Luke grabbed my face and said, “Look at me.”
“Did you like the f-farty … party?” I said, stretching out my words. “It was supposed to end a bit differently but … um … this is interesting. Your silly friendssss care more … uh yeah more … about me than you do. How … why you think that is?” The final word came out more like hissssss.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, “and don’t go anywhere.”
I chuckled, thinking, Where would I go?
A moment later, Luke rushed back into the room with Marcello and Janice.
“The partieessss all here.” I tried to sit up but could not manage it.
“What is she on?” Janice asked.
“High on life I sayyyyyyy or oh no not really … high on death ... Thatchs more like it.”
“We need to get her to a hospital and quickly,” Marcello said. He scooped me up in his arms. “JANE, what are you on?”
“Hmmmmm, Janice helped me out ...”
“What is she talking about?” Luke said to Janice.
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Luke toooooo ...”
Then Janice began to talk to me like I was a retarded child and I wanted to smack her upside the head. I made an attempt to hit her but she thought I was reaching in for a hug. Not hug, I thought, slug. Slug you.
“Jane,” she said, “What did you mean when you said I helped you out?” She spoke slowly as if the comprehension level was beyond my capabilities.
“It’s time for a long nap,” I said, closing my eyes and resting my head on Marcello’s shoulder.
“Oh fuck, she might have taken my sleeping pills.”
“Bingo,” I said, trying to reach my nose with my finger to symbolize she got it right. My motor skills had greatly diminished by that time.
They placed me in Marcello’s car and rushed me to Hollywood Memorial Hospital.
CHAPTER TWENTY
That day I learned that you should avoid having your stomach pumped at all costs. My experience at that hospital was akin to enduring a root canal or being a child in my mother’s house again.
My mother continually and chronically annoyed me with her physical presence in my small room until the psychiatrist rescued me by limiting her visitations to an hour every three days. You can only hear “I told you so” so many times before you want to strangle a person.
I said all the right things to the county headshrinker and he granted me two options. He could have me committed against my will—in which case I would only get out when the doctors deemed me ready—or I could sign myself into a luxurious stress unit called the Seaside Retreat for which my mother had already offered to pay. I picked the latter and felt utter relief when he told me I couldn’t have visitors for a month. A month alone with one’s thoughts isn’t necessarily a good thing, but it was better than having to see the disappointed and sad faces of my friends.
* * *
I had individual therapy every other day and group therapy daily. I shared a few of my senseless dreams with the group, but stopped when one day the psychologist asked me to talk to the chair from one of my dreams to find out what it wanted. She pressured me to act it out during group, but I adamantly declined.
I never did dream about the vault again but I had many nightmares from which I awoke with tears on my cheeks. There was one that stood out more than the rest. It occurred after I had been incarcerated for two weeks. I chronicled it in my journal:
I spent most of my time at the Seaside Retreat sleeping the day away in my twin bed in a small square room. Hearing a noise, I opened my eyes and could see the moonlight shining through. A silhouette cast its shadow and I heard a knocking that seemed to come from the window.
Throwing off the covers, naked, my heart racing, I took two steps and found the type of window we had at the beach house. Unlocking the latch between the panes of glass, I lifted the window to see Luke staring back at me. I popped out the screen, unsure of how I should be feeling.
Luke threw a large backpack ahead of him and climbed through into my room.
He swept me up in his arms; “good” Luke had come for me.
Overcome with relief, I sank into his embrace. All my wishes had come true with that first touch, but I kept looking over my shoulder into the hallway for Marcello.
“Oh, Jane, I can’t live without you,” he said and kissed my forehead, bringing my attention back to him.
That one gesture took all the pain and fear away.
“I have tried,” he continued, “but I’m lost when you are not in my life, not in my heart.”
With a broad smile I said, “I’ll pack and we can leave.”
“I can’t wait … must be inside you now,” he whispered.
“Good” Luke lifted me into his arms and lowered me onto the bed. Without disrobing, he lay down next to me and cuddled me to him. When his lips touched mine, a current rippled over my skin.
He cupped my face and said, “Breathe into my mouth and I will take it in and then I will do the same to you.”
I exhaled breath into his mouth. After inhaling deeply, he filled me. Once his breath swirled within me, I felt the power of his energy. All the vacillation between Marcello and Luke ceased to exist. Luke was my salvation.
He stroked my face then trailed his fingers down my neck to my breast. “Love your big nipples, my Janey.”
As he lowered his mouth to my peaks, I saw that he was now naked. His rigid cock lay against my thigh, a pearl of pre-cum glistening on the tip. I became fixated with how beautiful and inviting it seemed. Shifting closer, I sucked his cock into my mouth, tasting him, savoring his flavor.
I danced my tongue around his phallus. Wrapping my hand around the base of his cock, I stroked it in rhythm with my mouth as I swirled my tongue around and around.
He groaned, driving his hips in tempo with my frolicking.
“Now,” he growled and flipped me over onto my back.
Sliding easily into my wet pussy, he started thrusting within me—gently and slowly at first. As he continued his strokes, he kept subtly increasing the tempo and depth of penetration until his pace was frantic.
I watched Luke’s face as he brooded over me. His features slowly started to shift from extreme ecstasy to a frightening mask of anger as his ears and neck turned bright red.
“Bad” Luke was back.
He jumped off me and squatted down next to the mattress. Unzipping the backpack, he pulled out the kind of rope he used in his photography.
Jerking my arms behind my back, he used the long beige rope to fasten them. Then, stringing the rope around the front of me, he wrapped each breast until they bulged out.
I felt petrified, peering into his eyes. He looked crazed and determined as he retrieved two nipple clamps from the backpack.
“Only sluts have nipples like yours and they need to be punished,” he said in a voice I did not recognize.
Crudely pinching and pulling, he brought my nipples to their crowning against the panic that had made them soft. He clasped them both with the ragged teeth of the clamps, causing me to screech.
Looking to the door and into the hallway again, I wondered if anyone would rescue me. Where was Marcello?
Then “bad” Luke said something to me that I have yet to get out of my head. He said, “I have to cause you pain for me to love you.”
In the dream, I screamed over his words but embraced the agony of the rope and clamps.
He pulled a large toy with a bulbous ball at the end out of his bag and turned it on high. As he forced it against my clit, the vibration scorched my nerve endings. The torture brought my body to multiple excruciating orgasms. Once he finally pulled the vibrator away, I collapsed to the floor.
I awoke in a full sweat, looking around the space of my confinement. I cried out, but no tears flowed and no one came to comfort me. I wanted Marcello to come to me the way he had after I had a bad dream at his house. He just held me and soothed me, letting me cry. That left me wo
ndering which of the men I really loved.
I spent a lot of time pondering that dream over the next few weeks. What Luke said in the dream: I have to cause you pain for me to love you, left me wondering if that was the truth. Had Luke’s childhood given him a warped sense of love? Had mine?
The statement also left me wondering about Marcello. In reviewing his behavior—especially the most recent time at his place—I concluded that he was more emotionally healthy than the rest of us. Debauched—for sure—but somehow whole as well.
The psychologist at Seaside encouraged me to write it all down—mainly because she believed it to be fictional and me to be delusional. They believed I could purge myself of my demons by writing them out. The doctor wanted me on medication but since I had committed myself, he couldn’t very well force me. The group facilitator wanted me to cry but the tears had ceased to flow.
In this way, too, my body had betrayed me. When I wanted, needed, my tears to be in check they poured down my face and when I lived in the very place where their cleansing would heal me, they had dried up altogether.
I played ping pong, cards, and board games with the other crazies. I made no friends. I talked little in group therapy and got even less out of individual therapy. How can you work through something that the doctors don’t believe ever happened? They were so focused on my delusions they never bothered to help me figure out why I had embarked on my path of self-destruction.
One thing that helped me get through those days was the letters from Marcello. The first one arrived after only three days. With the advent of email it had been many years since I’d received a snail mail letter. His read:
Dear Jane,
I hope you are finding what you need at Seaside Retreat. If not, there are other places that can be looked into. Janice and I are here when you decide to leave. I’ve thought a lot about the last several months and my part in it. I am very set in my ways but should have been more sensitive to the person you are. I have learned a lot from the last few months and have found reason to pause.
I always assumed anyone could be trained, for lack of a better word, to our lifestyle. I’ve now come to believe that temperament must be considered. I saw you as a strong, independent woman and I still do. I’ve also come to realize that your need for love and connection is your highest driving force, and Luke seemed to miss that about you.
I hope you will let me help you when are ready to face the world again. If you need anything, just let me know.
Ciao,
Marcello
I felt so grateful for that letter and yet a part of me wished Luke had written it. Marcello’s letters arrived at regular intervals and in each letter he disclosed more about himself. As the days passed with no messages from Luke and more letters from Marcello, my loyalties became increasingly clouded. Marcello didn’t mention Luke until his last letter, which I read over and over again.
Dear Jane,
I had hoped to receive a letter back, assuring me you are okay. They won’t put my calls through and are unwilling to update me on your condition. Both Janice and I are worried over what you must be going through and want you to know—as I’ve written before—that we are both here for you. Janice is still concerned you haven’t forgiven her for fellating Luke at my direction.
Neither of us considered the consequences our behavior would have on you because, amongst our group of people in this lifestyle, sharing a partner is a given. I know you think I set out to destroy you and Luke but that was never my intent. I assumed that, because Luke isn’t one for longevity, he would dispense with you like the others. We all knew you were different than the women before you. We just didn’t realize to what extent.
Until Janice told me the other day, I didn’t know that this was your very first foray into domination and discipline. I don’t think you were properly acclimated to our lifestyle and I regret my part in that.
I thought you might like to know that your belongings are at my place when you need them. The beach house has been put on the market, so we had to get your things out right away. Luke hasn’t been in touch but I do know that he is still in Japan. A friend of Janice’s saw him there and it doesn’t seem as though he plans to return to the states.
Janice sends her regards and hopes to see you soon.
Ciao,
Marcello
I couldn’t fathom that Luke would never return to the states, that I would never see him again. Somehow I saw his absence as positive. If he was truly unaffected, why stay away? As twisted as it sounds, it made me feel better that he hurt as well.
* * *
By week four I began counting the days until visitors were allowed.
In a way the doctors were right about my delusion: I believed that Luke would come to see me as soon as he could. Whether I still wanted him was in question, but I still wished for an apology for everything he had done. The possibility of seeing Luke kept me going throughout that month—that and Marcello and his letters. I hung onto a glimmer of hope that Luke and I could both heal our damaged childhoods together. Although by then I knew it was not in my best interests to try, I was still determined to see him again.
On visiting day I took extra care getting ready. I wore my hair down in the way Luke liked and waited patiently to be called up front.
The first call came at eleven. My mother was there, with Brian in tow. They followed me back to my room and my mother ordered Brian to wait in the hall.
“Give him a chance, he really cares about you,” she said once we were alone.
How could she possibly have missed the heat of my anger rolling off me? She left the room and practically pushed Brian toward me.
“Sorry,” I said to him.
“Oh, your mother’s okay, she means well,” Brian said with a shrug.
“You clearly think more highly of her than I do,” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed with the blue coverlet. “I definitely appreciate her paying the bill on this place—which I will pay back—but our relationship has never been an easy one.”
“She’s just worried. She loves you and wants you to be happy.”
“Doesn’t her pushing you on me while I’m in an insane asylum make you question her sanity?” I looked up at him and then around my small room, where there was nothing but a small closet and one window. “It does me,” I added.
“This isn’t an insane asylum, Jane.”
“Close enough. Again, I’m sorry you are being put through this and you can tell her I sent you away.”
“I would like to stay and talk with you,” he said, sitting down on the bed next to me.
“Truly I appreciate your kindness but—”
“I’m interested, or I wouldn’t have let your mother talk me into it,” he said, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.
“I’m flattered, Brian, but there’s no going back.”
He looked up at me and said, “How do you know unless you try?”
“You’ll have to trust me on this one,” I said, patting him on the back. “Thanks for coming by and being a friend. Please believe me; I’m doing you a favor. In return, please take my mother with you.”
“In case you change your mind …” he said, looking over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
“Thanks,” I said, shifting away to look out my window.
* * *
While in the retreat for us damaged people, I missed my runs along the beach, hearing the waves crash on the shore, and seeing the sun on the horizon. I missed being part of a couple. I missed feeling connected and not alone in the world. Those are the things I thought about while waiting for Luke to show that day.
I began to pace my room as the day ran long. I felt thankful that none of my friends came to see me, but their visits would at least have made the time move forward. As the minutes ticked by I became more depressed.
Maybe he is still in Japan and couldn’t get here today, I thought.
It would be another week before the next visiting day and I d
idn’t think I could last another week of voluntary isolation.
Visiting hours ended at six o’clock and by five I had climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head.
At 5:30 p.m., the phone rang in my room and I popped up quickly from my pillow.
“Yes?!”
“You have a visitor at the front desk.”
“Please tell me it’s a man,” I pleaded.
“It is.”
“Yay!” I screamed and put down the phone.
I did a quick check in the mirror and smoothed my hair. My heart jumped for joy. I knew he would come. I floated up the hall. As I rounded the corner confusion washed over me.
“Hi, Jane.”
My Body-His Marcello Page 22
