by Jack Fisher
“But I—” Mary said, now getting frustrated.
“I know you have doubts. You may even feel like you haven’t made much progress,” the older woman continued.
“Sister Angela—”
“And I can say without reservation that you have. That progress doesn’t have to disappear after this.”
“Sister Angela—”
“I can also say you can become even stronger after this. I’ll help you.”
“Sister Angela—”
“I think that if you and Peter just came to the meeting tonight, we can—”
“Sister Angela! For God’s sake, shut up and listen!” shouted Mary.
She hadn’t meant to be that harsh, but she had to stop the woman. With every word, Sister Angela was making it harder on herself, as well as on her and Peter. A lot had changed since she and the nun had last spoken.
This also gave Sister Angela a moment to gather herself. She was still concerned, but she’d finally stopped pacing. She still kept looking at her and Peter with worry and dread. Mary wanted to be annoyed with her for barging in on such a pleasant morning, but she couldn’t be too upset. The nun’s heart was always in the right place and they had kind of forgotten about her. For that reason, Mary had to do this as carefully as possible. However, it might be best for both of them if she kept things simple and blunt.
“I’m sorry, Sister Angela. I know how this looks. Trust me. It’s not as dire as it seems,” Mary said calmly. “Yes, Peter and I relapsed, so to speak. If by that word, you mean we had sex, then, yeah, I guess that would qualify.”
“You guess?” said Sister Angela, looking both skeptical and confused. “Mary, need I remind you that you and Mr. Rogers are addicts? An addict cannot and should not make light of a relapse.”
“I totally agree. That’s why we’re not making light of it.”
“She’s right,” Peter said, offering a gesture to assure the older woman. “Believe me, this may be the most serious, most meaningful development in our adult lives. It just happens to involve a relapse.”
Sister Angela was still confused. Mary could hardly blame her. This probably defied every tenet and teaching of CHAOP. A relapse wasn’t supposed to heal two self-professed sex addicts. It wasn’t supposed to manifest in such a powerful, passionate way. God might move in mysterious ways, but some just defied understanding to those who hadn’t experienced such passion.
“Don’t start cursing yourself, Sister Angela. You didn’t fail us. The program didn’t fail us either—not entirely,” Mary continued.
“How? How could you expect me to not blame myself?” said the older woman. “I worked with you, talked with you and prayed with you. We spent a whole year rebuilding your soul—a soul you admit was shattered by your addiction.”
“It definitely was,” affirmed Mary, “and you did help me put the pieces back together. The problem wasn’t you. Your heart was in the right place. It always was, and I never doubted that.”
“Me, neither,” Peter said. “I haven’t known you nearly as long, but from what Mary tells me, you’ve got a hell of a halo over your head.”
“And you put it to good use,” Mary said. “You show people like me—people who are so broken on the inside—what their addiction has done to them. You give us perspective, despite our addiction skewing damn near everything we think we know about ourselves.”
“But perspective isn’t enough,” said Sister Angela, now calmer, but still very anxious. “For any addict to recover, they must learn restraint. I spent nearly a year with you, Mary—a year building your strength so you could resist your addictive urges.”
“Therein lies the problem, Sister Angela. Restraint isn’t—and shouldn’t —be the endgame. I needed more to heal from the scars of my addiction. I needed something—no, someone more powerful.”
Mary turned toward Peter, who was already smiling at her choice of words. She moved in closer to him and took his hand in hers. She gave it an affectionate squeeze, one that conveyed love and not just desire. She made sure Sister Angela saw it. That way, she could see the difference between a relapse and a revelation.
“In the year I spent at CHAOP, I learned a lot about myself, my problems and the others who share those issues,” Mary continued. “Those lessons went a long way toward rebuilding some vital parts of my soul.”
“She’s been sharing those lessons with me, too,” added Peter. “They really are powerful.”
“That’s all well and good, but no matter how much we learn about them…it doesn’t really change anything,” Mary went on. “Even after I rebuilt part of my soul and saw these scars, I didn’t know how to fix them. Not acting on my urges didn’t heal them. Talking about it didn’t do it. Praying didn’t solve it. In the end, I needed something else to complete that process.”
“And you couldn’t find it in the program or with my help?” asked Sister Angela.
“No. I couldn’t because…it found me instead,” Peter interjected.
As soon as he said the words, Mary put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a light, loving embrace. She tried to make it obvious that what they had done could not be mistaken for the actions of sex addicts undergoing a destructive event. Mary demonstrated as clearly as any divine revelation that what she’d done with this man had been no simple relapse. It was something so much more. It finally got Sister Angela to calm down to the point where she stopped lamenting. Now, she seemed genuinely curious.
The nun gazed at her and Peter as though they were holding some holy relic. She often reminded everyone at CHAOP that she had seen it all. She had witnessed the greatest depths of addiction and the greatest miracles of healing. However, Mary got the impression that she had never seen something like this.
Just being close to Peter, feeling his strong grasp and genuine warmth, she might as well be a whole, new person. That person still had problems, but she now had the tools and the passion to fix them.
“In my defense, I never intended to find her in that way,” Peter said jokingly.
“I don’t think either of us meant for this to happen. We knew each other as kids, we moved to opposite sides of the country and we became raging sex addicts of our own accord. For us to come together again all these years later, find each other in our darkest hours and just heal each other with such a passion…”
“A lot of passion, mind you,” added Peter.
Mary laughed at his remark and gave him a playful swat. Sister Angela didn’t share in the laughter, but she at least cracked a smile. Mary sensed the older woman was finally seeing what she and Peter had realized together.
“Call it fate. Call it destiny. Call it an act of God granting mercy on two broken souls,” Mary said. “It happened. It worked. Sure, it involved us having sex again, but to call what we did mere sex?”
“Yeah, I think God can see the difference,” Peter said confidently.
This time, Sister Angela did laugh. She obviously was starting to see the difference, too. It probably tested her faith. It probably tested a lot of what she thought she knew about treating sex addicts. Whether divine or not, the results spoke for themselves.
“Beyond the sex and how it happened—which, in and of itself, is pretty amazing—that passion revealed something else,” Mary went on.
“I can appreciate revelations more than most, but I’m still struggling make sense of it all,” Sister Angela said.
“To be honest, we haven’t made complete sense of it, either, but we know enough to know it’s right,” Mary said confidently. “Every addict has scars to some degree—scars that drive us toward addiction or keep it going. Sometimes those scars aren’t just there to remind us of the pain. Sometimes they tell us things—important things that both addicts and recovering addicts don’t realize.”
“Even when we try to listen, we don’t make it easy on ourselves. In fact, we may even avoid it,” Peter said.
“In the end, what they tell us still holds true. These scars didn’t just f
uel decadent desires. They suppressed good ones—meaningful ones that could fill the emptiness that addiction tends to create. I’ve found a way to embrace those desires with Peter…and I want to keep doing so.”
“So do I,” he said. “It doesn’t always have to be when we’re fully clothed, but they’re so worth embracing.”
Mary rewarded his kind yet crude words with another playful hug. It helped reinforce her special feelings for him. It wasn’t just sexual. It wasn’t simply pure passion, either. It was something so much more profound.
Sister Angela remained silent for a few moments. This clearly wasn’t a part of her training with CHAOP or the vows she’d taken when she’d become a nun. This was uncharted territory for her as well as them. At least now she wasn’t pacing and panicking, worried that this relapse was entirely a bad thing.
Mary didn’t expect her to understand, but Sister Angela had always been good at listening to addicts like her. She genuinely wanted to help them in any way possible. This way was just so unusual.
After taking a few moments to process it all, the older woman cast her and Peter a curious gaze. For a moment, it felt like she was scrutinizing them, as if looking for any signs of sin. She must not have seen any because, in the end, she smiled. Whatever her experience and piety told her, Sister Angela could no longer deny what she saw in them.
“This…is an unexpected development, to say the least,” said Sister Angela, sounding both relieved and conflicted. “This relapse, so to speak, certainly isn’t as bad as I feared.”
“Glad we convinced you of that,” Peter said. “I don’t think we should strain our souls more than we already have.”
“I agree,” said the older woman. “I suppose I should also apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?” Mary asked, now offering the nun a reassuring gesture.
“For having too much faith in the program and not enough faith in those it serves,” she said. “Long before I took my vows, I learned that we all must find our own way down the right path. Mine led me to a life of piety. I sometimes forget that not everyone is drawn to that path.”
“I think God understands that, as well. I don’t think we’re all meant to be priests or nuns,” Peter said.
“Yes, and we’re not always sure of our own path, let alone others’. Perhaps CHAOP would be wise to remember that. I now fear that addicts like you will suffer far less profound experiences.”
Her fear was not unfounded. Mary hadn’t forgotten that she wasn’t the only recovering sex addict in Hartman County. She hadn’t forgotten that she’d spent nearly a year in this program, struggling to rebuild her life. It had been a difficult year, to say the least, but once Peter had entered her life, those struggles had felt worth it.
Looking back toward Peter, then at Sister Angela, she marveled at how far she had come. Peter gave her warm smile, reminding her that she wasn’t the only one who had come the distance. That gave her an idea.
“Well, if you want…Peter and I could come to the next CHAOP meeting and share our experience,” Mary said.
“Really? You still want to be part of the program?” said Sister Angela with renewed intrigue.
“We’re still recovering sex addicts, remember? A few weeks of passion doesn’t change that.”
“And here I was thinking we’d skipped that part,” Peter said.
“There’s no skipping steps when you’re in recovery. You taught me that, Sister Angela,” Mary continued, “and if you think our fellow addicts could benefit from what Peter and I have discovered, we’d be happy to share it.”
“Although we may have to censor a few parts,” teased Peter.
“But don’t worry,” assured Mary. “We’ll be sure to preserve the important stuff.”
This time, Sister Angela didn’t hesitate to smile. She didn’t even need to say yes. It was obvious the nun now saw the power of what Mary had uncovered with Peter. Mary was willing and eager to share this experience, knowing it would resonate with anyone struggling with misguided passions.
She—Mary Ann Scott—no longer defined herself by what she lacked. She understood her mistakes. She understood the path that had led to this point. Now, she was ready to forge a new one. It certainly helped that she wouldn’t be doing it alone.
Mary reveled in her lover’s warm presence. He didn’t need to say another word. He just slipped his arm around her waist, conveying to her the emotion that had finally healed their ailing souls. Together, she and Peter had confronted their heavy burdens. They’d achieved a new understanding of what had fueled them. And through a special kind of passion, they’d gained a strength that was greater than any addiction.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
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Single in Seattle: Reeling in Love
Gloria Herrmann
Excerpt
Chapter One
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“I think we got it,” Molly said confidently to the almost naked man standing in the corner, wearing nothing but a stark white towel draped across his tan waist.
“You sure?”
Molly nodded as she scrutinized her work. “Yeah, the lighting was brilliant. I don’t think we could have done any better.”
“If you say so. You’re the expert with that thing.” The model pointed at the large camera Molly cradled in her hands, the screen displaying the digital shots from the day of working with him.
Molly loved her job as a professional photographer. Her friends were insanely jealous. What woman wouldn’t be? She spent her days in her studio behind the lens of her trusty camera, capturing sexy images of some of the most gorgeous men from all over the world. Either she was paid to travel to them or they flew to Seattle to have her work her magic. Authors in the romance industry adored her photos. Her attention to detail had won her awards over the years, but what she loved the most was bringing the characters from books alive. Sure, it didn’t hurt to look at well-defined muscles and sculpted abs that begged to be touched and to know what was hidden beneath the scrap of cloth that usually covered these men, but that wasn’t how the business worked. Her friends would argue it was just because Molly didn’t throw herself at these scantily clad men that she was missing out on these valuable opportunities.
If they only knew how nervous most of these men were, their fragile egos stripped down for her. It took Molly the first half of the shoot to calm them, easing them out of their shells, getting them just to loosen up enough for the right shot. It was more like babysitting rather than staring at a buffet, despite what her best friends thought. Not all the models lacked self-confidence, however. There were some who would stroll in, look directly into the camera and own it. But, for the most part, a lot of the guys were unsure and needed coaxing. Molly often felt more like a counselor than the world-famous photographer that she was.
Today, the Seattle sun was shielded behind soft, white clouds, filtering its rays into her studio that overlooked the Puget Sound. Her tall, glass windows provided the most stunning views of the shimmering water and the bustling city. Molly had worked hard for this view. It hadn’t come easy or cheap—or without her busting her ass to make her name known in the photography industry. She had the scars—mostly emotional, but scars, nonetheless—to prove the struggles she’d endured, climbing to the top. Now she was one of the most sought-after photographers. Models from all over the globe wanted her to shoot them. New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors and publishers almost begged for her to shoot their covers. They wanted the best and…well, Molly was. Her skills proved that she had something special and everyone knew it.
Not bothering to sit down at her desk—bending over, instead—to focus on the images she was uploading to her laptop to edit, she almost forgot to say goodbye to the model she had just worked with. It wasn’t until he was standing close to her, now fully dressed, that she realized he was still in her studio. Having him near her like that shifted the atmosphere in the room. His dominating presence was invading her s
pace, creating nervous waves in her stomach. She inhaled his expensive aftershave, looked up from her screen and smiled.
Molly managed to say, “Great shoot today. Thanks again.”
Remember to breathe, Molly.
“Yeah, it was amazing. You’re amazing.” The man paused, running his fingers along his day-old beard, the perfect blend of refined and unkempt sexy. His voice was silky and oozed well-practiced enticement. Molly watched him stand still, contemplating his next move. She was tempted to grab her camera and snap another shot. The light was hitting him just right and his pose was thoughtful and natural. This man was gorgeous.
He turned his mesmerizing gaze toward her and asked, “Do you want to grab a drink?”
Molly swallowed. It wasn’t the first time she had been asked out by a model after a shoot. Sometimes it was the result of having bonded over their frail vulnerabilities. Sometimes they figured she was as good a lay as any while they were in town—another stamp in their romantic passport, so to speak. Molly wasn’t so sure about this one. He wasn’t overly emotional or guarded about his body, nor did he seem to really desire her. So, what is he after? She watched him scan the large studio. There was her answer. This type of square footage didn’t come cheap and he knew that.
“You know, maybe another time. I’m really excited to get this edited.” Molly pointed at her sleek silver laptop, delivering a fake smile in hopes it would put him off.
He nodded and thanked her again as he saw himself out. The nerve. Molly rolled her eyes and released the air she had been holding in her lungs. While she was in mid sigh, her cell phone chirped.
“Hello,” she answered, a little more gruffly than she’d intended.
“Wow, so what’s with the ‘tude, lady? Bad day?”
It was one of her best friends, Tiffany.
“Just got done working with a model.”
“Well, then why do you sound all cranky? Was he awful? So good-looking that you couldn’t handle it?” Tiffany teased, causing Molly to laugh and her mood to lighten.
