by M. N. Forgy
“I understand that, believe me,” I mutter.
“My father was an ambitious man, wanted what was best for the family. I was to walk in his footsteps joining only the best of the medical practices in the state. But that all took flight when my father met Travis Norwell.” Her words grit with anger as she says her ex-husband’s name. “Travis was my father’s golden ticket to the board of the most prestigious hospital in the state. Gone with what was best for his daughter and family. The only thing that mattered was what was better for him. He told me I would marry Travis, and do my family the honor of taking on the Norwell name. When I met Travis, he was strikingly good looking, smart, and very kind. I could do a lot worse, so I didn’t resist. Things became serious between us over the summer. I was very inexperienced, where he wasn’t. We grew hot and heavy for one another quickly. After some short months of puppy love, we decided to get married,” she replies, her tone a little less strained. Travis sounds like a fucking Ken doll. Where did it all go wrong?
“Where did the marks on your back come from?” I question, jumping forward. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the marks aren’t from the husband.
“The marks on my…” she trails off, her voice cracking. She clears her throat as if she is trying to get a hold of herself.
“The marks on my back are from Travis,” she starts, her tone emotionless; it’s as if she is reading a book aloud. “After several months, my new husband told me he was bored with our sex life. That he needed more excitement in the bedroom. I agreed. What could it hurt, ya know?” she remarks. I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Things were spectacular as we went to spanking, and sex toys. I loved it. He wanted more in-depth BDSM, and I agreed,” she explains, her tone excited, but taking an edge of grief. My dick jumps at the thought of spanking Jessica, making me rub my crotch to ease the tension.
“One night he brought home whips and handcuffs. I was down for it, excited really. When we—” she stops, the sound of her breathing through the phone making my body shutter and my dick go limp. I literally hear the pain in just her breathing. I want to tell her to stop, not to bring on the hurtful memories, but I’m selfish. I have to know. I need to know if I have any chance at helping Jessica move forward from her past.
“He got really rough,” she continues softly. “Left whelps all over my body and face from the cheap whip and my wrist broke in the handcuffs, from being placed too tightly. I kept screaming for him to ease up, that he was hurting me, but it was as if he fed off my cries of pain,” she continues, her tone laced with misery. My jaw ticks and I close my eyes. Bashing that fucker’s head in with my boot and shooting him was too easy of an out for him.
“He told me the next day he was sorry, that he didn’t know what had come over him, that he would be more gentle next time,” she snorts. “The next time he wasn’t any better. When he was done with me, I was bleeding from the nose and down—” she stops, and I swallow heavily. I’m not sure I can handle much more of this knowing what he did to her, and I can’t bring him back from the dead to kill him all over again.
“After a few more weeks, I healed, and he wanted to go back into the whips and cuffs. I refused. I told him he became a monster when I gave him that kind of control.” She inhales a big breath. “He dragged me into our basement, slapped me around, and made me submit to him. Months of this occurred. He had upgraded to all kinds of sexual devices to use on me by then. I was not allowed to work anymore. I couldn’t with all the marks on me. I was to ask permission for pretty much everything, and call him Master. If I didn’t comply, I suffered the consequences.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, pinching the bridge of my nose. I never knew it was that bad. I knew her husband was a monster, but even monsters have more remorse than her ex-husband.
“I found out I was pregnant and I tried to run one day. What any normal person would do. I couldn’t have my child around that kind of abuse, but Travis had men waiting for me at the airport. They grabbed me and threw me in the back of a car. When they brought me back to the house, Travis pulled me out of the car by my hair, dragged me to the front porch, and handcuffed me to a large pillar. Ripping my dress off my back, he plucked a whip from the willow tree out front and thrashed it against my back so hard, it made everything I had endured before seem like a walk in the park. He made me scream that I would obey him, never leave him again, that he was my master. He would make me yell that I loved him, and in return, tell me I was unlovable, that I was incapable of having another’s love. If I refused or objected, he would lash the whip at me again,” she sobs into the phone. “That’s where the scars on my back came from,” she whispers solemnly.
“Damn, Jessica,” I mumble into the phone, images of her cuffed to a porch and being whipped flashing in my mind’s eye.
“And that Bobby, is why I am, the way I am. I see his face all the time, feel the burn of the scars on my back when I am doing something he would not have allowed,” she continues, her tone a fraction stronger than before.
“He can’t hurt you anymore, babe,” I reassure, trying to comfort her.
I have more questions, but after all that, I can’t stomach anymore. My gut twists with empathy for Jessica. She went through a life of hell with that son of a bitch, and even dead, he still haunts her.
“I didn’t tell you all this for pity. I told you so you would understand,” she explains, doing so with confidence.
“I want to help you, Jessica.” I run my hand over my face, stressed.
“How?” Her voice trembles, giving away she does want me, needs me, even if she doesn’t realize it.
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out,” I respond truthfully. I will figure it out, and I will help her. I took on the position when she came into the club years ago, accepting to kill her husband so she and her daughter didn’t have to live in fear, but the job isn’t finished.
***
I have no idea how to help Jessica. Not a fucking clue. But I banged this therapist a few times some months back and she would go on and on about the people she was treating before we fucked. I even gagged her at one time to shut her up. Maybe she can give me some insight into what I am dealing with and how to go about it.
I dial Hilary’s number, hoping it’s not too late for her to answer.
“Bobby, ready for another therapeutic session, baby?” she coos, her voice smooth and seductive. I smirk; this girl could use some therapy herself.
“I need some advice on how to go about something,” I reply, ignoring her advances.
“Like what, hun?” she asks sweetly, her sultry tone gone.
“There’s this girl. She has been through an abusive relationship; just an overall shitty past. She was married to a man who sounds like a sadistic fucker. He made her a sex slave basically, abusing her if she disobeyed. She’s haunted by it and can’t escape the memories of what she had been through,” I explain.
“Sounds like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” she answers quickly. I lower my head, running my hands through my hair. Shit, I am out of my league here.
“Okay, how do I help her?” I question. I have heard of the term but know nothing about it.
“Therapy is an option. Medication can help,” she rambles as if she is in therapist mode. I know Jessica and she either has already tried those, or is too stubborn to ask for help.
“What else ya got?”
“Hmm. You could try exposure therapy. I have had a bit of luck with that one. Plus, you would love the benefits of it,” she giggles, her tone back to slutty.
“What the fuck is it?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“You will expose her to what she is fearing. Replace her bad memories with good memories. For example, if you’re scared of the dark, you send the patient into the dark. In a safe setting of course. You wouldn’t throw them in the middle of an alley at night and tell them good luck. You would start in a bedroom with you guiding them, comforting them along the way,” she explains further. “So in your circumstance, you will introduce
her to a sexual setting outside of her comfort, teaching her how to make it comfortable and pleasurable again. But I’m warning you, I have seen patients become very agitated, and physically violent with this type of therapy,” she warns.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“If she rejects the treatment, it could do more harm than good, and if this woman means anything to you, you could lose her permanently,” she mutters, her tone stern and professional.
“Thanks for the information, Hilary,” I reply.
“Good luck, babe. If you need me give me a shout,” she adds before hanging up.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself. I’m scared shitless. I’m not going to lie. There is a big possibility that I will do more damage than good, and become the Devil Jessica thinks I am.
Jessica
I wake up feeling a little lighter than usual this morning. Maybe it’s because I told Bobby some of my past; things I have tried to forget about but don’t seem to be vanishing. Like they say, the truth will set you free. I smirk, and roll out of bed. Shit, today I meet my mother for lunch. Despite the things that have happened with my father and Travis in my past, I still speak to my mother. When I would show up at my parents’ house years ago wearing long sleeves in the summer, or sunglasses in the dimly lit house, my father always acted as if it was normal behavior and turned a blind eye. My mother always looked at me warily, but never said anything.
I had thought she was just as cruel and greedy as my father, until the night I returned home from coming to the Devil’s Dust for help. My mother was at my house when I returned in the wee hours of the morning, concerned about where I had gone. I didn’t tell her of course. After ignoring her and tucking Addie into bed, she insisted she stay the night to make sure Addie and I were okay. The police showed up on my doorstep hours later, not giving me the chance to report my husband not returning home from work.
They asked me a million questions, but the person who saved my ass was my mother. She gave me an alibi. Said I was with her scrapbooking. She even got the housekeeper to confirm it. How? I don’t know. I never told her what happened with the club and Travis, but I think she knows I had something to do with Travis’s disappearance. I see her twice a month here in California for lunch, catching up on a few things and giving her time to see Addie.
I walk into the living room and find Addie watching cartoons on TV. Her hair is a blonde mess and she is still wearing pajamas, a bowl containing some leftover cereal and milk sitting on the coffee table.
“Hey, I am going to see Grandma Wren today. You want to come, hun?” I ask, getting my coffee fix. I can’t get enough of coffee, without it, there is no way I would have survived Addie’s baby years, or the difficult hours of my job.
“No thank you,” she replies, not taking her eyes from the screen.
“How come?” I question, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.
“Just don’t feel like it today,” she responds. I shrug. I am not going to force her to see my mom. I know she can be a little too excited when she sees Addie, coming off crazy with her high screams and arms held out wide.
I get dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans, throw on my flats, and head across the hall to Bree’s apartment.
I knock on it sipping my warm coffee. Hopefully, she won’t be taking any exams today and can keep an eye on Addie, otherwise Addie will have to come with me.
“Hey, what’s up?” Bree asks, opening the door. Her dark hair is pulled into messy pigtails, and she is still wearing her pajamas.
“Have you been to bed yet?” I laugh, looking at her bloodshot eyes.
“Yeah, I got a couple hours of sleep. I have a paper due and waited ‘til the last minute,” she yawns, pushing her glasses up.
“Can you watch Addie for me today? I am going to go see my mom and Addie isn’t up for it.”
“Yeah, sure, babe, let me grab my books,” she replies, twirling her left pigtail.
“Awesome, make yourself at home. I have plenty of groceries if you get hungry,” I add, walking back into my apartment to grab my purse and phone. I lean over the overstuffed couch and give Addie’s head a big kiss, her smell of bubble gum shampoo wafting around me. I’ll never get tired of that smell. It’s a smell of comfort and a reminder of how blessed I am to have her. If Travis and I did anything right in our relationship, it was creating her.
“Be good, baby. Call me if you need me,” I mumble into her hair.
She nods, while keeping her eyes glued to the TV.
***
I drive to the country club that is over two hours away. My mother has my back with Travis’s disappearance, but I can’t take any chances. I wish I could see her more, but to put Addie and me so close to Travis’s side of the family in Nevada is too risky. Nobody asked questions when I said I was moving after Travis’s disappearance luckily, making it easy to get away from any suggestion that I had something to do with him being missing. I simply said I couldn’t be in our house anymore; that it brought too many memories. Everyone took it to be endearing, but in reality, I meant it in a traumatic way.
I pull up to the white marbled building, a huge bright green golf course surrounding the estate, with a red barn filled with top-bred horses sitting off in the distance. It’s a country club for the wealthy; it’s the only place my mother ever wants to meet.
I drive onto the circular drive, parking under the canopy where a valet stands professionally with his arms crossed behind his back. Wearing a black hat and a maroon vest, his cheeks are shaved clean and his brown eyes greet me brightly.
His eyes form a scowl as he eyes my Jeep. My car is not something he is used to seeing at such an establishment I’m sure.
I climb out and toss him the keys, causing him to eye me like I’ve lost my mind. I wink and walk inside, heading to the restaurant in the club. The carpet is soft under the soles of my flats, and the smell of expensive cigars and perfume invite me as I walk in.
Looking over the sea of white-clothed tables, I spot my mother right away. Her blonde hair is flawless, skirting down her shoulders, a poufy hat on her head, and she is wearing some hideous peach-colored dress. She hands a fork to a waiter with a disgusted look on her face, before her eyes catch mine. She immediately stands, her eyes sparking with excitement. I smirk and head over to her.
“Jessica, my dear,” my mother greets, taking me into a big hug. Her perfume is strong; I can’t even make out what it smells like aside from alcohol. It makes my head swim from the fumes.
“Where is Addie?” my mother asks, looking behind me as if Addie will magically appear.
“She wasn’t feeling up to it today,” I reply, sitting on the stylish chair across from her.
“I see,” she replies, disappointed as she takes her seat. “I wish she would have come. I hardly get to see her as it is,” she continues, her tone calculating and stern.
I give a tight-lipped smile and pick the menu up. My mother may seem like an over-the-top priss but she really isn’t. I have seen her when she’s not in the public’s eyes, or around my father. She is awesome and actually kind of cool. But she would gasp in horror if she heard me refer to her as cool.
“Are you going to give me any more grand babies, Jessica?” she asks casually, gazing over her menu. “Have you met anyone yet?” she continues to question after I chose to ignore her. I sigh heavily; we have this conversation every time we see each other.
“I’m going to give you the same answer as last time; no,” I answer just as casually, looking over my menu.
My mother collapses her arms on her menu and groans. Her face doesn’t scowl or frown from all the Botox, but I can tell she is displeased.
“You are free, Jessica. You can be with anyone now. Why are you doing this to yourself?” she nags, shaking her head.
My mother doesn’t know about my fear, or that I have night terrors of Travis. She had no idea that I was terrified of falling in love with someone. I keep everyone at bay to keep that from happening in fact. I loved Travis.
I fell for him hard after he took my virginity when we were younger. I was one of those girls, yes. After he literally beat me into not loving him, preaching in my ear that I was unlovable, the last thing I want to do is get cozy with any man.
My mother knows nothing of that. She refers to me being free and being able to be with anyone I want, and has done so since I was a teenager, or more specifically, from the first time I rebelled against my father. We were at one of our usual stuck-up family gatherings. My mother was showing her new furniture off while my father was handing out expensive cigars, and I was outside on the patio away from it all. I didn’t even know everyone. My family gatherings consisted of a handful of actual family members and high-profile couples my parents knew. If my father or mother saw me, they would call me over and brag about how well I was doing in my educational courses. How I had colleges already interested. It was humiliating. I loved medicine, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes, I just wanted to run with the wind to see where it took me.
I was sitting outside in some over-the-top black dress my mother insisted I wear in the heat of the summer, bored out of my mind when I met Vincent. I had seen him from parties my parents had before. He would stare at me from afar, an alluring smirk across his face as his eyes devoured me. He made me feel taboo. The unknowing in the ripe ages of my teen years.
The day I actually talked to Vincent, he was wearing black dress pants, and a button up shirt that was partially unbuttoned at the neck, and he had the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He wasn’t that attractive really, but was different from most of the people I came across.
“Why are you sulking? Did princess not get her way?” Vincent ridiculed as I sat on the fluffy patio chair.
“Excuse me?” I questioned, holding my arm up to shield my eyes from the blazing sun. He smirked and looked out over the pool, running his hands through his short sandy-colored hair. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. He slid his gaze from the pool and looked at me, his vibrant eyes looking me up and down as he blew smoke out of his nose into the summer heat.
