe for you.”
How much longer was this session? Because it would take me that long to describe how fucking off base he was. Despite needing to get the fuck out of Westonwood, despite wanting to appear sane and stable, I couldn’t for the life of me let Elliot Chapman misunderstand my lover.
“I’m more afraid of you than I am of Deacon,” I said. “I’m more afraid of this chair. The sky would fall before he’d hurt me more than I could take. He is the only man, the only person in the world who has made me safe. And I mean, not safe from some boogeyman or earthquakes or random shit happening. I mean I had a place. I had things I had to do. I had rules. He was in control, and the only time things got fucked up was when I disobeyed him because I just had to fly off the fucking handle. And before you ask, and you will, he tied me up good. He gagged me and hit me. He made me cry a hundred times, and he wiped my tears and I thanked him for breaking me. I. Thanked. Him.”
I expected my speech to disgust him, to give him cause to judge me, call me sick and out of control. Instead, he waited, expressionless.
“Do you want to remember what happened?” he finally asked.
“Yes.”
“You might not be ready to remember.”
“I don’t feel right in my head. There are black spaces where feelings should be. Like someone came and erased stuff. I don’t know if it was the drugs or the Librium you people put me on or what. I can’t put stuff together. It’s like I have the horse and I can see the track, but she’s bucking, and the tack’s in pieces all over the barn. Does that make sense?”
He sat back, putting an ankle on a knee, elbows on the arms of the chair. He rubbed his lip with his middle finger. “Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“You’re joking.”
“Best case scenario, you recall enough to release some of the pain you’re in. Worst case scenario, you create a false memory that includes a unicorn and Jim Morrison in drag.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. That was the most ridiculous thing, and anything more ridiculous than what was actually happening deserved a laugh.
“Do I have to sit on the couch?” I indicated the long, uncomfortable divan behind me.
“Yes.”
I didn’t move.
“Come on,” he said, standing. “It’ll be fun.”
“Are you going to make me cluck like a chicken?”
“It’s just a relaxation technique. No more.”
I took three steps to cross the room and sat on the couch.
He stood over me. “Lie back.”
I looked up at him, a twisted smile on my face. I could fuck him. It should have occurred to me sooner. I was suddenly ready for sex, all tingling skin and hyper aware. I could sense his cock, its taste, its scent, its pink skin sliding against the silk of my thigh as it found its way home. It would feel so good, and if anyone needed to feel good, it was me.
“Lie back,” he said again with a voice so devoid of desire, my own need collapsed.
I put my feet up and my head back. He sat next to me on the edge of the couch.
“I want you to recall the last time you were at the stables, okay?” He held up a pen, and I watched the angles of his fingers on the instrument. He didn’t have a wedding ring. “Now focus on the tip of the pen.” He moved the pen back and forth, and I fell into the rhythm of his breathing. His voice, a velvet mask of gentleness, said, “I’m going to count backward from five.”
***
