The Fear That Divides Us

by M. N. Forgy

  “So why are you so sad?” he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

  “I’m not sad. I’m just bored,” I replied, wrapping my arms around myself. I had never had anyone talk to me in such a manner before.

  “Bored?” he scoffed, sliding his tongue over his bottom lip that looked like it was healing from being split open. “What do you do for fun?” he questioned, humor lacing his words, implying I wouldn’t know what fun was.

  “I don’t know, stuff,” I responded, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

  “Stuff?” he snorted. “Like being nose deep into some medical book?” he asked condescendingly, tilting his head to the side as he placed the cigarette between his teeth. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was bad, so very bad, but beautifully bad.

  “Everyone around here has heard how Jessica Wren is destined for great things. Hell, my father won’t shut up about how great Dr. Wren’s daughter is,” he huffed, pacing around me. I shook my head and gritted my teeth. I hated how my father showboated; I was nothing special. The only reason I did so well in my academics was because he drilled my head into medical book after medical book. I was homeschooled by the best.

  I stood up and grabbed his cigarette from his mouth, placing the butt of it between my glossed lips.

  “I have a lot of fun; I’ll have you know,” I responded, taking a drag. Its metal taste burned my throat, urging me to cough, but I held it back. He smirked, his grayish eyes looking at me with interest.

  “So, then what are you waiting for?” he asked, his smile daring and scandalous as he took the cigarette from between my fingers.

  “What?” I questioned, my eyes widening in panic.

  “Let’s go. Show me what you do for fun,” he continued smoothly, grabbing my hand. My heart pounded faster than it ever had as he ran toward a bright red barn near the property line, my hand in his sweaty palm.

  My father found us behind the barn making out a couple hours later. Vincent was my first kiss. I felt things I never had before. He made me laugh, made me feel like an actual woman in only a couple of hours. I kicked my heels off and climbed a tree that day, caught my first frog by hand at the pond behind the barn. He also managed to get to second base. I felt free from accusing eyes, not worried if it was lady like or well mannered.

  I remember my father’s trusty sidekicks dragging Vincent under his arms into a shed on the property that was always locked after they had found us. I never saw Vincent again. I yelled that I was running away and that I hated my father; that I was a prisoner in his household. My father told me Vincent was the kind of scum who would use me. That Vincent left without hesitation when my father asked him to stay away. That if Vincent truly wanted to be with me, he would show back up. I waited at our security gate for three days, but he never showed up again.

  “Jessica!” My head jolts upward from looking at the white tablecloth, lost in my memories of early childhood lust.

  “Yeah?” I question, my voice cracking my suddenly dry mouth.

  “I don’t know a lot of what happened between you and Travis,” she mutters. She holds her hands up and pins me with her eyes, “and I don’t want to know, but I would think you are lucky getting the second chance at life after escaping such a dreadful marriage. Don’t waste it.”

  I give a tightlipped smile and look back at my menu while thoughts of Vincent still swim in my head.

  “What ever happened to Vincent?” I blurt out.

  My mother’s cheeks turn red as she licks her lips slowly.

  I stare at her intently, waiting.

  “Your father told him to never come near you again,” she responded quickly, looking at her menu.

  “Did he? Did Vincent ever come back?” I ask. My mother sighs and sets her menu back down.

  “Yes, but he was no good for you, just like your father said. You were so young, capable of so much. Vincent was a wild child. He would have taken everything you worked so hard for and ran with it before you even had the chance to discover what you truly wanted in life. I don’t know what his kind was doing at our party,” she continues, shaking her head. I slam my menu down angry. This is not my mother talking; this is the woman my father has sculpted.

  “Stop the act,” I snap harshly. She jumps and looks at me with wide eyes.

  My mother nods, taking a deep breath.

  “Why didn’t you stand up for Vincent, for me?” I interrogate further. Maybe if she had, I would have never ended up with Travis.

  “Your father had his eyes sat on Travis at that point, Jessica. There was no interfering with that,” she answers softly, pursing her lips. “If I thought it would have helped, I would have stepped in,” she continues. “After your father met Travis, all he could see was making it on the board of the hospital and you working in that hospital; it was his dream.” I try not to roll my eyes. My mother loves my father. She will never speak ill of him. To her, my father ignoring my bruises and black eyes was him reaching his dream.

  “How is that working out for him, being on the board?” I interrupt, done talking about me. She shakes her head and looks out over the tables.

  “Ever since Travis went missing years back, things went downhill quickly with Travis’s family. Your father has pretty much taken over everything at the hospital. Travis’s father became a drunk, and was taken off the board soon after Travis’s disappearance. Last I heard, they were bankrupt and living in the worst part of town,” she continues. I close my eyes, hating to hear Travis’s family is suffering. I assumed they would move on from the loss of their son, and continue ruling the medicine industry. But why would I know that? I don’t talk to them and my mother usually knows not to talk about them around me.

  I nod, and raise my hand ready to order. Ready to eat and leave.

  Over the rest of our meal, we talk about my mother wanting to repaint a room in her house, and celebrity gossip. I give her a big hug and kiss, and nearly sprint to my Jeep, ready to get away from memories that always seem to swim forward when I’m around my mom.

  I lean over and turn the stereo on, Usher’s “His Mistakes” is playing. Travis, Vincent, and Bobby all come to my mind at once. Making my body tense. I’m more than aware that Vincent and Bobby have more than a few similarities. Why did I run to Vincent but run from Bobby? I take a deep breath and roll my window down. I run because of Travis, the middleman between it all.

  6

  Bobby

  Parking my bike in front of Jessica’s apartment, I head to her gate. As I go to punch in the numbers, the gate swings open. It’s not locked.

  “What the hell?” I push the gate the rest of the way open, and head toward Jessica’s apartment.

  I notice stains on the carpet as I walk in, and the hallway has a musky smell to it. I haven’t been here in a few months, but the last time I was here, it was an upscale place, and if I remember right, Jessica said the rent wasn’t cheap.

  I knock on Jessica’s door, hoping she wasn’t called in to work.

  The door whips open and Jessica is standing in a white tank top, white panties, and an untied blue robe. The cool draft coming from the hall causes her nipples to peek through the thin material of her top. I can’t look away, my mouth watering to have them in my mouth.

  “Shit, I thought you were Bree,” Jessica shrieks, trying to cover herself with her hands. “What are you doing here?” she asks harshly, wrapping the robe around her half-naked body. She doesn’t like it when I come to her house, but I do it anyway.

  “I made sure to wait until Addie was at school, chill,” I reply, stepping around her, making my way into her place.

  She sighs and shuts the door behind me. Her apartment is clean and smells of coffee. The overstuffed tan couch sits in front of an entertainment center, and there’s a desk in the corner with a large computer. Looking to my right, a small kitchen with a wooden top island sits, complete with white bar stools, and stainless steel appliances lining the back wall. She moved a few things around since I was here last
, but it’s mostly the same.

  “We need to talk,” I inform her, sitting on one of the stools. Her eyes peek above her coffee mug as she takes a sip, looking at me with a concerned glare. My eyes travel down her body, the tops of her breasts swelling above her top, and a sliver of her belly showing between her shirt and panties. I turn my head and adjust my semi-hard dick. Jessica is the most stunning woman I know. If I keep eye fucking her, I’ll never get out what I came here to say.

  “I think I can help you,” I start, biting my bottom lip in nervousness.

  Jessica’s body stiffens and she looks away from me. “How?” she whispers, instinctively knowing what I am talking about. I interlock my fingers sitting on top of the island, and swallow.

  “I think you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” I inform softly, waiting for her to bite my head off and argue. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it though. I looked up PTSD all day yesterday, and I’m certain that is what Jessica has.

  “No, I don’t,” Jessica snaps offended, her blue eyes stabbing me angrily, and her fingers digging into her mug.

  “Yes, you do, Jessica. You live in fear of your ex-husband. He’s conditioned your mind, trained you to behave a certain way. You can’t do things you used to do because he is still in your mind, haunting you severely,” I bark, pointing to my head to emphasis my point.

  Jessica leans against her counter, scowling, and shaking her head at me.

  “I have a friend who is a therapist. I briefly told her what was going on and she said it was PTSD,” I answer, my tone more gentle than before.

  Jessica closes her eyes and huffs. I can tell she is not happy I told someone else about what she told me, but I was out of my league and I needed advice.

  “Medicine doesn’t work. Therapy doesn’t work, so whether or not I have PTSD is pointless. Nothing helps,” she clips, shrugging.

  “I have a different medicine,” I smirk. Her scowl turns into a look of curiosity.

  “What?” she questions, her blue eyes looking at me like I’m her last hope.

  I also searched exposure therapy all day yesterday. It has a high rate in effectiveness, making me more eager to try it. I worry my lips between my teeth and take a deep breath. I’m a little nervous at how she is going to react.

  “Sex,” I respond.

  Jessica laughs, setting her cup on the counter. She’s not taking me seriously. I knew she wouldn’t.

  “Okay, time for you to go,” she remarks, still laughing.

  “I’m serious, Jessica,” I interrupt. “It’s called exposure therapy. From what you told me, most of your abuse was when your husband made you submit to him sexually, abusing you in the bedroom,” I say seriously, standing from the stool. Jessica’s face stills, her smile from laughing fading into a frown. She runs her hand through her long, blonde hair, the ends curling around her fingers. Her chest rises as she breathes harshly from my confrontation.

  “So I should just go have as much sex as I can? I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work. It just…” She stops, taking a deep breath. I close my eyes, not really caring to hear about her sleeping around to help overcome her tormented life.

  “Not with just anyone, but with me,” I grit. “I will take those situations, the condition he programmed into your head and redo them in a setting that makes you safe, replace the bad memories with good, with pleasure rather than pain.” I walk around the counter and grasp her by the hips, making her look at me. Her blue eyes glossy with tears, her cheeks flushed.

  “How are you any different than sex with anyone else?” she asks, a tear slipping over her lips.

  I reach up and rub the tear off her bottom lip with my thumb.

  “Because you trust me, and you’re safe with me,” I comfort honestly. She smirks, licking the rest of the tear from her lips.

  “What if it doesn’t work?” she questions, shrugging.

  “What do you have to lose?” I state, running my nose along her cheek.

  Jessica runs her hand under her nose trying to get a hold of herself.

  “I don’t know. This sounds silly. What do you get out of this?” she implores, grabbing her mug off the counter, breaking from my grip.

  I snort and smirk. “Seriously?” I laugh. “I get laid.” I am not going to lie. I am pretty good at sex; it’s one of the few things I am awesome at. I know for a fact I can fill Jessica with pleasure easily. It will be getting past those memories that will be the hardest.

  She laughs, and takes a sip of her coffee.

  “I also get to help a friend,” I respond truthfully, my joking set aside.

  “I don’t think this is going to work,” she says softly.

  I nod and brush the hair behind her ear. “I’ve done a lot of research on this. It will work if you let it work,” I inform. Her eyes widen, and she turns her head to the side, looking at me quizzically.

  “You researched it?” she questions, her eyes looking me over longingly. She fucking loves it when I use my intelligence; the way her eyes get heavy and she looks at me hungrily. I eat that shit up. I can be smart when I want to be. But that’s it; I have to be interested in learning it.

  “You have to trust me, Jessica,” I mumble, running my hand down her soft cheek.

  Jessica’s eyes look up at me, my frame towering over her in her small kitchen.

  “I think we need some rules, Bobby,” she whispers, pushing me back a step. I take a deep breath and back up. Rules. I hate that word. Everyone has them and I’m a pro at breaking them.

  “Like what?” I ask, exasperated, walking back to my stool on the other side of the counter.

  “I don’t know. I just feel like this is going to turn out badly,” she says, leaning over the island, giving me a clear shot of her breasts. I groan as my dick pulses from the teasing glimpse I have of them.

  “I don’t want this around my daughter,” she says sternly, her eyebrow raised to indicate her point. I cock my head to the side and cross my arms. I have seen Addie only a handful of times since the night Jessica and Addie came to the club for help.

  “What do you have against me so badly I can’t be around Addie?”

  She shrugs and lifts from the counter, taking my view of her tits away, causing me to regret my question.

  “The club is dangerous. I don’t need some thug using my daughter as leverage to get back at you guys,” she continues. I want to argue, but she has a point.

  “Okay,” I reply, clearly defeated. “Is that the only rule?”

  “And,” she pauses, setting her coffee down. She looks up, and brushes her hair behind her ear.

  “You can’t fall in love with me. We can’t let this get emotional,” she mutters, her eyes peeking up from under her thick lashes.

  My eyebrows narrow. “Why is that?” Am I that bad to fall in love with?

  “I have seen the men in the club when they love a woman. I was already trapped in one relationship. I won’t be an ol’ lady,” she continues, her jaw clenched. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.

  “Well, I’m not looking for anything serious, so you won’t have to worry about that,” I respond, nodding. I look down at my hands, avoiding eye contact.

  “I think this is just a way for you to get in my pants when you want, but at this point, I am desperate to try anything,” she informs with a chuckle.

  I laugh and stand. Placing my hands on the counter, I lower my head, and gaze at her longingly.

  “I’m going to fuck you mindlessly, Jessica. Giving you that exhilarating feeling of your body going numb, and your toes curling from the overwhelming high from my dick hitting you in places you never knew it could.” I lean over the counter, brushing aside a hair that fell in front of her eyes. “When I’m done with you, you’ll never want to walk away from me, Jessica,” I whisper, my tone deep and arrogant.

  “And now that I mention it.” I walk around the counter, my boots thudding against her tiled floors. Her eyes look at me lazily, her lips parting.


  I grasp her by the hips, pull her toward me roughly, and lean into her. I brush my lips against the shell of her ear, causing her body to rise with a sudden breath.

  “Yeah?” she whispers, her tone dripping with lust.

  “During this whole process, you are only to be mine,” I whisper, nipping her earlobe. I’m not going to share Jessica. Not if I don’t have to.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she breathes heavily, turning her head, inviting me into her neck. My dick jumps with the invitation, excited she’s giving in.

  “You’re mine right now,” I inform, scraping my teeth against her neck, just enough to make her whimper.

  I grab her under the thighs and lift her on top of the counter, her hands clawing under my shirt, feeling my abs.

  I press my lips to her neck, the smell of apples and lilies coming off her skin. My hands squeeze her ass cheeks as my lips make their way up her neck and across her jaw, finding their way to her ample lips.

  Her tongue slides into my mouth hungrily, devouring me with one swipe. I grab the sides of her robe and pull it down her shoulders. She wiggles her body trying to help get the robe off completely.

  “Fuck,” I growl, grabbing the bottom of her top and lifting it above her head. Her perfect heavy breasts fall out of her tank, her pink nipples hard and perky. I wrap my arm around her back and lean down, taking a nipple between my teeth. Her legs fly up and wrap around me and her hands tangle into my hair as she gasps.

  “Say you’re only mine, Jessica,” I whisper against the warm skin between her tits.

  Her hands pull on my shirt as her body ignites around me.

  “I’m only yours,” she mumbles softly, making it hard to hear her.

  My hands glide down her torso as my mouth sucks along the peaks of her tits, making their way into the valley of them. My fingers sweep underneath her panties, finding their way between her wet heat. I slip two fingers in with ease, her pussy clenching around them as they enter. I slide my fingers in and out slowly, my thumb swirling her clit. She pants, her back arched inward as I finger her relentlessly. Her eyes pin me as her mouth parts in pleasure. Desire emanates off her bowed frame as I fuck her with my fingers.