by Leisa Rayven
I nod. At the time, I had no idea why I was so emotionally bipolar. All I knew was that I was being pulled in so many different directions, I was afraid of moving at all.
I’m supposed to be confident as I take off my shirt, but I’m not. I’m even less confident as I remove my bra. I’m wearing skin-tone stickers over my nipples, but they don’t make me feel any less naked. I’m supposed to look Connor in the eye, but I can’t. It’s my friend Connor. My friend who’s now standing in front of me, staring at my chest.
“Watch your posture, Cassie,” Erika says. “You’re a life model. You’d be used to being seen half-naked.”
I straighten my back. Connor says his lines, and then he touches me. Gentle hands. He runs his fingers up my sides, over my ribcage. He pauses before touching my breasts. I look up at him. He almost seems apologetic as he puts his hands on me and squeezes gently.
“Good, now Cassie, you transform into his fantasy: the Marla who wants him as much as he wants her.”
I try. I really do. I feign confidence as I unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. Then I put my hands on his chest and trace the planes of his muscles. He inhales and watches as his fingers flex at his sides, waiting for my curiosity to escalate into full-blown lust.
His chest is different from Ethan’s. More hair. Slightly narrower. Still very nice. Just not him.
“Okay, stop.”
I drop my arms and sigh. Connor steps back and rubs his eyes. I’m sucking like a Hoover, and he knows it. We all know it.
Erika drops her notebook and comes onto the stage. I pick up my shirt and cover myself.
“Cassie, what’s going through your mind when you touch him? Because I’m guessing it’s not how much you want to sleep with him.”
“I’m sorry. I just I can’t seem to . . .”
I glance at Connor. He’s trying so hard to make this work, but I keep blocking him. At this rate, our scene is going to be the blandest obsessive love story ever told.
“Mr. Bain, take a break. I’d like to work with Miss Taylor for a while.”
“Yeah, sure.” Connor gives me a sympathetic smile then pulls on his shirt and heads to the exit.
I tense up as Erika studies me and crosses her arms.
“What’s going on with you? I know you’re capable of having chemistry with Connor. I’ve seen it, especially in the scenes from Streetcar last year. That’s why I cast you together in this. Why are you holding back? Is it the nudity?”
I shake my head.
“Then what?”
How can I tell her that if I fully commit to the scene, I’m worried how my boyfriend will react? It’s the world’s weakest excuse.
She frowns when I don’t respond. She knows Ethan and me well enough by now to read between the lines.
“Cassie, you can’t let your offstage relationship affect your performance. They’re two different lives. Mr. Holt is an actor. He should understand that.”
“He does, and he’s being really supportive, but . . . it’s going to be hard for him to watch, you know?”
“Then perhaps he shouldn’t. For this showcase, you all need to be at your best. You should sideline anything that could hold you back or distract you.”
“I can’t ban him from watching.”
“No, but you can suggest that it’s not in his best interest. The last thing either of you needs right now is drama in your private lives. Keep it onstage. Am I clear?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good. Are you ready to rehearse now?”
“Yes.”
I feel like I’ve been chastised by my mother.
“Take five and come back with a different attitude. We don’t have much time to get this piece in shape, and I really believe it could be quite spectacular as long as you both commit to it.”
I put on my shirt and head outside for a cigarette. I don’t smoke much these days, because Ethan doesn’t like it. Just another way I’m modifying my behavior for my boyfriend.
When I go back in, I put all thoughts of Ethan out of my head and completely commit to the scene. Connor doesn’t know what’s hit him. I can see surprise in his expression when I become Marla. In her skin, I feel guilty for wanting a man other than my husband, but I need to explore the physical attraction to the enigmatic painter.
By the end, we’re both flushed and breathing heavily, and I’m kneeling in front of him and pretending to not notice the bulge in his pants.
Erika seems pleased. “Much better. See you tomorrow.”
She leaves Connor and me to get dressed. It’s awkward between us. Connor’s always been the one person I felt completely comfortable with, but this rehearsal has ruined that. He touched my boobs and got an erection. In my character’s skin, I was aroused by him.
How do we not feel weird about that?
When we exit the theater, Ethan’s waiting. Connor mumbles “Goodnight” and walks off without looking either of us in the eye. I immediately bury my head in Ethan’s chest and hug the hell out of him.
“Hey,” he says as he strokes my hair. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“Rough day?”
“Yeah. Erika ripped me a new one.”
“Why?”
“Because I was holding back.”
He pauses. “With Connor?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh.” He stops stroking. “Did you . . . not take your shirt off?”
“No, I did, but—”
His jaw muscles tighten against the side of my head. “But what? Did he touch you?”
“Yes.” I can hear his heartbeat thundering in his chest. “But I kept thinking about you. How you’d react. Erika told me I needed to stop.”
“So, what happened?”
I pull back so I can look up at him. Predictably, he’s frowning. “I tried harder.”
His frown deepens. “And?”
“And uh . . .” I recall the tingles as Connor palmed my breasts. His bulge, right in my face as I pretended to fellate him. “I think by the end it was working okay.”
He deflates, and the look on his face almost breaks my heart.
I stretch up to kiss him. I need to kiss him. Remind him he’s the one I want. Remind myself it was my character getting turned on by another man during a scene, not me.
He kisses me back. Wraps his hands in my hair. Lights me up more completely in three seconds than Connor did all night.
“Take me home,” I say as my whole body flushes.
He does. And an hour later, when I’m sweaty and boneless beneath him, I tell him I love him for the first time since we got back together.
I say it because I mean it. Not because of the guilt. Mostly.
Dr. Kate pours me a glass of water. I take it gratefully. At least it’s something to do with my hands.
“Do you think you may have been overcompensating for what you were doing with Connor?” Dr. Kate asks.
“Probably.” I sip more water. “But I didn’t want Ethan to feel like there was some stupid love triangle going on, because there wasn’t.”
Dr. Kate gives me a few seconds, then asks, “Was there ever a time you wanted to justify Ethan’s mistrust?”
I nearly choke on my reply, but these sessions are nothing without honesty.
“No, but . . .” She waits for more. “I often wondered how different everything would have been if I could have loved Connor. He was so uncomplicated compared to Ethan. But I couldn’t do it. Not even after I thought I’d never see Ethan again.”
“So there wasn’t even a hint of anything when you and Ethan were still together? Nothing at all?”
I shake my head. “As much as I had to be attracted to Connor onstage, I never wanted to continue things offstage.”
“You told him that?”
> “Connor and I never spoke about it, but he knew. As for Ethan, I told him over and over again he had nothing to be concerned about.” I’d said it so much the words had begun to feel like acid on my tongue.
“But he didn’t believe you.”
Bitterness bleeds through my skin like a rash.
“No.”
Windscreen wipers thud from side to side as Ethan’s number flashes on my screen.
“Hi.” I’m exhausted, but happy to talk to him. We haven’t seen each other much this week, and I’m craving him. The Senior Showcase is in four days, and we’ve been rehearsing around the clock. We’ve only had to rehearse the Romeo and Juliet scene a couple of times, because, clearly, we rock. Erika has been concentrating more on the new scenes, determined to get them perfect.
“Hey,” he says, sounding just as tired as I am. “Where are you?”
“On my way home.”
“Our rehearsal is almost done, too. I think Avery and I are finally getting the rhythm of this freaking Stoppard dialog. Not that we can hear much with this storm going on. This rain is crazy, huh?”
“Yeah. Hope your ark-building skills are decent, or we could be in trouble.”
“We don’t need an ark,” he says. “I have some inflatable pool lounges. They have cup holders.”
“Fancy.”
“No expense spared to save my woman from the watery apocalypse.”
“Nothing says ‘I love you’ more than quality recreational inflatables.”
He makes a noise. “Now I have visions of that inflatable sheep Avery bought for his pool.”
“We said we’d never discuss that.”
“You’re right. Can we talk about how much I fucking miss you?”
I smile. “Can you hold that thought? We’re just pulling up outside my apartment. I need to make a mad dash for the door.”
“We?”
“Yeah, um . . .” I take a deep breath. “Connor drove me home so I wouldn’t get drenched.”
There’s silence then, “Uh-huh. You don’t have your umbrella?”
His tone immediately sets me on edge. “Well, yeah, but it’s a storm. Connor’s car was parked behind the theater. Plus, it’s ten o’clock at night.”
Next to me, Connor shakes his head ever so slightly. It frustrates us both that Ethan gets like this every time we’re together. He must know by now that his fear is unnecessary. Does he honestly believe I’ll suddenly develop an overwhelming urge to fuck Connor because we’re alone in a car?
“Hang on,” I say, and grab my bag. “I’ll talk to you when I get inside.” I push the hold button, and sigh. “Thanks, Connor. See you tomorrow.”
“No problem. Have a good night.” He gives me a look that says he knows the rest of this phone call isn’t going to be pleasant. I exit the car as quickly as possible then race through the downpour to my front door.
When I get inside, I strip off my jacket and take Ethan off hold.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice is all kinds of pissed. I stifle a groan. I’m too tired to deal with this right now.
“Ethan, it was a five-minute car ride. What the hell do you have to be worried about?”
“I don’t know, Cassie. You tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell! Do you have so little faith in me that you think I’d even contemplate doing anything with Connor?”
“Well, you seem to be spending all of your time with him these days. Perhaps you’re confused about who’s your actual boyfriend and who’s the annoying fuck trying to get into your pants.”
“He’s not trying to get into my pants! How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Cassie, I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
“Who cares how he looks at me? He’s never, and I mean never tried anything! He’s been a perfect gentleman, despite how rude you are to him all the time.”
“Oh, sure, a perfect gentleman who’s spent the better part of six weeks groping your boobs.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” I rub my eyes. “I really can’t do this with you right now. You’re wearing me out. We have the most important performance of our lives in four days and you’re tying yourself in knots and taking me with you. You have to stop. Seriously.”
He sighs and goes silent.
I hate fighting with him, especially over the phone. If he was here, I could touch him. Show I love him, and only him. As it is, I can just picture him, tense-jawed as he jumps to all the wrong conclusions. Doubting himself enough to doubt me.
“Yeah. Okay. Well, I’d better go. Goodnight.”
“Wait.”
He pauses. “What?”
“Do you want to come over when your rehearsal is done? I miss you and want to see you.”
“Cassie, you’re exhausted. I’m exhausted.”
“So? Just come over and sleep here. Please.”
“I don’t think so. You need to rest and you just admitted I’m wearing you out.”
“Ethan—”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
The line goes dead, and I flop back into the sofa.
Crap.
I pull off my wet shoes and socks then send him a text.
Predictably, I don’t get a reply.
Half an hour later, I’m getting out of the shower when there’s a knock at the door. I put on my robe and answer it to see Ethan there, drenched.
“What are you doing? You’re soaked!”
“You asked me to come over, remember? I’ve been knocking for five minutes.” He looks past me into the apartment. “What the hell took you so long?”
“I was in the shower.”
I can see suspicion all over his face, and I roll my eyes as I grab the front of his shirt and drag him inside.
“Stay,” I say, and leave him dripping on the rug as I head off to grab some towels.
When I get back, I throw a towel over his head and roughly dry his hair.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” I push him down into the sofa and pull off his shoes and socks. “You have absolutely no clue how much I love you.” I unbutton his shirt and pull it off. “And you think stupid, impossible things like I could want anyone but you.”
“Cassie—”
“Shut up.”
I pull him to his feet and gesture to the bedroom. “Go take a look.”
He frowns. “What?”
“Go look to make sure Connor isn’t in my bed. Check the closet, too. And Ruby’s room. While you’re at it, you might as well check my phone and computer. Make sure I’m not cyber or text fucking him.”
He drops his head.
“Go on. Look.”
He drags his fingers through his hair and pushes it off his forehead. “I don’t need to look.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.” He walks over and puts his arms around me. “You’re right. I am an idiot.”
He buries his head in my neck, and that’s all it takes to defuse me. Then he presses his lips against my pulse.
Why doesn’t he understand this is what I want? This crazy lust he can elicit with a single brush of his lips. Doesn’t he get that no one will ever make me feel the way he does?
Dumb man.
He pulls open my robe, and gentle fingers trail apologies all over me.
“Tell me you love me again,” he whispers.
I cup his face. “I love you. More than that, I’m completely in love with you. Stop being ridiculous, please.” I kiss his chest and feel the rapid pounding beneath the muscle.
“I’ll try. It’s not easy. I’ve been this way for too long.”
“You don’t need to be. Now take me to bed.”
He scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom. I kiss him and to
uch him in all the ways I know he likes, as I try to chase away his fears for a while.
When we finally join, I see him let go of the doubt. But I know from experience this sexual exorcism won’t last long. We’ll make love and fall asleep in each other’s arms, and everything will be perfect, but in the morning the shadows will return.
I keep telling myself that if we can just make it to graduation, we’ll be okay. Connor will go his way, and I’ll go mine, and Ethan will have no reason to doubt anymore. But the logical part of me whispers that there’ll always be a Connor. Someone who threatens him, and makes him feel like he’s going to lose me. And even though it will never, ever be true, I have no idea how to convince him otherwise.
After a few seconds, I realize I’ve gone silent.
I look up to find Dr. Kate staring at me.
“Are you okay?” I don’t answer. “Just breathe, Cassie. Allow everything you’re feeling to have its moment, then let it go. Every breath will lessen the anxiety. You don’t need it anymore.”
I take deep breaths. The more I do it, the easier it gets. I feel calmer.
Dr. Kate gives me a warm smile. “Well done. How do you feel?”
“Drained.”
“Good. That means you’re purging. Each time you do it, your emotional burden will lessen, and that’s our goal.”
She looks at the clock. “We have a few minutes left. Is there anything else that’s been weighing on your mind?”
I take another slow breath and let it out before saying, “I sometimes get this overwhelming sense of . . . guilt about Ethan, when things started going wrong.”
“About what?”
I shake my head. “How I couldn’t help him. I feel like a lot of this stuff is my fault, because I wasn’t strong enough, or clever enough, or patient enough to help him change.”
She puts down her notebook and takes off her glasses. “Cassie, let me assure you, it’s not possible to change people. You can encourage and support them, but that’s about it. The rest is up to them.”
“But I feel like I should’ve done more.”
She looks at me for a few seconds then crosses her legs. “Do you like books?”
For a moment, I’m thrown by her sudden left turn. “Um . . . yes.”
“Well,” she says as she laces her fingers together, “let’s say people were books. Everyone who comes into our lives is given a glimpse of a few of our pages. If they like us, we show them more pages. If we like them, we want them to see the unedited parts. Some people may make notes in the margins. Leave their marks upon us and our story. But ultimately, the words that are printed that represent us as a person, they don’t change without our permission.”
