by Jack Fisher
The announcement often came as a relief to her out-of-shape customers, but this time she shared their sentiment. Her third and final class for the day was over. Her to-do list was officially complete. She’d held a staff meeting with her employees, met with clients who utilized her services as a personal trainer and organized the various exercise classes her gym offered. Checking her phone, Mary confirmed that she had responded to all her emails and voicemails. She had officially run out of distractions.
This day had gone by faster than any Mary had spent that didn’t involve heavy drinking. She was usually so focused with her job, pushing her customers and her employees to make this gym as successful as the one she’d had in Miami. Her earlier discussion with Peter ensured that she would remain hopelessly distracted. Even with her thoughts constantly drifting to him, she didn’t feel ready for her next encounter with Peter Rogers. Now, she had run out of excuses.
Her class of tired seniors, soccer moms and office dads cleared out of the classroom while Mary packed her things. She kept her phone in her pocket while she put away her weights and sweat bands. She also skipped the part of the class where she singled out customers who had been slacking off. She needed to dedicate her remaining energy to the challenge at hand.
“Is that it? No unmotivational speeches? No telling everyone they’re not pushing themselves?” said Michelle, who helped her clean up.
“Not today,” Mary said.
“Should I worry? I’ve never seen you end a class without busting someone’s balls.”
“Go home, Michelle. You’re done for the day.”
“You won’t even bust mine? Now I’m really worried,” said Michelle.
“Don’t be,” Mary said, rolling her eyes. “Just do yourself a favor and take advantage of my mood. I can’t guarantee it’ll last.”
“Whatever you say, boss. I’ll order new punching bags, just in case.”
Mary shook her head and zipped up her gym bag. Michelle, being a perky young college student, loved scrutinizing her state of mind. Mary suspected she was fascinated that a former model could ditch such a glamorous life in Miami. She hadn’t shared many of the details with Michelle. She—and the rest of her employees, for that matter—just knew that Mary had chosen to leave a toxic environment. That was all they needed to know and all they could possibly understand. For that reason, Mary really needed Peter to be different.
After Michelle and the rest of the customers had cleared out, Mary retrieved her phone and prepared to call Peter. She hesitated, still not ready for whatever their next encounter might bring. However, she hadn’t forgotten how much she needed this. She might have to be stronger in ways that no workout could prepare her for.
“Hello, Mary. You’re looking more troubled than usual,” said a familiar voice.
Jolted from her thoughts, Mary looked up to see Sister Angela standing in the doorway. She was, without a doubt, the last person Mary wanted to see right now.
“Oh, uh…hi, Sister Angela,” Mary said awkwardly. “You’re—”
“Early? I know. The St. Michael’s swim team doesn’t meet for another half-hour. I decided to come early because I wanted to talk to you.”
Mary mentally kicked herself. She had been so distracted that she’d forgotten her gym had scheduled a swim meet that evening. As luck would have it, Sister Angela coached the girls’ team for the St. Michael’s youth athletics league. Knowing she wouldn’t approve of her meeting Peter privately, Mary had to be careful with her words.
“Um…sure. What is it?” Mary said, maintaining her composure as best she could.
“Well, I’d like to say it’s about why you look so troubled, but I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until our next meeting. This is about someone else who just joined the program. I believe you already know him. His name is Peter Rogers.”
Her palms grew sweaty. Half the muscles in her body tensed. Did she find out about my meet-up with Peter last night? Did she sense something had gone wrong? She was a nun. For all Mary knew, she had some holy power of perception. She tried not to make too many assumptions and pretended to be incredulous at best.
“Yes, um…I do know him,” Mary said. “It’s been a long time, though, so I may not know him as well as I used to.”
“I thought so. You two both grew up here in Hartman County, didn’t you?” said Sister Angela.
“Yeah, our dads were old high school buddies. I wouldn’t say we were close, but we were friends.”
“That’s good, because I spoke with him privately before the meeting last night. While I can’t talk about what we discussed, I can say that he’s in a very vulnerable state…more so than most sex addicts. I’m hoping you could talk to him beyond the brief words I saw you exchange last night.”
And just like that, most of Mary’s assumptions fell apart. Sister Angela clearly didn’t know that she had already spent time with Peter. Mary let out a sigh of relief, but made sure it didn’t show. She didn’t need to raise any more red flags than she already had.
“Sure. Why not?” Mary said casually. “I mean…we haven’t kept in touch, but I remember him, and I’m sure he still remembers me.”
“He does, and quite fondly, I might add. He mentioned you in our conversation as someone who’d had an impact on him,” said Sister Angela. “It’s his memories of Los Angeles that worry me. The man has a good soul, but that city tainted it. Based on what he told me, he was in the worst possible place for a man addicted to such a vice. The way it utterly destroyed him… My God, Job himself would be impressed.”
“What do you mean?” Mary asked, having only partial knowledge of Peter’s situation.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not my place to say. Peter told me these things in confidence. He said he hated every second we talked about it.”
Now, Mary was genuinely curious. Peter hadn’t revealed how his problems with sex addiction had destroyed him. He’d only said that he’d indulged in all the vices that Los Angeles had to offer and that reckless indulgence had eventually caught up with him. He must have told Sister Angela a little more, because the older woman seemed very much concerned.
“He was never one for talking about his feelings. How bad was it?” Mary asked.
“Very bad…so much so that I said an extra prayer for him last night,” said Sister Angela. “He told me about the things he did while in the depths of his addiction. Being a former sinner myself, I admit I was impressed.”
“I’m guessing he got a bit too graphic. He tends to do that when he gets upset.”
“It wasn’t the graphic nature of his sins that concerned me. It was the consequences they wrought. What happened to him… My heavens, words can’t do it justice. It hurt him in ways that make me wonder how effective the treatment program will be. I’m concerned he might relapse or abandon CHAOP too soon.”
“It…sounds pretty bad,” Mary said. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“While CHAOP usually discourages patients of the opposite sex from interacting, I think this warrants an exception. It’s not just because you know Peter personally. His situation is quite similar to yours, and I think the success you’ve had could help him.”
This time, Mary had to be tactful for a different reason. She scoffed at the notion that she had been as successful as Sister Angela had implied. Just because she wasn’t having reckless sex with a hot guy every other day didn’t mean she was a success. She still felt miserable and empty, but that didn’t concern her as much.
She already knew that she and Peter had dealt with similar issues. They’d both moved away from their hometown as teenagers. They’d both built successful lives in major cities that had happened to nourish their addictions. Now, Sister Angela hinted that there were even more similarities. With the looming prospect of meeting up with Peter that evening, her curiosity grew.
“You’ve done so much good for your soul over the past year, Mary. You should be proud of how far you’ve come,” said Sister Angela.
“Um…t
hanks,” Mary said.
“I mean it. You arrived at my doorstep a ‘deviant, unapologetic slut’. Those are your words, by the way, not mine.”
“I know. I remember,” Mary said.
“Now, look at you,” said Sister Angela, gesturing toward her surroundings. “You’re a productive member of society. You own a respectable establishment, you’ve built an admirable career and you’ve learned to restrain your sinful impulses. By any measure, you are one the Chapman Hill Addiction Outreach Program’s success stories.”
“I…like to think I am.”
“You are and I’d like you to guide Peter toward that same success. He made a truly egregious mistake…one I know will haunt him until his dying day. I got a letter from Gabriel Anderson’s family. They are willing to forgive, just as our Lord is willing to. That man doesn’t just need to learn restraint. He needs to learn to give forgiveness to himself.”
Mary went one step beyond curious. Who is Gabriel Anderson and why would his family have to forgive Peter?
With the way Sister Angela had described it, this was serious…way more serious than the struggles of a man who’d slept with one too many married women.
The mention of such a horrible mistake reminded Mary of what had led her to leave Miami. She’d avoided talking about that this, having only told Sister Angela and a few family members. She didn’t like thinking about it, either. Sometimes it made her so upset that she wanted to climb to the top of the tallest mountain and scream. However, if someone else had made a similar one, then maybe she could do more.
If Mary had had any hesitation about calling Peter before, it had completely disappeared now. They apparently had way more to discuss than she’d previously thought. If it was as bad as Sister Angela had implied, then he might even end up being more broken than she was, as impossible a notion that seemed.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Mary said.
“Thank you, Mary,” said Sister Angela. “You are a testament to the power of faith and will.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but don’t use me as a model for success just yet. My recovery is still a work-in-progress, so to speak.”
“And I believe you’re close to completing the process. I’d like to see Peter be part of that as well. The two of you can be proof that we can overcome our afflictions.”
The devout woman added another vote of confidence by giving Mary a hug, as she did with so many others in the program. Mary still questioned her ability to complete ‘the process,’ as Sister Angela called it, but that was a secondary concern at the moment.
After Sister Angela left, Mary turned her attention back toward her phone. Without a shred of hesitation, she dialed Peter’s number. She just had to be prepared for Peter to affect her in more unexpected ways.
Chapter Seven
#xa0;
“Explain it to me again, Peter. Why is this the best possible place for us to meet?” Mary asked.
“I said we would get together in a place that wasn’t romantic, intimate or private. This fits all those qualifications to the letter,” Peter said casually.
“It’s an amateur softball game.”
“At a public park on a hot summer day featuring teams from two different senior centers,” he added. “The results speak for themselves.”
She had to give Peter credit. It turned out he’d really thought things through. He’d made sure they met in an environment where things wouldn’t get heated.
Less than a half-hour after making the call, Mary had met up with him at East Haven Ball Park. The park was nestled between a strip mall and an assisted living facility. It was popular with families and senior citizens, not sexy singles who might tempt a couple of recovering sex addicts. Hartman County didn’t have a lot of ball fields, so this one hosted a couple of games a week, and on a hot day like today, the stands were pretty empty.
This allowed Peter and Mary to sit in a remote section of the bleachers just under the scoreboard. Nobody else sat within several rows of them, ensuring they had some measure of privacy. That way, others who’d come by to watch their parents or grandparents play softball wouldn’t hear intimate discussions.
In addition, they were out in the open in the late afternoon sun and in plain view of dozens of people to ensure they had enough incentive to restrain themselves. Mary didn’t expect that kind of restraint to be necessary, but for a couple of recovering sex addicts, it couldn’t hurt to play it safe.
Mary still thought it was a strange place to discuss such serious topics, but she chose not to belabor the point. They’d agreed to meet for a specific purpose. Peter was willing to try again and so long as he didn’t screw up like he had last night, Mary was willing to do the same.
“Okay. I’ll admit it. This might actually work,” Mary said. “Just promise me you won’t storm off this time.”
“I won’t. If I do, I give you legal permission to shoot me in the kneecaps,” Peter said.
“I don’t own a gun, but I’ll figure something out.”
“I know you will. I’m trusting you to because—to be brutally honest—I’m tempted to run away. I’m forcing myself to do this…to actually have this conversation with someone. If I’m going to confront my problems, I need to put myself in an uncomfortable situation.”
“Am I really making you that uncomfortable?” Mary asked.
“Not in the slightest,” he replied. “This is about me confronting my problems, my sins and everything in between.”
“And you couldn’t do this with Sister Angela?”
“No. I couldn’t,” Peter said definitively.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know her like I know you,” he said. “You’ve never been the kind of person who just tells people what they want to hear. And at this point, that’s all I seem to be getting from everybody. I need to go farther than that. For the good of my soul—or what’s left of it—I need someone who isn’t afraid to belittle me.”
When he put it like that, he made her sound callous and cruel. Even so, Mary believed his every word. Peter carried himself with profound guilt and despair, as though he had been shackled with this burden and couldn’t find anyone else to bear it. Mary remembered being in a similar situation when she’d first confronted her addiction, but she didn’t remember being so anxious about it.
He remained tense. He stared toward the field where the softball game continued, the two teams of seniors enjoying the late afternoon weather. There was the occasional cheer and the sound of the bat hitting the ball. Peter seemed fixated on these simple noises, as if to distract himself. It could only work to an extent.
Mary was still prepared to run him down if he tried to ditch her like before, but he didn’t move this time. She just sat by his side and pretended to watch the game, waiting for him to speak.
“Do you remember the first time you had sex, Mary?” Peter said, finally breaking the silence.
“Not sure if you’re trying to change the subject, but…yes,” she answered.
“And looking back on it, did you think it would turn into an addiction that would almost destroy your life?”
She took a moment to think about that. It wasn’t an outrageous idea, but it was also one that became overly complicated when scrutinized.
“Well, hindsight being what it is, I can’t really say. But all things being equal? No, I didn’t think it would.”
“Then consider yourself lucky. I’m willing to bet your first time was less telling than mine. Ever since I admitted I had a problem, I’ve thought back to that moment. No matter how I break it down, from the foreplay to the orgasms to the afterglow, there were signs. I saw them clear as day, but I still made the choices that put me on this path.”
“Maybe my mind isn’t as dirty as I thought, but what kind of choices are you talking about?” Mary asked.
“To answer that, I’ll have to give you some of the dirty details. Stop me if it gets a bit too pornographic, but it’s the only way I can m
ake my point.”
Mary shifted in her seat. She still hadn’t forgotten about last night. Just talking to this man in a non-sexual manner got her hormones racing. Now he wanted to discuss the details of his sex addiction. That did not sit well with Mary because it meant testing her and she’d already failed an earlier one. However, Peter had promised that he wouldn’t run from this. The least she could do was return the favor.
“I was seventeen years old when I first had sex,” Peter began. “That’s about two years removed from the day I moved away.”
“More like two-and-a-half, but who’s counting?” Mary said.
“However long it was, it gave me time to set up shop in LA, hit my growth spurt and go to work making myself stronger. That training you gave me—or whatever you want to call it—really helped. The results were…noticeable, to say the least. And the first girl to notice was this cute, sixteen-year-old bleached blonde California girl named Kimberly.”
“Bleached blond? At sixteen? Sounds like a real healthy environment,” Mary said dryly.
“It’s Los Angeles. Their standards for normal are different, to say the least. I was wholly ignorant of those standards and Kimberly took advantage of that.”
“Sounds like she was a bitch-in-training.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but… Actually, I take that back. That’s pretty accurate.”
Peter shook his head and rubbed his temples. Mary suspected it hadn’t been a simple instance of teenage melodrama, either. It had to be something more serious than that to have put him on this path.
“It didn’t help that I’ve always been an outsider. You know that better than most,” he continued.
“I believe the politically correct term is ‘dork’, but, yeah, I know,” Mary said.
“Fair enough, but a big part of that label is seeing how others act through a different lens. I saw Kimberly be like a lot of cute girls, putting themselves out there and trying to connect with the right guy. When they found that guy, it was beautiful. When they didn’t? Let’s just say it could get downright ugly.”
