Reconstructing Meredith (4 page)

Sitting in a semi-comfortable chair in the waiting room, I absently flipped through a copy of Popular Mechanics. I had this issue at home and had probably read it fifty times. At six months old, though, it was the most recent magazine on the rack that wasn’t about parenting or cooking, neither of which interested me.

Not that I would have been reading it even if it was the newest issue. I was here with Meredith, and the clock on the wall said Dr. Reid would be calling us back any minute. I doubted I was anywhere near as nervous as she was, but I was indeed nervous.

She sat beside me, enthralled with a copy of Reader’s Digest. Neither of us had spoken. It wasn’t a hostile silence between us. I couldn’t decide if it was nerves that kept us quiet, or if there were simply too many potentially prying ears nearby. Whatever the case, we didn’t speak.

To anyone else in this room, we were a couple sitting quietly, waiting our turn. Perhaps we were here to save a troubled marriage or consult with someone about a difficult child. I doubted anyone suspected a thing about what had really brought us here, nor why we’d chosen one of the doctors at this particular practice. For all I knew, though, some of them were here for similar reasons.

The man with his face buried in an old, tattered National Geographic might have been a sub trying to reconcile his need for sexual humiliation with society’s disdain for the same. Maybe the blonde staring sadly at the brightly colored tropical fish was embarrassed by her desire to tie up her boyfriend—no, fiancé, I realized when she ran her left hand through her hair—and flog him while he called her Mistress. And while I wouldn’t have bet my life on it, I was
sure
the middle-aged couple ignoring each other beside the window had been to the BDSM club a few times in the past. I hadn’t seen them there in a while. Maybe that had something to do with the frosty distance between them, including a joint armrest that they both carefully avoided using.

I always wondered what it would be like to be a fly on the wall in a therapist’s office, particularly a therapist as sex-positive and open-minded as the ones here. I only knew Dr. Reid personally, but as far as I knew, she’d carefully partnered with a few like-minded doctors. God only knew the things that were said within these walls.

Or the things that would be said today, I thought with a shudder.

Beside me, Meredith laughed quietly. I glanced at her, then the magazine in her hand, and realized she was on the Laughter is the Best Medicine page.

Best medicine or not, at least she was laughing.

The door opened, and in walked Dr. Reid. It was weird for me to see her like this, dressed in a perfectly tailored, conservative suit with her graying brown hair spilling over her shoulders. I normally didn’t pay much attention to how people were dressed, but it caught my eye this time because it was so unlike how I usually saw her. Then again, she wasn’t Dr. Reid in that world where our paths usually crossed. She was Leslie to me, Madam to her submissives. In that world, she wouldn’t have been caught dead in plain tan clothes when black leather was so readily available. Her wire-framed glasses would be long gone and her hair would be tightly pulled back so it wouldn’t get in her eyes while she flogged someone.

Therapist by day, Domme by night. If anyone could help Meredith, it was Leslie.

She looked around the room and caught my eye, then shifted her gaze to Meredith.

“Meredith Whitley?” she said.

Meredith put the Reader’s Digest on the table beside her, and we both stood.

Leslie extended her hand. “Leslie Reid. It’s nice to meet you in person.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Meredith said as they shook hands.

Leslie looked at me. “Scott, I hope you’ve been staying out of trouble.”

“Nope, can’t say I have.”

She rolled her eyes. “Big surprise. Come on back.” She started down the hall, and we followed her. On the way, Meredith slipped her hand into mine. Her fingers were cool, her palm damp with sweat.

“Doing okay?” I asked.

She smiled, but it was forced. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“I know, but are you nervous?”

She started to speak, probably ready with a sarcastic comeback, but then she just said, “Yes, I am.”

“You’ll be fine.” I kissed her cheek just before we stepped into Leslie’s office. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” She squeezed my hand. “Thank you.” We exchanged smiles—hers with considerably less enthusiasm than mine—as Leslie shut the door behind us.

There was a couch in Leslie’s office, but it wasn’t the stereotypical black leather affair from movies and such. It was about as plainly and conservatively appointed as she was.

Meredith and I took a seat on the couch while Leslie sat in her armchair.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Meredith said.

“You’re welcome,” Leslie said. “I normally try to see new patients as soon as possible, and given your circumstances, I didn’t think this should wait.”

Meredith exhaled, and I couldn’t help noticing how relieved she sounded, especially when she said, “I appreciate it, believe me.” Aside from the other night, I wondered how long it had been since her needs and emotions had been a priority for anyone.

Leslie laid the file folder on her lap and folded her hands across it. “Now, we discussed your situation over the phone, but why don’t we start this session with what you hope to get out of this?”

Meredith glanced at me. I gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. She took a breath and turned to Dr. Reid. “Rich took everything I knew about sex and turned it into…” She trailed off, biting her lip for a moment. Then she shook her head. “I don’t even know how to describe it. He took everything I ever enjoyed and made it hell.”

I clenched my jaw. I’d heard of Doms and Masters like this, but I’d never been so close to the aftermath. I’d never been called upon to help someone recover from it, and wondered for the millionth time if I was capable of doing so.

“Go on, Meredith,” Leslie said softly.

“What I want out of this,” Meredith whispered, “is my sexual identity back. I do want to be a submissive, but on my terms this time.”

Leslie gestured at me. “Which is where Scott comes into the equation, I assume?”

We both nodded.

“Before we go on,” Leslie said, “are you concerned about your safety? Any possibility of your ex-husband threatening or harming you?”

Meredith shook her head. “I pressed charges against him when I left. His sentence isn’t up for a few years yet, and he doesn’t know where I live now.”

“Good, good.” Leslie wrote something in the folder in her lap. “What was he charged with?”

“Multiple counts of sexual assault, assault and battery, aggravated sexual battery, unlawful imprisonment.” She paused. “I got lucky. The district attorney had an ax to grind over both sexual assault and domestic violence, and so did the judge. The D.A. even tried to nail Rich for attempted murder, but that didn’t fly.”

“Wait,” I broke in, “Attempted murder?”

Meredith nodded, but didn’t look at either of us. “He thought Rich’s rather enthusiastic attempt at erotic asphyxiation qualified as attempted murder.”

I clenched my teeth, trying really, really hard not to get sick. Choking was one of the few things I absolutely refused to do, even if a sub wanted it, and if that motherfucker had taken it far enough to warrant charges…

“When you say ‘rather enthusiastic’,” Leslie said, “what do you mean?”

I held my breath, certain I did
not
want to hear the answer to that question.

Meredith reached up to brush a stray strand of hair away from her neck, but even that casual pantomime didn’t hide the way she gingerly rubbed the side of her throat. “I blacked out. Which wasn’t unusual. I guess he kept going for a while after that, I don’t know. When I came to, he’d already come, and he punished me for…” She paused, then shook her head and let her hand fall back into her lap. “Hell, I don’t remember. Anyway, he left for work, and a few hours later, my throat started swelling. I was locked in the house, just like I always was whenever he was gone, but I knew I needed help. So I…” Her cheeks darkened and she pressed her lips together in a thin line.

I put my hand on hers again, running my thumb back and forth along the inside of her wrist.

“Go on, Meredith,” Leslie said.

Sniffing sharply, Meredith ran her free hand through her hair, brushed a tear from her cheek, and finally spoke again. “I broke a window to get out. I went to a neighbor’s house, they called the paramedics, and at least until my throat closed to the point I couldn’t speak anymore…” She took and released a deep breath. “All I could do the entire time was beg them to help me get the window fixed before Rich found it.”

I winced. So did Leslie.

“Did you leave him after that?” she asked.

“Not right away. Well, I mean, I didn’t file for divorce right away, but I didn’t go home to him. I guess the paramedics and the ER staff got suspicious, and the doctor came up with some bullshit reason for me to be admitted. They brought in a counselor, a detective, and…” She sighed. “I fought them like crazy, demanded to see Rich, defended him left and right. They called it—”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Leslie and I said in unison.

Meredith nodded. “I’d just been with him so long, I’d gotten used to the way he treated me. As strange as it sounds, I’d forgotten what anything else was like.”

I cringed. I also didn’t feel the least bit guilty for hoping Rich was now cellmates with some big, burly guy who’d long since made that fucker his cock-sucking bitch. Some big, burly guy with a lot of friends in the same cellblock. I wasn’t usually one to wish things like that on anyone, but as far as I was concerned, Rich needed to take a massive, unlubricated dose of karma right up the ass. Repeatedly.

“I know this is difficult for you, Meredith,” Leslie said, drawing me back to the present, “but let’s talk about some of the things he did to you throughout your captivity.”

Meredith flinched at the last word. I squeezed her hand, and we exchanged glances. Watching our joined hands, she said, “One of his favorite things in the world was to go down on me. He knew it was easy to make me come that way, so he’d tell me I wasn’t allowed to come, then he’d…” She made a frustrated gesture and sniffed. “When I came, he’d punish me.”

I was going to be sick. I knew it. Swallowing hard, I forced myself not to. Not in front of Meredith; she’d hold back from me if she knew this affected me so deeply.

“How did he punish you, Meredith?” Leslie asked, her voice gentle. “In general, not just for that.”

“It depended more on his mood than what I did.” Meredith watched her thumb run back and forth along the side of my hand. “Sometimes he’d put me in my room, which was in his basement, and leave me there. Sometimes he bound me, sometimes he didn’t, but he’d leave me for… a long time. There were no windows or clocks, so I couldn’t really tell.” She focused hard on our hands for a long, silent moment. “The first few times, I’d scream that I was sorry, that I wouldn’t do it again, that kind of thing. Then I started just sitting quietly and waiting for him to come back. When I’d break down crying and apologize and promise not to do it again, he’d tell me I was a good girl and let me out. So that’s what I would do. I’d just sit quietly. After a while, all he had to do was walk through the door, and I’d fall apart, even when I
hadn’t
done anything wrong.”

I put my elbow on the armrest and made a casual gesture of resting my chin on my thumb and my finger across my lips. It was all I could do not to sink my teeth into my second knuckle.
Don’t get sick. Don’t fucking get sick
.

“What else did he do?” Leslie asked. Part of me wanted to scream at her to stop asking questions, but she needed to know and Meredith needed to get it out of her system, regardless of what it did to my gut or my heart.

Meredith looked at me. I offered what I hoped was another reassuring smile. It must have done well enough, because she turned to Leslie and went on.

“He could turn almost anything into a punishment. Sex, oral sex, flogging, fingering, you name it, he could make it a punishment.” She put her free hand to her mouth for a moment, then drew a ragged breath and continued, her voice shaking as she whispered, “The worst part was what he’d say while he was punishing me.”

Oh Jesus
. I held her hand tighter, bracing myself for what I didn’t want to hear.

She glanced at me, and the tears in her eyes nearly brought tears to mine. “He’d say things like, ‘this is why you’re with me, because no one else would want to bother with this shit.’ Or ‘this hurts me more than it hurts you, why do you hurt me like this?’ The whole time he was punishing me, he’d say things like that. He’d tell me he loved me, and that I should treasure that because no one else in their right mind would love me.”

Even Leslie couldn’t hide the disgusted grimace. Our eyes met briefly, and I wondered if she was having as difficult a time as I was not reaching for the empty wastebasket a few feet away.

Meredith wasn’t finished, though. “He liked to turn other Doms loose on me. He liked to watch.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “So he’d bring them over, or we’d go out to a club, and he’d let them do what they wanted to. Sometimes he’d participate, sometimes he just watched. Sometimes it would just be one other guy, sometimes two or three. And the worst part…” She put her hand to her mouth again, not quite masking the way her chin trembled.