Anissa's Redemption

by Zack Love

  “This makes me so happy to hear,” I replied. I could feel the intensity of my own smile and was dying to give Maria some kind of loving and triumphant embrace. “I told you that it would be fine. You just have to have faith,” I affirmed.

  “Of course, there are many challenges to our relocation, but at least here in Kessab we again have freedom, dignity, and security. It’s easy to forget how important those things are, but – like good health – the minute they’re gone, there’s nothing you want more.”

  “It’s so true. I always try to remind myself how lucky I am, but it really is easy to take good things for granted when you don’t have to fight for them every day.”

  The next day (last Monday), I still hadn’t talked to either Michael or Julien and was a little nervous about going to the MCA meeting scheduled for 7 p.m., knowing that there would be some tension with Michael, who would probably act cold and distant. But, like the other times I was uneasy about attending because of some spat with him, I forced myself to go on principle, reminding myself that the MCA was my cause just as much as his, and its goals and purpose were far more important than our personal quarrels.

  Unfortunately, my attempt to take the higher ground and focus on the cause, rather than the man leading it, completely failed when I saw his ex-girlfriend sitting right next to him at the meeting. I could barely concentrate at the MCA gathering, as I kept thinking angrily about how Karen hadn’t attended any MCA meetings while Michael was in Syria. When the meeting adjourned and everyone was leaving, I saw them interacting like a couple – holding hands and happily whispering to each other – and I felt my stomach turn a little.

  As I walked back to my dorm, feeling hurt and stupid all at once, I realized that I was really in a no-win situation: had I remained perfectly faithful to Michael, the big donation from Julien might never have arrived and I might still be worried about Michael’s continued feelings for Karen; on the other hand, if I became romantic with Julien for the sake of the cause (or my genuine interest in him), I could hardly expect Michael to stay faithful to me. When I called Maya to tell her about the situation, she consoled me by saying that Michael was probably acting out to hurt me because – contrary to what might be expected from his tough exterior – I had bruised his heart, and that means that he still has deep feelings for me. According to Maya, this was the fastest and most effective way for Michael to get back at me for choosing Julien over him, while trying to recover from the emotional pain and move on.

  Ironically, it all seemed a bit like a self-fulfilling prophecy because until I saw Michael and Karen together, I had been genuinely torn about whether to keep seeing Julien – especially because the guilt of dating him when Michael was back in the country would have felt that much more palpable. But after witnessing how quickly Michael moved back to Karen, I had a clear conscience about continuing with Julien. In fact, he’s been so wonderful that I would have felt horrible had I decided to cut him off abruptly for the sake of returning to Michael. But now I don’t have to worry about hurting Julien, or making myself even more emotionally vulnerable by breaking things off with him only to discover that Michael is still attached to his ex.

  Then yesterday, during my first Psychology and Markets class since having sex with Julien, I couldn’t concentrate much on the lecture. For the first hour, I kept sneaking stares at our TA to see if there was anything about Elise’s demeanor or expression to suggest that she was still sleeping with Julien. For the last part of class, I was too busy trying to decide whether to approach him after class. After playing through various scenarios in my head, I concluded that it would be better to give our professor the friendly look/smile that I normally did, but without going up to him after his lecture, to avoid establishing some kind of pattern that either of us might get used to or expect, or that other students might notice. So, afterwards, I shuffled out of the room with the other students, as if nothing special had ever happened between our professor and me.

  About three minutes after I had left class and was heading towards my dorm room, I got a text message from Julien: “Are you going to follow me back to my driver only on UNFORGETTABLY BAD days? If that’s not the case, and good-day stalking suits you as well, I haven’t yet reached the car.”

  I felt a big and slightly naughty grin spread across my face as I sent him my reply: “I like to intervene where I have the greatest chance of significantly impacting your day.”

  His response came so fast it felt almost as if we were bantering in person: “So, I guess on good days, I should keep my distance. The greatest impact on a good day would be to make it horrible.”

  I chuckled out loud and sent him this: “How little faith you have in my powers! What if I can transform just another good day into an UNFORGETTABLY GOOD day?”

  His reply text arrived a minute later and immediately charmed me into changing my route: “It sounds like your good-day stalking skills are worth waiting for. I’m on 114th & Amsterdam. Steps away from my driver.”

  The car ride with him was a lot happier than the previous one to the Brooklyn Bridge. This time we were headed to Julien’s penthouse, where his private chef was making us a candle-light dinner of vegetarian delights as tasty as those served at the restaurants where Julien had taken me. Our table for two was set up in the corner of his living room on the sixty-fifth floor, overlooking the breathtaking view of Manhattan below.

  During dinner, we talked about trust. Julien recounted more about his recent week of suicidal despair, when he had chosen to live as a homeless man, for the life lessons and perspective that the experience might offer. He told me that he had met a homeless Iraq War veteran, Craig, who had really helped him to survive “off the grid,” as Julien put it. Craig was an African-American in his early thirties who had suffered from PTSD caused by some extremely painful moments from his military service in Iraq and Afghanistan.

  “See that?” I joked. “Even by becoming homeless you can’t escape the impact that the Middle East has on the world. Wherever you are, it will find you!”

  Julien laughed. “Very true. Fortunately, I have you to help me get used to managing the inescapable consequences of the Middle East!”

  “So, Craig is homeless because of his PTSD? It’s so shameful that the government doesn’t do more to help its veterans.”

  “Yes, it really is. But he’s not homeless anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Craig basically saved my life a few times... Being homeless is not for the faint of heart or the uninitiated, as I quickly learned. But Craig got me through it – especially when I was physically threatened a few times. So, when I decided that I had learned enough from the experience to end it, I offered him a job at JMAT before saying goodbye.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. It just seemed so crazy to offer a random homeless guy a job. “You what?!”

  Julien mischievously grinned in amusement, as if to acknowledge the craziness of the idea. “He’s now working as a security guard at the entrance to the JMAT lobby. I figured, the man has served this country and put his life at risk for years, providing security in places far more dangerous than JMAT, so why can’t he work as a security guard for my firm? Especially after he protected me without any pay at all and before he even knew who I was or that I could potentially offer him a job? He obviously still has the relevant skill set and he proved to me that he has a good, honest character. So why not?”

  “Maybe because he’s homeless and mentally unstable?”

  “Well, he used to be homeless, and that obviously worsened his mental state. But my hope is that, his emotional stability and overall health will improve substantially, now that he has a job and a proper place to sleep. And from what I can tell, he’s not a schizophrenic or a drug addict, or anything like that. But he hasn’t been able to find employment, and he does have occasional flashbacks and other symptoms of PTSD. So there’s a risk. But there’s no such thing as trust without some risk.”

  For a moment I was
just in awe of Julien’s kindness and generosity. He truly was taking a risk to help a random stranger in need. “You did a really beautiful thing, and I just pray that his past never affects his behavior on the job.”

  “Me too,” he agreed with a smile. Julien made direct eye contact with me. “Now why do you think I’ve shared all of this with you?”

  It almost felt as if he was testing my intuition or something. I relished the challenge but my first answer was only superficially correct. “Because you trust me?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I do trust you – to a degree that frankly surprises me. In fact, there’s no one – not even my therapist – who knows that I chose to live as a homeless man for a week, except, of course, Craig. But that’s not the reason I shared this story with you.”

  “Then it must be because you sense that I don’t trust you,” I replied, with a smile, now confident that I had the right answer.

  He grinned with pride. “I love your perceptiveness. It makes me worry less about the rest of your performance in my class.”

  “Why would you worry about it, after my midterm?” I could feel a confident smirk on my face.

  “Well, becoming romantically involved with you becomes a lot riskier if there’s any controversy surrounding your final grade in the class. But if you receive and legitimately deserve an A, then there’s no problem.”

  I looked confidently into his eyes and declared with a playful smile, “Well, as you just pointed out, there’s no trust without risk. But I’ll do my best to ensure that my problem sets and final exam leave you with no choice but to give me an A, so that there can be no issues for you around my grade.”

  He chuckled and replied, “Thanks for looking out for me too in this relationship.”

  I took another sip of my wine glass, in preparation for the potentially awkward question that I now had to ask. “So, why do you think I don’t trust you?”

  “Because of certain things you’ve told me.”

  “About what?” I asked, hoping that he was thinking of something where I actually was truthful with him but he had just misread me. My shoulders moved towards each other a little, as if that could help to hide the private facts that this conversation might expose.

  “About what happened to you and your family in Syria,” he replied, looking into my eyes for a moment, and then out at the view, to minimize the discomfort he must have sensed in me.

  I exhaled heavily, and there was a moment of silence as I gathered my thoughts. “There are some things about my time in Syria that only my therapist knows. And there are a few details that even she doesn’t know. It’s something I’m still working through.”

  He put his hand on mine. “It’s OK, Anissa. I’m not trying to pressure you into sharing things that you’re still dealing with privately.” His fingers began to caress my palm and wrist. “But I would like to earn more of your trust.”

  I felt nervous about potentially exposing myself more, but excited at the possibility of getting even closer to Julien. “And I would like to become more trusting of you.”

  He smiled playfully and looked straight into my eyes. “So can you trust me enough to let me help you trust me more?”

  “I’ll try,” I replied with a simper.

  After dessert, I discovered the enthralling – and sometimes scary – trust-building techniques that Julien wanted us to try. The easiest – and most sensual – one involved trusting him while I was seated and blindfolded, as he did various things that produced small pleasures or pains, and in an unpredictable sequence that drove me crazy, as I tried to guess what might come next. As I sat in the chair, without the benefit of sight, the very first thing he did was to feed me some delicious raspberries. Then, he asked me to outstretch my hand, and he put what felt like some flower petals in it. After that, a slight warmth spread below the back of my hand, but – within about ten seconds – became too hot for me to keep still. He had placed a candle far under my hand holding the petals, while gradually moving the flame closer until I moved my hand away from the intensifying heat. Then he fed me some delicious chocolates. And just as I was lost in the heavenly taste still in my mouth, he pushed the hem of my skirt up and I felt hot wax from the candle drop onto my upper thigh, making me sink my teeth into my lower lip. He asked me to stick my tongue out, and – as I was bracing for him to put some kind of sadistic clamp on it – he sprayed deliciously fluffy and sweet whipped cream onto it. I must admit, this game was surprisingly fun and even arousing at times.

  The next confidence-building exercise actually seemed much easier after the blindfolded one, and I had even read about it before. Julien had me simply stretch my arms out to the side and fall straight backwards, trusting him to catch me before I hit the ground. The first three times, he caught me well before my body hit a forty-five degree angle. But the last three times he progressively tested the limits of my trust a little bit more each time, such that the very last time, he caught me only as I was just about to hit the floor.

  After that, I did feel closer to him and the sex we had later that night definitely felt better – probably also because the second time wasn’t quite as shocking to me as the first time was. But I still couldn’t bring myself to open up and trust him as much as he had been hoping I would. When he looked searchingly into my eyes, as I lay there, with my bare breasts resting on his muscular, sweaty chest, I could sense that he knew my barriers had barely budged.

  Chapter 6: Anissa

  Thursday, April 17, 2014

  To My Dearest,

  Today I spoke in my Psychology and Markets class and was careful to address Julien as “Professor Morales”; I actually found it strangely enjoyable. Addressing him so formally reminded me that I had crossed into forbidden ground and – outside of class – was getting privileged access that no other student had. As part of our pretense, I just gave our professor my usual smile when no one was looking, and left the classroom as if nothing special were happening between us. A few minutes later, even though we had never planned to meet, I made my way to where his car usually picked him up. It was totally spontaneous stalking on my part, and I couldn’t be sure if he was even free to see me after class. As I approached him from about half a block behind, I think I even spotted him stopping for a moment and looking around to see if I might be in the area. When he noticed me a few moments later, he looked happily surprised – almost relieved.

  “It’s so nice when you read my mind like that. I don’t even have to send you a text message.” He opened the passenger door of his sedan for me.

  While entering his car, I playfully replied, “Your hands really are too big to be typing into that phone. Telepathy is so much more efficient, right?”

  During our second private dinner at his place, he returned us to the topic of trust by again mentioning the Iraq war veteran. “Craig is working out well so far,” he began. “And I’m hugely relieved, because in his case there really wasn’t a way to try baby steps first: either I trusted him enough to let him into the JMAT office as an employee, or I didn’t.”

  “Couldn’t you have just hired him as a part-time employee or freelance contractor, or some other arrangement like that, so that you could test him out?”

  “In theory I could, but it would have only made things riskier.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because whatever damage he could do to my business as a full-time employee, he could do as a part-time employee. Either way, he’s still an Iraq war veteran with PTSD working as a JMAT security guard.”

  “True. And if you brought him on board as a part-time employee, he might actually think that you don’t really trust him. Or he might not feel as invested in the organization.”

  “Exactly. And part-time work probably wouldn’t be enough to get him out of his homeless mentality, even if I still paid him enough to rent an apartment. He’s much more likely to get out of his alienated state of mind and improve his overall emotional wellbeing and social connectedness, if he feels fully accepted an
d integrated by society. So for all of those reasons, it made more sense just to trust him all the way.”

  “I see what you mean,” I said.

  “But in your case, we can try to work up to it a bit more gradually. I have one more game for us to play.”

  “Is that right?” I asked, amused yet wary.

  “Yes. It’s actually also the scariest of all the games. So you really will have to take a leap of faith on this one. But if we can clear it together, it may just lead to a breakthrough.”

  “Really?” I asked, leery of his unwarranted confidence in this next “game.” But I was still curious about it. “And where did you learn about this particularly scary game?”

  “I didn’t – I just conceived of it myself yesterday, while thinking about the other stuff we tried on Tuesday.”

  “I see,” I responded, with a raised eyebrow. “Well, it’s nice to know that I can at least serve as your guinea pig for psychological experiments in trust building!” We shared a chuckle.

  An hour later, I saw just how scary his game was. He led me out onto his terrace, over sixty stories high, and walked me right over to the balcony barrier, which rose about four feet off the ground, and was all that prevented someone from falling towards instant death below.

  He had his right arm wrapped around my waist, releasing butterflies in my stomach. I loved the feel of his hands on me. “Do you realize that, on Tuesday,” he murmured into my ear, his hot breath almost paralyzing, “you entrusted me with your life?”