Pretty and Reckless (6 page)

“There’s some things I’m not ready for,” I whispered.

“I know and I’ll wait,” he told me, his voice sincere. “Let’s go into your family. Where’s your mom?”

“She’s dead. I never really knew her.”

“How did she die?”

“Who knows.
”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I’ve never been told the real cause. I’ve heard she took a shotgun to her mouth and blew her brains out. I’ve heard she overdosed on every drug possible. I’ve heard she ran off with some junkie guy and he murdered her. My dad is the most creative storyteller in the world. But for some reason, he can’t stick to one.” If he drank Jack, it was one story. If it was rum, it was another. His story depended on the liquid in his glass.

“How old were you when she died?”

“Four, or five, maybe.”

“Do you remember anything about her?”

I wished I did. I’d racked my brain, pleading to myself to conjure any memory of her, but I always came up short. I’d lie in bed and make up my own stories. She’d be there for me. She’d save me, the sweet little girl playing with her dolls in the devil’s lair, and take me away from him. But I’d given up that hope a long time ago.

“She used to braid my hair,” I said, revealing the one vague memory I had of her.

He gestured to my hair, tied up in a loose braid and falling on my shoulder. “Is that why you keep it that way?”

“I guess.”

“With your mom gone, you were raised by your dad?” I nodded. “Tell me about him.”

“Malicious. Controlling. Evil.”

“And why do you think your dad is all of those things?”

I shrugged.
 
“Because he is. I’m twenty years old and useless. I have no control of my own life. Anytime I’ve brought up getting a job, he tells me a woman this pretty doesn’t need to work. He thinks work corrupts women, and if I thought about getting one, he’d throw me out of my apartment. I got my own place a year ago and it’s right across the hall from him. Anytime I’ve stepped out of line, he sent me to Sun Gate, even if I was clean, so I’d know who was in control.”

“Have you ever told him you want to go out on your own?” I nodded. “And?”

“He tells me no. He tells me I’ll end up just like her. A dead whore.”

“Has he always been this way?”

“For as long as I can remember. All of my friends have to be approved by him.” He obviously wasn’t doing a good job at that because I got in more trouble when I was with them. “He has to approve of the guys I date, and every single one is a jackass. I think he knows that. He knows they’re never serious. He doesn’t want anyone to take me away from him unless he’s getting something in return.”

We were interrupted by a knock on the door, and a blonde woman came walking in. Her hair was tied into a bun at the base of her neck, and a black pantsuit was covering her skinny figure. “Hey Wes,” she said, her deep red lips smiling. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I have an appointment in five minutes.” She looked at him apologetic. “Next time give me more of a heads up and I’ll get you extra time.”

“That’s fine, thanks Wendy.” She glanced over at me, giving me a tiny smile. I was waiting for her to say something, but she just stared before turning away and leaving the room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Weston asked, pushing himself up from the chair. “Come a little earlier so we have more time.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, getting up.

“I told you why. I want you to love yourself. My goal is for you to see your worth.”

I tapped my head with the tip of my finger. “I’ve got some crazy shit in here.”

He stopped in front of me before I left the room. He stood just inches away from me, his eyes down casting to my face, and his hands smoothed down my hair. “I told you I want it all,” he said, poking my temple. “And that’s what you’re going to give me.”

“Good luck, figuring me out is like fighting off a gang of pirates, surviving the Bermuda triangle, and then catching a mermaid.”

“Well love, I’m always up for a good challenge.”

ELISE

“You use sex and alcohol to numb yourself,” Weston said. “I’m sure you know that. I’m also certain you know it’s dangerous. Those men don’t care about you. They only care about what you give them.
 
After that, they can drop you off on the corner, or they can kill you and throw you in a ditch, or an abandoned alley.”

I told myself last night I wasn’t showing up again today. I wasn’t going to talk to him again. We had our one meeting, I told him how I felt and that was it. But when he texted me this morning, telling me he had bagels and coffee, he somehow convinced me to come. Or at least that was my excuse to see him again.

I didn’t want to tell him, but he’d been right. It was refreshing, almost liberating, to get everything out and not worry about him telling anyone. I could tell him my side of the story and be done with it.

But I was getting to know him just as well as he was
me
. I’d learned he didn’t hold back. He wasn’t afraid to speak the truth or call me out on my bullshit. He didn’t cower or keep quiet about issues other therapists had strayed away from.

“I know that,” I replied, defensively. “I don’t think it’s that unusual, though. People do it all of the time. Sex gives people a high. It makes us feel better, whether you’re drunk, in love, out of love. People have sex romantically, casually, or sadistically. Either way, they do it because it gives them a rush. It gives them a high that makes them feel wanted, something they feel they need in that moment. Sex is not only for people who are in love.”

I shook my head before going on. “Parents try to convince their children that they need to wait for love because they don’t want them out spreading their legs and fucking everyone in sight. Love is a joke. We all know eventually most of them are going to fuck and chances are they don’t love that someone.”

I thought back to the many men I’d willingly gone down on in dirty bathroom stalls in random clubs, and the ones who’d taken me home but never bothered to give me a ride or cab fare afterwards. I never had sex with a man who cared about me because I never had a man care about me.

But I couldn’t hold that against them. I knew what they were doing because I was playing the same game. I didn’t take names. I didn’t keep business cards. I threw them out with the next day’s trash. I didn’t want their fraudulent dinners or their lies of affection. I wanted them to take my mind away temporarily, give me my control, and then I discarded them. I was just as bad as they were.

“Wow, you sure do have a negative outlook on love,” he said, pushing his sleeve up his arms. “Don’t you think that’s wrong?”

I shrugged, popping a bite of bagel in my mouth. “Not really. Look at you, you don’t have a girlfriend, but I’m sure you’ve banged a few people. You know how enjoyable sex is.”

“Yes, I’m well aware that sex can be enjoyable,” he said, failing to hold back a smile.

I grinned, interest feigning my mind. “Does my doctor have a kinky side?” I asked, waiting anxiously for his answer. I went back to thinking about having sex with him. Was he a missionary kind of guy or did he study his partner to fuck them properly? The guy fucked with people’s minds for a living, I was sure he’d fuck a woman properly. And why was I constantly thinking about him fucking me?

He cleared his throat. “Talking about my sex life isn’t why we’re here,” he said, bursting my bubble. “Let’s stay on topic.”

I crossed my arms across my chest, slightly leaning forward to give him a good view of my cleavage. “But talking about yours sounds like a lot more fun.”

“No, I don’t fuck random people for fun,” he said, his voice flat. “Not everyone sees sex as a game.”

I took a deep breath. I knew where he was going with this, and I just needed to get it over with. “I don’t fuck people for fun, either.”

“But that’s just what you were saying.”

“I said other people fuck for fun. I fuck people for supremacy,” I clarified. “I fuck them for power and control.”

His eyebrows squeezed together. “Huh? Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”
 

“I told you why three years ago.”

“I know, but …”

I clenched my jaw as my muscles jumped underneath my skin. “I was raped, Weston. Raped. If you don’t believe me, that’s fine. I honestly don’t care who doesn’t believe me, anymore. I’ve moved on from it. But you’re wrong about me using sex or alcohol to numb myself or doing it for fun. I don’t use it to forget what happened to me because I could never forget what happened to me, even with all of the sex and alcohol in the world. I’m not a victim anymore, I’m a survivor, and that’s what I use sex for.”

I didn’t mind being known as the overtly sexual girl. I wasn’t embarrassed about that part of my life. It was the other part that I was terrified of talking about. The secret buried deep in the pit of my soul, tucked away, and had only come out a few times. I didn’t want to be a victim and I’d hide behind a bad reputation to make sure that didn’t happen.

His shoulders went straight, his eyes flashing with surprise. He wasn’t expecting me to say that. He wanted to take it slow and ease into talking about it.

“And that’s why I have sex with all of those men,” I said, correcting him.

“So you have sex because you were raped?” Wes asked, baffled.
 
“And it makes you feel in control?”

 
“Exactly.” The confusion didn’t leave his face. “Some people break down and cry after being violated. Some people get angry. Some take charge and don’t allow it keep them down. I decided to do the third one. I didn’t want to be the broken girl. That would mean they’ve won. I’ve had too much taken away from me. I wasn’t giving them that satisfaction. I don’t get sad when I think about what those guys did to me. I get angry. I get pissed off and I want to do anything to get my power back. Murder would’ve been my first option, but obviously that would put me in prison, so I found another way.”

“I don’t understand,” Wes muttered. He looked up at the ceiling and wiped his forehead. “I don’t understand any of it.”

I knew my situation was a total mind-fuck that most people wouldn’t be able to comprehend. I didn’t understand it half of the time.
 
“You don’t understand it because you don’t believe me.”

He paused, struggling for words, fighting with himself on what to say next. I knew he didn’t believe me, and that was okay.

“Why weren’t the cops called? Why didn’t anybody believe you? Why weren’t charges files? Why did they say you lied about it?” He asked, rambling.

“The cops were called about Peter Kline. That’s when I decided to gain the courage and tell them what had happened to me. But they were bribed and my story was completely thrown out.” My stomach loaded with nausea, afraid my bagel would be coming back up and I’d throw it up in front of me. “It was forgotten about so he’d be protected.”

My father was a very intelligent man. If my files were to ever be leaked, it would exhibit a pattern, and people with patterns couldn’t be victims, right? It would show that I’d willingly had sex with Peter when I was fifteen, and he was thirty. It would show my word didn’t mean anything.
“I was asking for it,”
they’d say.
“I was lying for attention,”
they’d add.

He blamed everything on Peter and when I finally found my voice to yell rape, I’d been pushed into the corner. The cops thought I was lying. People thought I was lying. Peter had tried to be on my side, but when the cops offered him a plea deal and my dad cut him a check, he shut his mouth and moved on.

He shifted in his chair and rolled his head in a circle. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
 

“It does if you think about it. He wanted them all to believe that I was lying so he wouldn’t be exposed. I’ve had bad things happen to me, but it doesn’t matter because I’m a slut. People don’t care about bad things when it happens to whores.”

“That’s not true. It’s just hard to plead the case when you cried rape after you got caught with Peter. Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I was scared. I was confused. I thought I’d get in trouble, but when Peter happened, I thought I finally had my chance. It only ended up backfiring in my face.” I took a deep breath. “Did you tell anyone?”

“That’s irrelevant now,” he snapped, his voice turning furious and irritated. The mood in the room had quickly shifted. Weston’s face turned from curious and compassionate to irate. He couldn’t even look at me, instead focusing on the hands shaking on his lap.

Irrelevant? The hell it was.
 

“You didn’t get fired, but I never saw you again. So what happened?” I pushed. I was being honest with him. He needed to be honest with me.

His eyes tightened around the corners. “Elise, they told me that you were lying, and I wasn’t experienced to deal with you. They wouldn’t let me ask anything else about it, so let’s stay on the goddamned point, okay? It was out of my hands.” He looked pained, almost terrified, as he opened his mouth in hesitation. “Be honest with me. Were you really raped or were you lying to get back at your father?”

“What?” I shrieked in horror. His accusation shot straight through my heart, slicing through it, and paining my chest.
 

“Did you make it up as a form of lashing out at your dad?” He fired back.

My heart and throat began to burn with anger as I stumbled for the right words to scream out at him. I couldn’t believe it. I’d trusted him, but he didn’t trust me.

“Please, just fucking tell me,” he said, his words strangling from his throat. “Tell me whether or not you recklessly lied about being raped.”

I stayed in my seat, feeling almost paralyzed, staring at him vehemently. “I did get raped!” I shouted, my pulse spiking and my voice cracking with anger. “Why in the hell would I lie about that?”

His eyes were feverish while he pulled at his curls in frustration. “You swear to me? You can confide in me. If you lied, I won’t judge you.”

“I can’t believe you, you’re just like them.” I snatched my bag up, ready to charge out of the room and forget about Weston, but he lunged out of his chair to stop me. I felt suffocated when he pushed me back down into my seat and stood up in front of me.

“Please don’t think I’m calling you a liar,” he said, dragging his arms down to rest on my shoulders so I couldn’t get back up. “I only want to make sure you’re being honest with me.”

“And there’s a difference?” I asked, coldly. I was sick and tired of defending myself.

“There is. I’m trained in behavior. I’m trained to distinguish if someone is being honest or lying.”

My head spun as I tried to pull away from his hold, but he held on tighter with his shaky hands. My stomach churned with anger, as I grew dizzier. “So tell me, what does your oh-so-intelligent training say about me?” I snarled, ready to flee. After all of this time, he still didn’t believe me, and that hurt. It hurt
bad
.

He eyes slammed shut while he took short, hollow inhales before slowing opening them back up. I looked up at him, begging him to meet my eyes, but he refused to look at me. “You’re not lying,” he muttered, his eyes studying the floor. “You’re telling the truth, and I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

His hands flew off my shoulders when I threw my arms up in the air. “Then there’s your goddamned answer. I’m not a lying whore, are you happy now? Did I convince you well enough?”

He winced at my words. “What? I never thought for one second that you’re a lying whore.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I was being harder on him than I should’ve, but I was so fed up with being questioned. I was tired of people not taking me seriously and thinking I was crying wolf for attention. I got enough attention. I’d had enough fucking attention to last me the rest of my life.

“Tell me everything,” he insisted, the couch indenting when he sat down next to me.

“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not going back to that place.”

I’d told people parts about what had happened to me, but never the full story. There were things still hidden that I’d lock away inside of myself forever. No one would ever know every detail of my past. They wouldn’t know what he’d done and allowed others to do to me. No one deserved to hear that from me.

“Yes, you can.”

“You don’t understand!” I cried out. “I’ve been good. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut. I’m trying to take off the badge of being the attention seeking skank who fucks people and then calls rape!” My eyelids grew heavy as I fought with myself to hold back the tears.

“No one else will hear what you tell me. This is just me and you,” he begged. “Just me and you. Trust me.”

My head dipped down and I rested my forehead into my palm. “I don’t trust anyone.” I opened up to Weston, but that didn’t mean I trusted him.

He shifted me to the side, slowly bringing my head up to brush away the tears I hadn’t been able to stop. “Let me prove it to you. Let me show you I’m trustworthy.” He grabbed my hand. “I know you don’t want to drag that shit back up, but you need to. Open up. Let me hear it. If you feel like it’s too much, stop. You call the shots. I’m just here to be on team Elise.”

I rubbed my fingers against his hand before tightening around it. “I’ll remember the first time until I take my last breath. My dad was still working his way up the corporate ladder, building relationships with the highest execs in the city, and he wanted the world at his fingertips. In his strive for power, he realized I could be a useful tool.”