Lust

by Leddy Harper

  She hadn’t been lying when she told me it wasn’t what I thought. However, I wasn’t wrong when I had expected to hear some horrid story of child abuse. Only it wasn’t the kind of abuse I was anticipating. In some ways, it was worse.

  “Is that when you were moved to foster care?” I finally decided to continue with my questions. I hoped she would continue answering them; we finally seemed to be making headway.

  She shook her head and then answered. “No. That wasn’t until I was eleven.”

  “And that is why you have the fears that you do? Even after all this time?” I tried to keep my expression blank so she wouldn’t stop. I feared if I showed her how I was feeling, I would scare her away. But I also felt fear. It was just a different color than hers. I had discovered so many shades of fear during my years as a surrogate, but this was the first time I was actually experiencing any of them myself.

  “It’s not something that you can easily get over. Don’t get me wrong, I wipe and clean myself now, but it still makes me uncomfortable.”

  “How were you able to have sex both times?”

  “I paid them.”

  Air was stuck in my lungs as I tried to speak. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “How?” I couldn’t believe she was divulging her secrets. On one hand, I was ecstatic; on the other, I was bathed in panic.

  She rolled her eyes, dismissing either my question or my disbelief in her confession. “Easy. I found ads on Craigslist and called them.”

  “So you paid someone to take your virginity? Do you know how dangerous that is?” I realized I was sounding more like a father than a confidant, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from continuing. “There are vicious people out there that use that as a way to victimize people like you. Why would you do that?”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks as she turned away from me. “It’s easy when I don’t know anyone. I don’t have friends, Cade. I don’t socialize with people. I don’t drink, so it wasn’t as if I could’ve picked a guy up at a bar. I don’t go out to meet anyone. And I felt desperate to make these feelings go away.”

  She curled into herself, hugging her waist with her arms and cried. I watched as her small shoulders shook with her silent cries. Ivy was going to be harder to treat than I had initially planned. And that was because I related to her more than I wanted to admit.

  My arm came up around her shoulder unexpectedly. Even more unexpectedly, she leaned into me. I suddenly felt beads of sweat form on my back beneath my shirt. I tried to ignore the feeling, but the more I tried to block it out, the more I could feel my shirt sticking to my skin. Within seconds, I went from comforting Ivy, to an intense desire to find comfort of my own. My own painful thoughts swarmed around me and I felt myself unable to push them back deep within. Why was I having such a hard time controlling this?

  She must have sensed it, my building panic, because she pulled back and looked at me. Her hands held both sides of my face as she forced me to keep eye contact with her. “Breathe with me,” she said softly as she began to take exaggerated breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. It wasn’t until I began mimicking her actions—it was either that or pass out—before I realized what she was doing. By following her lead and taking in a deep breath through my nose, and then releasing it between my lips, I felt relief as my lungs finally expanded.

  “What the hell?” I asked out loud, not specifically to her.

  “A panic attack,” she answered as if I hadn’t already known what it was.

  I hadn’t had a panic attack since I was a kid. There was no reason as to why I had one then. The look in her eyes told me she thought it was because of what she confessed. But I knew it wasn’t. At least I didn’t think it was. All I knew was that I had to get out of the heat of the sun. I had to find a cool place to go.

  “I think maybe we’ve had enough for today,” I said, standing up and avoiding her gaze.

  “No. I don’t want to be done for the day. I’ve told you more than I’ve ever been able to tell anyone, including the long line of shrinks I was forced to see for most of my life. I need you to fix me. Please, don’t abandon me right after I told you all of that.” She was almost hysterical as she pleaded with me. It was hard to see her so desperate and vulnerable, showing her obvious fear of abandonment.

  “I don’t know how smart it would be for us to continue.” Did I mean for now or forever? Did I mean smart for her or for me? I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was not in my best interest to be around her. The need to escape her presence was so great, but at the same time, I also knew that I wanted to be around her. I was clearly confused.

  “Why? Because you had a freak out? It was a panic attack. I have them all the time. You seem to be a caring man. It seems as though you care for your patients. You want to help them and you are interested in their success as much if not more than they are. And that includes me. I don’t look at you any differently for letting my fucked up past affect you in that way. It merely shows you care. Please, don’t give up on me yet.”

  There were so many things flooding my head at the very moment. Her words—so desperate and frantic, pleading with me not to walk away—affected me in a way that made me want to never leave her. She was right about that. It would have done her more harm than good if I dismissed her after making her tell me something so horrific. That was the only thing she had said that held any truth. Aside from that, I could still feel the fabric of my shirt clinging to my skin, suffocating me. The heat in the air that hadn’t been noticed until that moment surrounded me, sucking me in, and making my stomach turn. Darkness started to take hold of my eyes and I knew it was only a matter of time before I would fall to the ground. It had only happened once before, but I knew it was happening again.

  “I have to get out of here,” I stuttered as I moved to get away.

  I felt my feet drag on the grass and I knew I was swaying my steps like a drunkard. It didn’t matter to me, though. I only cared about one thing, finding air—cool, clean air. The need to find an escape was so great it overwhelmed me. I felt desperate for it. Ivy was witnessing my breaking point, and I was sure she would come to her own conclusions about me, making it easier to break off the client/patient relationship between us. She would decide on her own that I was in no shape to treat her. And I was okay with that. It took a huge weight off my shoulders and kept me from being the bastard that refused to treat her after listening to her open up her heart and soul to me.

  I found my way to my car, even though I was unsure of how I actually got there once I was sitting inside. I closed the door and pushed hard on the button, starting the engine. Once the cold air blasted from the vents and hit my face, the haze surrounding my brain began to slowly lift. I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and then cradled my head in my hands until I had two fistfuls of hair between my fingers.

  What had I done? I had asked the same question to myself the night before after fucking Alyssa. I was losing it. I was very quickly losing all of my control. The control I had prided myself on all of these years. The control I had learned at a young age. And the only thing I could assume as to why it was happening was because of Ivy. It hadn’t started until after I had met her. But she was quickly creeping into my head, invading my entire system, and I was quickly spinning out of control.

  Once I felt some semblance of normalcy return, I leaned back in my seat and noticed Ivy standing in front of the hood of my car. She held my briefcase in her hand, but she was looking away, squinting her eyes against the sunlight. She looked so peaceful standing there, as if she wasn’t a woman being haunted by the abuse at the hands of her mother. Looking at her now, I didn’t see a person surrounded by a terrifying past or someone that isolated herself from the rest of the world. I saw someone that held the ability to tear me apart. I saw someone that could ruin me. But more than anything, I saw someone that needed me. Was it possible that I also needed her?

  Before I could reach for my door handle, she turned her eyes bac
k to me. She shrugged her shoulders, pulling my briefcase up higher on her chest, and let a small smile cross her lips. I could tell she wasn’t sure what to do. I could see the insecurity in her eyes as she stared at me through the windshield and tried to put on a brave face.

  I leaned over the passenger seat and opened the door. She rounded the car and leaned in to place the case on the floorboard.

  “Get in,” I said abruptly and startled her.

  “Where are we going?” Her question was full of fear and uncertainty. They were the exact feelings that currently swirled inside me. Her eyes were curious yet cautious at the same time. How was it possible that I saw in her everything I felt in myself? Was this someone’s idea of a cruel joke?

  “I don’t know. But you don’t like my office and I can’t stay in this heat. It’s making me lightheaded and I need to be in the air conditioning.” It wasn’t a complete lie. I did need the air; I simply didn’t explain why I needed it. I only hoped she wouldn’t ask.

  She nodded and then carefully sat down in the passenger seat.

  As soon as I pulled out of the parking lot, I knew exactly where we would go. I turned on the radio to drown out the silence, filling it with The Used. I could tell by her rigid posture that she wasn’t into that kind of music, but there was no way in hell I’d listen to Britney Spears or anything else equally as painful.

  Her frightened form didn’t calm until I pulled up to the local library. She suddenly turned from a worried thirty-year-old to an excited ten-year-old. I watched her carefully, fully trying to understand who she was without forcing her to divulge all of her secrets in one day.

  “I take it you like the library?” I asked as we walking inside. I hid the smile that threatened my lips; I knew she would love this place.

  A smile formed on her lips and didn’t stop until it reached her eyes. Her eyes nearly danced as she spoke. “I love the library. But I never get to come here.” She must have sensed the question on my mind because she answered before I could even voice it. “I don’t drive, remember?”

  “Yes, but I’m sure public transportation would bring you here.”

  “I don’t take public transportation. If I need to go somewhere, I walk.” Her eyes stared straight ahead as mine studied her explicitly. Her entire face lit up as soon as we walked through the sliding doors. It struck me to my core how she acted more like a child than a grown woman, and it made me wonder how much of her childhood suffered at the hands of her abusive mother.

  “Can you show me what books you like to read?” I asked her in a quiet voice as we walked inside. It was weird how you immediately adapted your voice to your surroundings once you entered a library.

  “There are so many, but I don’t know if any would be here.”

  “I thought you said you read a book a day.”

  “Yes, but most of those are Indie books.”

  I stared at her as her eyes moved around the brightly lit room. “Like from India?”

  She finally looked up at me and covered her mouth, hiding the laugh behind her hand. “No. They are books that are independently published. As in, the authors put them out themselves, not through a traditional publishing company. So they may not be here unless they were donated from people. But even then, most people that read Indie author’s usually buy them via e-book. So they can’t be donated.”

  “So anyone can put out a book?” I wasn’t sure why I was asking her, other than the fact that I enjoyed watching her face light up as she explained it all to me. Her passion for reading and these indie authors she spoke of was evident.

  “Yes. But I read published books, too. But those I read for fun. I don’t read those simply to write a review. I’m sure I could find one of those in here if you really want to see what I like to read.”

  “I do. I want you to find your favorite book in here and I’ll take it home. I want to read it.”

  “Why?”

  “You said you came to me because of the books you read. I want to see what you mean by that.”

  “I’m sure we won’t find any of those in here.” Her cheeks flared red in embarrassment as she looked away.

  I reached over and grabbed her hand, leading her to the back of the library where they had tables and computers set up along the wall of windows. I hadn’t meant to keep hold of her hand, but once her fingers laced through mine, I found that I couldn’t let go. It was comforting and scary all at the same time. Her skin felt soft and smooth against mine, addicting.

  I pulled a plastic chair out for her and then sat next to her seat, leaning closer to her so we could share one computer. “This is what I want to do,” I whispered, getting as close as I could to her so the others around us couldn’t hear our conversation. “We need to come up with a game plan for you. I need to know what it is you’re looking for from me, and then we need to decide how we can both effectively treat you. So for now, I need for you to show me the kinds of books you read, and what it is about them that made you look for help. I need to know what it is you are seeking.”

  “I just need you to fix me.”

  I felt more of her breath on my face than I heard her words in my ears.

  “I don’t understand why you need to read what I read to understand.”

  “You said you read sex; I need to know what kind of sex you’re looking for.”

  “Just plain old sex. I just need to be comfortable with the idea of being with someone.”

  I let my arm fall from the table, landing my hand on her thigh. I kept it there, right above her knee until I heard her finally take in a breath of air. Once she seemed to have calmed down some, I slowly moved my palm higher up her thigh. I heard her breathing grow heavy and frantic.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, panicked.

  “I don’t know,” I answered her honestly, in a voice full of air that matched her own.

  Moments passed—could’ve only been a few seconds, could have been minutes—as we stared at each other, both breathing heavily and waiting for the other to make a move. I wasn’t sure exactly what move I was waiting for her to make. I expected her to either pull away, or calm down and relax against my touch, but neither happened. She didn’t move at all, and continued to breathe heavy, hot pants against my face.

  Finally, someone cleared a throat somewhere in the space around us. It was enough of an interruption that we both seemed to snap back to reality and instantly push away from one another. Her eyes darted to the computer screen in front of her, but mine stayed on her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her soft lips were only slightly parted as she tried to regain control of her breathing. I affected her. Only I wasn’t sure if it was in the good or bad kind of way.

  “Just pull up any book that helped in your decision to seek help,” I told her.

  Her fingers started tapping away at the keyboard, but I couldn’t see what she was typing. I couldn’t look away from her no matter how hard I tried. There was something about her and I needed to find out what it was. I knew in that moment what I would be discussing in my next meeting with my own therapist.

  “This is the one that made me set up an appointment with you. There have been others that made me want to fix my problem, but this is the one that made me actually take the step and finally do something about it.”

  I finally looked up to the screen and saw a picture of lips covered in sugar. I quickly began to rethink my idea of reading a romance novel. But I guess if there were one way to get into Ivy’s head, it would be through a book. I slid the keyboard over and typed in my account info, clicking the buy now link and succumbing to the knowledge that I would be spending my night reading another book.

  *****

  After watching Ivy walk around the library for a little bit longer, we left and I took her home. I finished running my errands, which included picking up a well-deserved twelve pack of beer, and then headed home. I had a light workout, preparing myself for the book I had to read.

  It wasn’t that I hated reading; I simply wasn�
�t into the mushy romantic love shit. The sweet stories of making love and living happily ever after were complete and utter bullshit. I didn’t believe any of it, nor had I ever enjoyed making love. I enjoyed fucking. There’s a difference, and I had a feeling Ivy didn’t know what it was.

  After my shower, I opened a beer and pulled out my iPad, uploading Sweet Addiction by J. Daniels. Even the title sounded too sweet. If my dick could’ve been any softer, it would have been.

  The old adage, don’t judge a book by its cover, should be amended to say, “or its title.”

  I was not prepared for the sex scenes in that book. I was even more taken by surprise that it was what had pushed Ivy to come look for me. Shit, the first sex scene was with the two main characters in a public bathroom. I’d be lying if I said my dick didn’t spring to life when I read that. It wasn’t something I wanted to admit, but it’s the fucking truth. The things they did together… the sex they had… I couldn’t believe that was something Ivy was looking for. That she wanted to get through her issues so she could have had sex like the two characters in the book.

  I finished the book at three in the morning. Even though I was tired, I had the urge to hop in the shower and rub one out. My mind wouldn’t stop and my dick wouldn’t go down until I did just that, all while thinking of Ivy. I imagined having her in the ways Reese had Dylan—yes, a guy with a girl’s name and vice versa. It was different but I didn’t mind—but as I stroked myself in the shower, it was Ivy I envisioned. It was Ivy I was fucking on the vanity in a bathroom. It was Ivy I spread frosting all over and then licked off.

  I allowed myself to fantasize about her until I exploded against the tile. As the water washed away the evidence of my vivid encounter, I began to push the thoughts away again. I couldn’t allow myself to go there. She was my patient. I was there to treat her. To cure her. Not to fuck her.

  But oh my God, how I wanted to fuck her.