The Art of Moving On (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Sarah Raymond

  When he finally removed his finger and his soft tongue, he looked up at his sated lover. “I hope that was all right, love. I thought I’d give it a shot.”

  Without even saying a word, Casey pulled him on top of her and pressed her lips hard against his. The taste of her sex still on his lips aroused her immensely. Understanding the underlying meaning of the kiss, Conor slid his smooth erection into her, pumping at a rapid pace. When Casey was sure that he was about to release into her, he gripped her ass and flipped over so that she was on top of him.

  Her hands planted firmly on his cut pectorals, she slid up and down his shaft, hugging him tight in her folds. He cupped her breasts, pinching each of her straining nipples between his index finger and his thumb.

  “Pinch harder,” she said as she began to ride him faster. When a surge of pain ran from her nipples down her body, her vagina tightened around his shaft, bringing forth his climax. Instead of his normal growl, he released into her with a gruff exhale that was nearly a scream. As she continued to ride his wave with him, she felt his thick seed explode deep inside of her, and began to climax herself. Together they came, their hands exploring every inch of one another.

  When they were finally spent, Casey slowed to sit still on top of Conor. She could feel the moisture mingling within her, but she wanted to remain there in that moment, for just a while longer. Her chest heaving, she glanced out the window, and realized that it was snowing.

  The following morning, Casey was not at all surprised that her body ached. Not only were the inside of her thighs screaming from ferociously riding Conor, but her back was sore from the two of them finally passing out on the floor before the fireplace.

  They woke early and had breakfast, and then set out to explore the town. A light dusting of snow had covered the ground overnight, but did not continue with the rising sun. Throughout the course of the day, Conor and Casey visited nearly every museum that Salem had to offer. She was ecstatic to learn more about the history of the witch trials, and even bought a few books about the events that had transpired so many years before.

  They had lunch at a small seafood restaurant near the water, sipping hot tea and talking about unimportant things. Casey could not help the fact that her mind was wandering somewhere else. She hated thinking about Jace when she was with Conor—it felt like she was cheating on him. Nevertheless, there was something about Conor that kept bringing her back to Jace. She could not, for the life of her, figure it out. The two of them were nothing alike.

  As Conor browsed the menu, Casey stared out the window. A foggy storm cloud was rolling in over the water, like a gigantic wall closing in on them. It looked terrifying, and all of a sudden Casey felt very claustrophobic. The cloud resembled the hidden memory looming over her. Once again, she could not wait until Monday.

  The following day, Casey and Conor boarded an early ferry back to Boston. She had enjoyed their weekend, and had spent a small fortune on souvenirs, so she figured it was time to return to the city. They did not speak much on the ferry ride home—it was as if Conor sensed that her mind was distant and overloaded with other things.

  When they arrived, thick flakes of snow fell from the pale sky. November was just around the corner, and then the holidays would begin. Casey had not celebrated Thanksgiving or Christmas last year, choosing instead to throw back a couple bottles of liquor to numb the pain. She felt confident that this year was going to be better.

  Conor hailed them a cab, but Casey told him that she preferred to walk. Though he had looked at her like she was a mental patient, he finally agreed, pressing his lips against hers and promising to call her later. Casey was surprised that though it was snowing, it did not seem that cold walking home—not like the mind-numbing cold in Texas.

  Chapter 25

  The next day, Casey woke early, anxious to get to her appointment. She thought back to what Dr. Roma had said about the hypnosis not always working after the first try. She hoped that this would not be the case with her. She wanted the memory to surface immediately. She had spent enough of her life grieving, and was ready to put the past in its place. There was no way she could do that with an immense cloud hanging over her memories.

  At 3 p.m., she entered Dr. Roma’s office with an open mind. She was relaxed, the only stress she felt a result of her anxiety. When Dr. Roma called her into the office, Casey noticed that the atmosphere of the space had changed. The thick, wooden blinds were drawn, drowning out the light. There was a dim lamp covering the room in a relaxing glow. The doctor motioned for Casey to lie down on the couch beside her.

  “Okay, Casey, today I am going to put you in a state of hypnosis. I will then assist you in traveling to deeper levels of your subconscious. Once we are there, I will ask some questions that may help you to uncover what exactly happened on the day of the accident. Do you consent to this?”

  Casey nodded and asked, “What will it feel like?”

  “I am told that it is very relaxing. Depending on how deep into your subconscious we go, you may be aware of yourself talking, but it will feel somewhat like an out-of-body experience. Are you ready to begin?” Casey nodded again, and Dr. Roma began.

  “Okay, Casey. Close your eyes. I want you to inhale and exhale very slowly. Be aware of your breathing. Keep it at a steady pace.” Her voice was gentle and quiet, almost a whisper. “Now I want you to let yourself drift. Drift away. All is silent, all is still. Let yourself go.”

  She did as the doctor ordered, and became aware of herself falling deeper. The feeling was almost indescribable. It was as if she was high on marijuana, though she had not touched it since long before the baby was born.

  “Now I want you to imagine a spiral staircase. You begin to descend the stairs, going deeper and deeper into a dark abyss…”

  Casey drifted, imagining herself spiraling into a deep, damp dungeon. A dizzying sensation came over her, and she could no longer hear Dr. Roma’s voice.

  Casey suddenly awoke, startled. Her cheeks were damp with salty tears, and her eyes burned. She was confused, and looked around the room trying to place exactly where she was. When she focused on Dr. Roma and began to remember the hypnosis, she was convinced that it had not worked.

  “See, this is why I don’t believe in hypnosis. Nothing happened aside from me falling asleep.”

  “No, Casey, you have been in a state of hypnosis for about forty-five minutes,” said Dr. Roma.

  Casey, in a state of disbelief, spotted the clock on the wall. She tried to remember what time she had come into the office. Her mind clearing, she sat up. “Holy shit,” was all she could manage. She grabbed a Kleenex and blotted away tears that had come unbeknownst to her. “Well, did it work?”

  Dr. Roma had an unreadable look on her face. “Listen, Casey. I told you that it would not always work on the first try. We had some success, but we did not unveil the entirety of the memory.”

  Casey was sorely disappointed, but not at all surprised. “What happened?” she asked.

  The doctor told her that she had recovered from her memory that she and Jace had been fighting. Casey had only been able to reveal bits and pieces, so Dr. Roma was unable to determine the root of the argument. She was able to understand that Jace had been drinking a lot recently, and the two of them had been fighting more often than normal. Casey had been severely distraught, but there was really nothing else that would indicate whether or not Jace had driven drunk that day, other than the fact that Casey had admitted to slapping a beer out of his hands during the argument. Dr. Roma admitted that there was no time frame set to the memory, and she was unable to tell from what Casey had said whether or not the argument had even taken place on the day of the wreck.

  “So we got nothing,” Casey said, disappointed that her hypnosis had revealed so little. Maybe it was all in her head after all. Couples fight. When you are married, it is inevitable that you are going to get irritated with your spouse from time to time.

  “I don’t think so,” Dr. Roma said. “I feel
that we got somewhere today, and I would like to try the hypnosis again sometime next week.”

  “What makes you say that?” Casey asked, now perking up at Dr. Roma’s confidence in Casey’s memory retrieval.

  “Casey, when we reached a deep level of your subconscious, you became frightened. It was as if the memory you have been suppressing scared you. You immediately began to cry. Numerous times throughout, you kept saying ‘No, Jace. Please don’t.’ I am not quite sure what that means, but I think it would be worth looking in to. Something definitely happened that day, and I do not think that you will be able to let go of Jace and the baby until you figure it out, and deal with it.”

  Casey now felt a mix of emotions. What had she been begging him not to do? She immediately thought back to the searing pain on her face in the memory. Had he hit her? Surely not. Jace was not always the nicest person, especially if he had been drinking, but he would never physically hurt her…or would he?

  Casey’s brain was swimming with scenarios as she left Dr. Roma’s office. She had agreed to come back the following Monday for hypnosis round two, but she was unsure if she could wait that long. She needed to understand, and she feared that she might go insane before then.

  On the way home, she stopped at the bookstore in search of something on hypnosis. She figured that maybe there was a way she could prepare her mind for next week, or maybe even learn how to put herself into the trance. After shopping for an hour, Casey settled on a very generic book about hypnosis, and one that dealt with memory suppression.

  When she got home, all she wanted was to talk to Sammie, but she was not at the apartment. Disappointed in the entirety of the day, Casey poured herself a glass of wine and opened her laptop. She thought it best to keep a journal of the dreams and memories that she had been having, each one containing every miniscule detail that she could remember. She hoped that by doing this, maybe she could piece together something that might remove the veil from the day of the wreck.

  When Sammie finally came home around 7 p.m., she was not alone. She showed avid concern for Casey, who was down two and a half bottles of Cabernet, and sported a frustrated frown on her face. Casey had told her to go enjoy Giovanni, and that she was fine—just having a bad day. Sammie had reluctantly agreed, and drifted off into her bedroom with the handsome Italian.

  The next few weeks had come and gone with very little discoveries from the hypnotherapy. Casey was getting discouraged. With each time she went under, her subconscious would only take her so far into the memory, barricading her from the information that she now desperately yearned to know. She had been reading the books she bought religiously, in addition to researching memory suppression on the Internet. Most every website informed her that memory suppression was her mind’s way of coping with severe tragic events. Was the wreck the tragedy, or was it something more?

  As the days went on, Casey felt herself growing exhausted with her new obsession, fretting over scenarios and questions every minute of every day. She had been trying to busy herself with her writing, both for the magazine and on her own. She updated her journal each time she experienced a nightmare or a memory, even if they were the same as the one before. She had even taken up writing some poetry, hoping that through her cryptic words, the memory would become clear.

  Casey had also spent a lot of time with Conor, distracting her mind by worshipping his flesh for hours, but she was easily distracted. She could tell that Conor suspected something was wrong, but he rarely asked questions, a trait that she truly admired about him.

  Chapter 26

  The week of Thanksgiving, Conor called early one morning to invite Casey and Sammie to dinner at his place. He said that Giovanni would be there, and they would have a nice quiet meal, just the four of them. The idea actually sounded very appealing to Casey, who had not been feeling very well. The thought of being around a crowd any time in the near future made her cringe. She was unsure if the worrying and the stress had been slowly wearing her down, or if she was getting a cold. Maybe it was a mixture of the two, but one thing was for sure…she felt like crap. She agreed, and planned to be at Connor’s Thursday at 7 p.m. Conor had assured her that she need not bring anything, but she hated showing up empty handed.

  On Thanksgiving morning, Casey was surprised to get a call from her father. She had not spoken to him much since she moved to the city, and her heart pounded against her chest at the thought of answering. She inhaled deeply, gathering her strength, and answered the phone.

  “Casey?” Her father’s voice came across the line sounding almost desperate. He did not have a warm, caring voice like she imagined most fathers to have. His sounded pained, as if even uttering a single word burned like acid in his throat. She could not help but to notice the aging in his voice. When had he gotten to be so old?

  “Hi, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, pausing afterward, not knowing what to say.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” he said. “It’s, uh, it’s been a long time.” He paused, obviously not knowing what to say any more than Casey did. “How are you?”

  “I’m doing okay, actually. I have a job writing for a magazine down here. And Sammie lives with me now. She finally left Texas, too. Can you believe it?” Sammie had always been close with Casey’s dad, having never met her own father. Sometimes Casey thought that Sammie was closer to him than even she was, though she never minded much. She was a welcome distraction to curb the awkwardness between Casey and her father.

  “That’s good.” He paused before saying, “I miss you.” He choked out the words as if they came attached to razor blades. Changing the subject before the conversation turned emotional, he said, “What are your plans for Thanksgiving? Got a hot date?” He chuckled, and then caught himself, most likely thinking it too soon for a joke like that.

  “Actually, kind of. Sammie and I are going to my…” She stopped herself, wondering what to call Conor. Though they called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, it seemed so childlike to use the words when they were in their thirties. “…Well, we are going to have dinner with the men we are seeing.”

  If her dad was surprised by the fact that she was dating someone, he kept it to himself. “I am glad that you have someone,” he said.

  “What about you? What are your plans?” she asked, knowing that he was probably going to do the same thing he did every year since her grandmother had died. It had become his tradition to go over to the neighbor’s house, watch football, and kill a thirty-pack.

  “Going over to Tom and Mary’s,” he said, which was no surprise. For a moment after, they just sat in silence, either not knowing what to say, or simply needing to share a moment. Casey did miss her dad, though he was not a man of many words. Growing up, he never really gave her a hint as to how he was feeling. She had always found him to be void of all emotion, with the exception of sadness from an unknown origin. Casey figured that he missed her mother, but there was really no way of knowing. They were practically strangers.

  Casey suddenly wondered if her father might be able to fill in any of the holes in her memory. Though she was unsure if he would know anything more than she about the wreck, she decided to give it a shot and ask him anyway.

  “Dad, I have to ask you a question,” she said, waiting for his reply.

  “Okay?”

  “I have been having a hard time piecing together my memory about the day of the accident. It’s like there is a veil over my memory, and I am trying to end the grieving process.”

  “So what is the question?” he asked, his voice changing from old and desperate to…angry?

  “Well, do you remember anything specific about that day? Like where Jace was going when he got into the wreck, or anything that I might have told you about, well, anything?” She realized that she was probably reaching. She had not been that close with her father growing up, but the distance between them had grown after she married Jace.

  “Sorry son of a bitch. He was no good for you from the get-go. I always told you tha
t you couldn’t trust a drinker. I will never forgive him for what he did to you, or to that baby.” He was definitely angry now.

  Casey was stunned. She knew that her father had never been fond of Jace, but she never knew that he hated him so much. And what did he mean, what he did to her?

  “Dad, was Jace drinking the day that he got in the wreck?” Casey asked, her heart knocking rapidly at her chest cavity. She could not breathe, her eyes welling up with tears in anticipation for what he might say next.

  “Drunker than a skunk. How could you forget that? He murdered your baby. Had he lived, he would have been in prison for the rest of his sorry life.” Casey’s lip trembled, and she fought back sobs that were thundering inside of her.

  “Thank you, Dad. Have a happy Thanksgiving.” She bit out the words and hung up the phone without waiting for a response. She had barely pressed the button to end the call when a tortured scream left her lips, so loud she was sure the neighbors heard. It was as if she had been holding in that scream for years.

  He killed your baby. The words played in her head over and over. Jace had been drinking. Jace had torn her life from her. And to think, she had been mourning him and grieving over nothing. She had kept Conor at bay for so long, had been distant to him—she had been a coward. All the while, she had been mourning a murderer, who was forever resting next to her innocent son. In a rage she tore her room to shreds, throwing a lamp against the wall, and knocking books off of shelves. She threw her phone, uncaring if it shattered into a million pieces. She sobbed the entire time, unaware of the shattered glass tearing at her flesh.

  When she had gotten the pent-up anger out of her system, she fell onto her bed, a tear-streaked and bloody heap. Her sobbing finally under control, she closed her eyes, hoping that in light of the information her father had just provided, the veil might be lifted, the entire memory revealed. She thought back, and was frustrated to find that nothing new came to the light. She was still in the dark, but this was a step forward. She now knew that the man she had loved for so long was a drunken, selfish fraud. She no longer mourned Jace, an emotion that was replaced with desire for Conor.