by Michelle Lee
I pull back. Dash’s arms loosen but don’t let me go. When my eyes find his, they are glistening. The brilliant blue has dulled, and his mouth, that is usually pulled into some sort of smile, is turned downward. His eyes search my face for something. I notice his Adam’s apple bop up and down before his lips part. “What happened to you, baby? What happened?” His voice cracks as the words come out.
I inhale deeply, filling my senses with ocean and a unique scent that is just Dash. His eyes hold me; reassure me. “He… he broke me.” My words are barely a whisper between us. A lone tear slips down his cheek before he pulls me against his chest, his arms enveloping me. We hold each other, rocking back and forth, offering the other comfort. My eyes grow heavy. My mind and body are numb. Dash slowly rises from the floor, still holding me in his arms. I don’t know if it’s because I can’t let go, or he won’t. He picks me up and carries me to my bedroom. The faint glow of the nightlight from the bathroom offers enough guidance for him to find the bed. Gently he lays me down. I hear the thud of his shoes hit the floor, and then he’s pulling mine off. I watch him reach down and grab my favorite fluffy blanket before then he wraps it around me. He pulls me against his chest, his arms tight around my middle. I can’t help but snuggle against him, letting his warmth add to my comfort. It then dawns on me that Russell is still waiting for him downstairs by the car; he needs to go to the studio. “Dash, Russell… the studio?” My voice is hoarse and barely a whisper; I hardly recognize it.
Dash’s grip on me tightens, his lips ghosting against the top of my head. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right where I need and want to be.”
“But…”
“Shhhhh, sleep, Sunshine, sleep.” With his last command, Dash begins to hum that tune again, and before I know it, I succumb to the darkness, feeling safer than I have in a really long time.
MY EYES BARELY crack open, my head throbbing relentlessly. I reach up to grip my pulsating skull when I come in contact with something warm and hard. I pry my eyes open, feeling how swollen and sore they are, and glance to what my hand has found. Dash. Dash is lying next to me. His breathing is even, his eyes closed, and a small smile plays on his lips. He looks so peaceful sleeping next to me. Sleeping next to me? Suddenly, as if a gale force wind blew through the fog clouding my mind, I remember what happened last night. I remember my complete meltdown. I remember thinking Dash had abandoned me, like he probably should, but finding comfort in his strong arms. I remember him carrying me to bed and taking off my shoes. I remember falling asleep. Everything comes rushing back, playing like a vivid movie in my mind. My heart leaps in my chest, pounding against my ribs. Why is he still here? I don’t understand. Sensing my need for answers, Dash stirs next to me, stretching his toned, muscular arms above his head. His shirt lifts with him, exposing his toned stomach. My eyes drink him in. His eyes flutter open and they look at me with crystal clear blue clarity. “Morning, Sunshine.” A lazy smile pulls at his lips.
“Morning,” I mumble, my hand covering my mouth.
Dash shakes his head in amusement, the corner of his pulling up into a bigger smile. He props himself up on his elbow, his hand resting behind his neck, his entire body facing me. His eyes stare straight into mine, searching for something, and when he finds it, I hope it doesn’t scare him off. How can it not? I’ve had two panic attacks in front of him and a total freak-out. He must think I’m completely insane.
“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His smile takes on that crookedness I’ve come to adore, and that makes me melt every time. Dash’s hand reaches out and tucks a wayward hair behind my ear. The contact sets my skin on fire. I feel nervousness bubble inside of me, and my skin feels flushed. I’m sure it’s colored pink or darker at the moment.
“If you keep biting your lip like that, Sunshine, there won’t be nothing left for me to kiss and nibble on.” His voice is thick and low.
Before I can release my bottom lip, Dash’s hand reaches toward me, his finger tugging on my bottom lip ever so slightly until my teeth release it. I hadn’t realized I started biting on it—bad habit. “That’s better.” He inches closer, his hand cupping my cheek and pulling me to him. His lips ghost against mine in that way that drives me crazy—in that way that is all Dash. Feather light at first and then more pressure until his lips are consuming mine. I melt into his touch, relishing the feel of his lips on mine, but needing more. My body hums with want and need. His lips trail a tantalizing path along my lips to my cheek and my jaw. My skin breaks out in goose bumps along the path.
“Dash…” My voice is full of want and need. I want this man. I need this man.
His lips find my ear lobe, wrapping around it and sucking it into his mouth. My body quivers. With a small pop he releases it, his breath in my ear and hot on my neck. My body is consumed with a deep burning fire from the tip of my toes, intensifying between my legs. His hand grazes my skin under my shirt.
“The things I want to do to you, Sunshine.” His hand continues its assault on my skin, leaving a wake of heat as it does. His fingers find my heavy breast and hardened nipple, brushing against them with a featherlike touch. I push my chest deeper against his fingers.
“Dash, please.” I have never wanted a man so much in my life. I have never needed a man more than I need Dash. He has done something to me. He has awakened something deep within me that I didn’t know existed until now. His lips continue a trail down my neck, sucking and licking. His fingers tweak my nipple until it’s hard and throbbing and then assault the other one. My sex pulsates between my legs, my panties dampening. What is he doing to me?
“Dash…” His name is practically a moan on my lips.
His mouth finds mine again. His tongue nudges the seam and my lips part automatically, my tongue seeking out his. Our tongues taste and wrap around each other. It’s like no kiss I’ve experienced before. It feels as though Dash wants to possess me, to own me. Even though there’s that little apprehensive voice deep inside me pleading with me to not let him do so, the rest of me shuts it down and succumbs to him. I relinquish control. Dash owns me completely at the moment. I am his. I only want to be his. And for the first time, it doesn’t terrify me to my soul. It’s actually liberating, and I embrace it with all that I am and have. For the first time, I don’t feel so broken.
“MS. BENNETT?” A woman in a pencil skirt and blouse holding a clipboard calls my name in the waiting room. There is only one other woman sitting a few chairs over, totally engrossed in the latest issue of Lucky magazine. I tuck my copy of Bon Appetit into my bag before standing and make my way over to the waiting woman. When I approach her, she smiles, moving out of the way so I can follow down the short hall. “I’m Angela, Dr. Hoffman’s assistant,” she informs me as we walk pass a bathroom before coming to a closed door. She opens the door motioning for me to enter. “Dr. Hoffman will be right with you.” The door closes behind me, allowing me to take in the room—office actually.
The walls are a pale lilac, Ansel Adam photos framed along a wall above a dark gray sofa. The cushions are plush and inviting. I get the feeling if I were to sit down, I would sink into utter comfort. It’s flanked by two chairs in a gray and lilac swirly pattern. The seating area is comfy and inviting. I can imagine Dr. Hoffman and a patient sitting there just talking. There’s a large window overlooking a small lake with a fountain in the middle. In front of the window is a massive desk decorated with the usual desk items—stapler, pen/pencil holder, etcetera—except all are the exact color as the walls. I walk over to the book case along the last wall. It goes from ceiling to floor and expands the whole length of the wall. Various medical books line the shelves along with personal items and photos. I stare at one of a blond, thin woman with brilliant green eyes. Her arm is wrapped around a tall man with dark hair and eyes. His arm is draped over her shoulder, hugging her to his side. They look happy. They look in love. An ache in my chest starts to build. I want what’s in that picture, but as much as I want it,
I don’t believe it will ever be a reality.
The click of the doorknob turns me around, and the blond woman from the photo walks through the entryway. “Ms. Bennett, I’m Dr. Hoffman. Sorry to keep you waiting.” She walks toward me, reaching out her hand. I step toward her, giving her hand a firm shake. I hate wishy-washy handshakes. She smiles and nods, motioning for me to take a seat at one of the chairs in front of the desk. Dr. Hoffman walks behind her desk, taking a seat in the black chair with a lilac chenille blanket draped on top. I get the overwhelming feeling Dr. Hoffman loves the color lilac. I think it suits her and gives her office a calming effect.
She clicks a few times on the keyboard of her laptop before turning her full attention on me. “So, Ms. Bennett…”
“Jules, please call me Jules.”
She gives me a warm smile. “Okay, Jules. What brings you to my office today?”
There’s the million dollar question that has so many different answers. I mull each one around in my head but decide to give them all instead. “Well… I’ve been having severe panic attacks for a while, and lately they’ve become more frequent, for one…” That was the easiest of the answers.
She nods for me to continue. I take a deep breath. My hands are clammy, and my heartbeat picks up. “I… I… was involved with this guy… I’ve never said what Blake did me to me out loud. Val guessed … and… and… he…” I can’t get the words out, they won’t come. My eyes burn with tears, my throat tight with emotion. My heart frantically beats against my ribs, and then suddenly it ceases as if someone is squeezing it in a vice. My chest aches as my lungs squeeze the last bit of air left in them. Tracy doesn’t know all the details, but she knows and understands how cruel he was. Val has been there to help fill her in. I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing the tears forward. I let them fall whether I want them to or not and try to steady my breathing. I don’t want to break down anymore. I don’t want this to rule me as it always has. I need to get this out. I need to tell her. I need to be free. I release a rush of unsteady breath and roughly swipe my hand against my cheeks, hating that the tears are even there. When I finally open my eyes, I’m expecting to see pity on Dr. Hoffman’s face, but I don’t. Her face is emotionless, her eyes intent on me, but they give nothing, no clue to what she is thinking. She nods toward the table in front of me. “There’re tissues if you need them.” I nod my thanks and grab a couple of tissues from the box. I blot my eyes and cheeks in a rush and then the tissues become a twisted knot in my hands as my fingers manipulate them.
“Jules, I want you to take a deep breath in, hold it for five seconds, and then release it. I want you to do this three times, okay?” Her voice is even and calming.
I do as instructed, taking a deep breath, holding it and then releasing. The repetition starts to calm me. My lungs expand, welcoming the air; my chest muscles begin to relax as does the rest of me. I take a last deep breath. “Better?” I nod.
“Jules, I know this is going to be very difficult, but you have to understand that I don’t expect you to be able to walk right in here and blurt everything out with no issues. What you’re feeling is normal, and I want you to remember that. Actually, if you weren’t feeling what and how you are, I would be even more concerned. So, take a moment and collect your thoughts. If it helps to close your eyes to speak, then do so. I have found with patients in the past that it does. I don’t want you to worry that what you’re saying is wrong. Just say what you feel, and then we’ll go from there, okay?” Dr. Hoffman’s voice holds no judgment, nor does her expression. Her eyes are kind as is her small smile. Her presence is starting to put me at ease, and I can’t even express what that means to me.
Doing what she says, I close my eyes and just feel. I don’t think. My scattered thoughts slowly twist and turn, taking on shape and form. My breathing and heart rate don’t fluctuate. The calm stays with me, and then the words easily come. “I thought I had met the man of my dreams, but he turned out to be a… a nightmare instead. He… he was so charming… so perfect… I should have known… it started out small with little things. He would make a degrading comment but then later on apologize. Over time, it became more threatening. Blake would say he was going to hurt me, that I drove him to think that way, but… but he never acted on it until one day he did. It… it just changed and grew from there… I don’t know why or how… but he just changed… Blake became someone I didn’t recognize anymore…” I let my words and thoughts trail off. I don’t know what else to say or really how to say it. Shame starts to invade, making me feel dirty. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but it’s there nonetheless.
I stare past Dr. Hoffman, focusing on the fountain’s water twisting and turning outside the window. I can’t look at her. I’m afraid of what I will see even though she’s given me no indication that what I would see would be anything but understanding.
“Blake hurt you when you trusted him. He took what you felt for him and used it against you. You are the victim here, Jules, and everything that happened is not any fault of yours. None. I know that is going to be hard for you to wrap your mind around, but it’s the truth What happened to you is not your fault. And hopefully with my help and some work on your part, you will be able to believe and embrace that.”
My gaze instantly flashes to hers. Dr. Hoffman’s words have stunned me. To hear someone other than my friends—a complete stranger really—validate my feelings and what happened to me goes beyond anything I can comprehend or express. I want to believe her with everything I have, but it’s hard to. I’ve always thought if I hadn’t said something, done something, or worn something, Blake would have treated me differently. If I could have controlled my mouth or actions better, maybe, just maybe, he would have looked at me with love instead of disgust and hate.
Her smile widens. “I can see you don’t believe me, but in time, Jules, you will. I want you to understand that Blake is a classic abuser. You mentioned he was charming, and that’s what an abuser does in the first stage—they seduce and charm their victims. They give their victims a false sense of security and tell them they are desired more than anything else. They want their victims comfortable and vulnerable. I’m guessing Blake was a victim of abuse himself?”
“How did you…” I remember as if it were just yesterday when Blake told me about the abuse he endured. He told me that his stepdad started to physically abuse him when he was about six, and his mom did nothing about it. It broke my heart to hear and watch the man I cared and loved so much break down as he was retelling about a dark time in his life.
Dr. Hoffman’s voice brings me back to the present. “In my experience and in research, it has been found that abusers were abused themselves. Most of the time, people think that if someone was abused themselves that they wouldn’t want to do the same to someone else, that they would want to break the cycle. Sometimes they do and are successful. Sometimes they try and ultimately they can’t and don’t. Abuse is a vicious cycle.”
She pauses and glances at something on her desk. “Our time is just about up, but I hope you will come back and see me again. I really think I can help you, Jules. I hope you give me that chance.” Dr. Hoffman stands from her chair, reaching her hand out to me.
I place my hand in hers. She shakes my hand not as firmly as she did the first time. There’s gentleness to it. She makes the words easily fall from my mouth, “I’ll be back.” She has really made me feel comfortable, which is so important to me. I don’t think I could sit down with someone and rehash my time with Blake when I don’t feel completely comfortable with that person.
“Good. I want you to make an appointment for next week when it works for you. I would like you to go home and start writing down all your thoughts and feelings about Blake—anything and everything you want to. There is no wrong way or right way, okay?”
“You mean like a journal?”
“Of sorts, yes. I have found with other patients and even with myself, it helps to write down what you’re feeling and what you’re thin
king. It has a way of cleansing the mind and body. Also I want you to start keeping track of your panic attacks. What happened right before the onset, how long did it last, and what made it subside. Then after I look at that information, we can determine what protocol to take to lessen them and eventually hopefully you won’t have them anymore. So I’ll see you next week.” Her voice and words hold hope for me. Maybe, just maybe, I can become unbroken.
DASH AND I haven’t seen each other as much over these past few weeks as I would like; he’s been so busy splitting his time between rehearsing for the European tour and the studio. I get exhausted just thinking about running back and forth like that. I do thrive on staying and keeping busy, but Dash and the guys take it to a whole new level. The time we do have together has been spent getting to know each other even more. Getting to know Dash’s world has had its surprises, just as getting to know the man himself. He hasn’t stopped surprising me. Like the other night—or morning depending on how you look at it.
I’m wrapped in the cozy comfort of my comforter in between that state of sleep but sorta awake, when the pounding in my dream becomes a pounding in my reality. My groggy eyes open as my brain attempts to process and separate dream from the real. I climb out of bed instantly, missing its warmth; my body shivers its thoughts. I trudge down the hall to the unwelcomed pounding. As I pass the TV I take in the time on the cable box—four in the morning? My heart goes into hyper drive as my mind begins to spiral out of control with all the possible scenarios as to why someone would be pounding on my door at such an ungodly hour. My alarm isn’t set to go off for another two and half hours—I so need my sleep.
