Conflicting Hearts (14 page)

Chapter 13

The Confessional

I return to bed, and Ian returns to the couch. We both wake
up mid-morning. About an hour later, we have a small breakfast. Neither of us
possesses an appetite.

Ian appears absorbed in his thoughts, and I don’t blame him.
He probably wants to know what happened to me as a child, but I’m not sure that
I can specifically tell him every detail. The thought of doing so intensifies
my fear that he’ll leave me. Anxious about the wandering of his mind, I try to
pull his thoughts elsewhere.

“Can we go for a walk? Just a short one?”

He turns his head and looks my way. “Sure, sweets, whatever
you’d like.”

“What is it with this
sweets
thing?” I ask him with a
coy smile.

“Because I think you’re sweet, sweets.”

I have no endearing names for him. One day when I was bored,
I did an Internet search for the meaning of Ian. I almost choked when I read
that it meant “the graciousness of God.” Of course, I wondered if God decided
to be merciful to me, even though I’m a masturbating slut. Every now and then,
I think the man above toys with us by dangling a carrot of promise and then
snatches it away. It feels like that since my relationship with Ian has been
tainted. I don’t know what to believe any longer.

We grab our jackets and head out the door. The tide is on
its way out, but not enough to climb on the rocks looking for starfish.
Frankly, I don’t feel like it either, since I’m in the dumps.

Ian grabs my hand and holds me tight. The air is a bit
chilly as usual when a morning fog lingers offshore. The waves roll in quietly
with a soft slurping sound, and it’s peaceful.

The farther we walk in silence, I debate the necessity to
reveal more of my past. He’s too quiet, and it bothers me. Ian deserves answers
no matter how frightened I am to give them. It’s important that I fill in the
blanks before he fills them in with speculation. I squeeze my eyes shut as I
open the door for him to peek inside.

“What do you want to ask me, Ian, about my past? You had
questions last night.”

The grip of his hand tightens. He glances over at me with a
sorrowful look upon his face. I think he knows this isn’t going to be easy for
me. I have my time out word, so for the most part, I feel confident that I can
answer some questions before totally disassociating myself from the pain.

“It’s a strange question, but it’s driving me crazy.”

“What is it?”

“What was sex like with your ex-husband? Did he—did he treat
you rough, the way you like it?”

I almost want to burst out laughing. “My ex-husband, Ian,
pretty much used me as a receptacle. He could have cared less about my pleasure
as long as he got what he wanted.” I remember how brokenhearted I was when I
realized what a mistake I made. Right after we married it was obvious he didn’t
love me. He wanted a whipping post he could verbally lash.

“Most of the time, he made me feel like crap. When he was
done with me, he’d get up and go wash his hands for ten minutes to rid himself
of my smell, I guess. He told me that I made him nauseated when he touched me.”

Ian halts our steps. He turns and looks at me in disbelief.
“You mean he never pleased you?”

I look down at the sand. “What do you think I did? I pleased
myself to find release. It was like that for years, until I no longer shared my
bed with him.”

“What about other men in your life before you got married?
How did they treat you?”

I scowl over his question, because my promiscuous tendencies
have gathered a long laundry list of past sexual encounters. My mind remembers
them all with clarity—Randy, John, Marcus, two Michaels, and Stephen. It’s too
intrusive to tell him about everyone, and how some of them did give me what I
wanted to one degree or another. Of course, after they got what they wanted,
they all eventually abandoned me. Even I don’t like to think about it.

“Let’s not go there,” I say, with an annoyed clip. “If you
want me to tell you, then I want details about every woman you’ve done since
you lost your virginity.”

“Fair enough. Let’s not,” he replies in an edgy tone.

Poor Ian. I’m corrupting the man with my horrid past. He
looks like he’s on information overload, and I’m afraid I’m going to short
circuit his kind heart.

We walk down the beach a few yards. He’s silent, until he
halts again and faces me. The palm of his hand touches my cheek, and with a
sympathetic gaze he looks into my eyes.

 “What happened when you were a child?” He voice
trembles. “Can you tell me?”

There’s no way I can maintain eye contact and speak the
words. I lower my head and grimace.

“Don’t look at me when I tell you,” I insist. “I can’t bear
the shame.”

“Okay, then. I’ll hug you while you tell me. I’ll look over
your shoulder, you look over mine.”

Ian doesn’t give me a moment to protest. He grabs me and
pulls me against his chest and wraps his arms around me in a bear-hug manner.
Instinctively, I know he’s holding me up, because probably my knees are going
to give way when I’m done.
Okay, you can do this. Suck in a deep breath and
just spit it out.

“He lured me to his bedroom and told me that we were going
to play a game and that he wanted to give me a hug.” How ironic, Ian is hugging
me now. I inhale in another breath.

“If I did what he told me, I’d get a candy bar after he was
done. Then he pushed me back onto his bed, and stood in front of me and took
out his penis. I remember how I thought it was ugly, and frankly, today I still
cannot look at one with any great pleasure.” I cringe over my words. “No
offense to you, sweets.”

“None taken,” he whispers.

My tears start, and Ian holds me closer. He’s stroking my
back.

“After he lifted my dress and pulled down my panties, he
laid on top of me and masturbated by rubbing himself against my body.”

The suffocating feeling that overcomes me starts to squeeze
my chest. “He ejaculated on my belly. When he finished, I earned my candy bar.”

“Did he ever penetrate you, Rachel?”

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “If he did, I’ve
blocked out the memory. I think he must have fondled me often, because I can
remember being aroused as a child and wanting release.”

By now, I think Ian is going to crush me in his embrace. I
pull away from him to catch my breath, and when I look at his face, he has
tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Ian, don’t cry for me,” I tell him. “Please, you’ll
make me feel worse.”

He’s upset. I’m drenched in shame. His eyes have more
questions, and instinctively I know what they are.

“You’re wondering why I want it rough after what happened to
me as a child, don’t you?”

He nods his head.

“I don’t know, frankly. I think it’s because he held me
underneath him, and I couldn’t move. Something happened inside of me, because
he aroused me by what he did.” I’m feeling frustrated. “You know, I’m not a
psychiatrist. All I know is that I respond to bondage, and I’m sure it’s
because of the sexual abuse.” I start to tremble as I stand before him. My
veins feel as if ice is flowing through my body.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, Rachel. Time out.” It’s obvious
that I’m about to lose it.

I nod my head in agreement. It’s time out.

Our conversations for the rest of our day together avoid my
past. I take the little girl within and hide her back into the closet of my
mind, where there is only darkness. I replace her by roleplaying a carefree and
happy young woman again. There are times I think I deserve an Oscar for my
performances, and this is definitely one of them.

* * * *

We are back in the car, driving toward Portland. I feel a
distinct sadness leaving the beach house. Not only is it my dream home, but my
dream location to live out my life.

“It’s too bad you can’t live here all the time, Ian.”

“Yeah, but the commute would kill me. Two hours a day back
and forth with my hours, doesn’t make sense.”

“Ever thought of going into practice in a small town like
Cannon Beach or Seaside?” Ian turns his head and gives me a smile over my
suggestion.

“No, because there probably isn’t much need for a corporate
attorney in such small communities.”

“Can’t you practice any other kind of law? You know,
handsome criminal lawyer or something like that for the county?”

Ian bellows a husky laugh. “God, Rachel, you are watching
too many television series about attorneys.”

“Well gosh,” I boisterously respond, “I thought it was a
brilliant idea.”

“If I ever went into criminal law, I surely wouldn’t defend
the bastards. I’d be a prosecuting attorney and put them in jail.”

His voice sounds stern, and I wonder if he’s thinking of a
certain person that tainted a little girl’s life. After all these years, I have
no idea if that asshole is dead, alive, or in jail for hurting someone else.
All I remember is that eventually his family sold the house, and they moved
away.

“Yeah, you’re the good-guy type,” I agree. “Frankly, I’m
glad, or I’d probably have a court date by now for having rear-ended your
prissy sports car.” I smirk at Ian, and he flashes me a wicked look that
surprises me.

“Missy, you owe me for not suing your ass,” he snarls. “I’ll
admit that I was pissed when you initially hit me.” He pauses for a moment and
then narrows his eyes looking like a bad-boy. “One of these days, you’re going
to have to pay up.”

Suddenly, my body is on fire at the thought. Does he mean
what I hope he means? It doesn’t take long for my mind to picture him making me
pay up
in all sorts of cruel ways. I start to squirm in the seat next to
him feeling aroused. My neck bursts out into red blotches, and I quickly roll
down the window halfway and thrust my face into the wind. I hear him chuckle as
if he knows exactly what’s happening to me.

“Did that turn you on
that
easily?” he asks
curiously, with his sweet voice again. “The making you
pay up
threat?”

My lips are sealed, but I’m aching with the thought of it. I
wonder if he even has it in him to follow through with his threat. He’s too
sweet to be mean, and in my heart I know it. If he continues to taunt me
though, we’re going to be in trouble.

Suddenly, he hits the button and rolls down the window all
the way. “Apparently, so. You better cool off, because this car is way too
small to get screwed in.”

I burst out laughing, and so does he. The sexual tension
between us fills his roadster, and I turn and look at him.

“That was definitely a getting to know you moment,” he
slurs.

“Stinker!” I glare at him. I shove my face back into the
wind, close my eyes and imagine him attacking my body while I’m helpless
beneath him. I’m so damn pathetic.

* * * *

The following morning I drag myself into work in a fit of
depression. I have missed a few of my purple pills over the weekend, and now
I’m all screwed up on my dosage. My melancholy mood makes it difficult to get
motivated, and my mind drifts back to the weekend with Ian.

He brought me home, walked me to the door, and to my chagrin
gave me a short goodnight kiss. It’s obvious that he’s serious about the no sex
interval between us. I’m saddened and horny, but for once I leave myself alone
when I crawl in bed.

It’s obvious that I’ve moved into my next mode in the
relationship—it’s my usual religious guilt tactic. It’s time to bargain with
the higher power. “I’ll be faithful God and not fool around with myself, if you
give him to me.”

For some reason, my former religious education tells me that
I must obey, before God can give me anything good. If I sin, he’s going to slap
me down, bring me troubles, or make me sick; and masturbating is sin, or so the
church tells me. I should be going blind one of these days or my hand will fall
off with leprosy. My theology is as screwed up as the little girl I still have
shoved in the closet in the back of my mind. The poor slut wants out, but I’m
keeping her captive for the moment.

Immediately, I start my morning routine of checking my
social page to see if Ian has popped by to say hello. Instead, of an email, I
find a picture posted on my wall of a dozen red roses. My face bursts into a
cheek-hurting grin when I read his note.

“Thanks for the weekend. How about next—same time, same
place?”

It’s useless, and I bring my hand up to my mouth and stifle
a giggle. Is he serious about another weekend at his beach house? Maybe he is
asking me to be his permanent weekend live-in? “I can do that,” I say out loud.

“Do what?” Julie comes up and plops on the chair next to my
desk. I quickly close out my page, turn my head, and give her a quirky grin.

“Nothing.”

She squints her eyes at me like she knows I’m lying through
my teeth. “What did you do this weekend? See your victim again?”

“Sort of.”

“You guys hitting it off?”

“Sort of.”

“A woman of words this morning, aren’t you?”

It’s impossible to look her in the eye, so I look at my
computer instead and open my email. “I’m feeling a bit private about the whole
thing. Don’t want to jinx it.”

“You’ve hardly dated anyone since your divorce, Rachel. I’m
dying to know.”

“I can’t tell you. Okay?”

Julie’s face falls into a disappointed frown. “Thought we
were friends,” she mumbles, moving to her feet.

“Listen, Julie, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. This one
is important to me, and I’m kind of protecting it. Does that make sense?”

“No. You afraid I’ll get all hot and bothered for him, too,
or something?”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“Whatever.”

Julie mopes back to her cubicle and sits down. I’ve offended
her, no doubt, but I don’t want to spill my private life around the office like
everybody else does about theirs. It bugs me.
I have a right to boundaries,
I
reminded myself, sitting up straight in my chair with a bit of an air. That’s a
first.