Behind the Secrets (Behind the Lives #4)

by Marita A. Hansen

  Beth stopped by her car, instantly perking up. “That’s great news. What time will it be?”

  “At two. Unfortunately, I’ll be collecting my friend from the airport at that time. I tried to get hold of Dante’s older brother but couldn’t, so I’m left with you as the only possible person to pick him up. I’ve passed on your number to the reception so they can call you if there are any problems. I hope that’s all right; I just didn’t know who else to call.”

  “No, that’s great. Thank you for calling me instead of Kara.”

  “There’s no way I would ever consider asking that horrid woman to help Dante. At least you’re civilised.”

  Beth smiled. Even though Jade didn’t like her, he hated Kara a hundred times more, Dante’s ex a nuisance.

  Jade continued, “After you collect Dante, bring him straight home. And thank you, Beth, I appreciate this.”

  “Don’t thank me, I should be the one helping Dante, after all, I am his partner.”

  “You’re no—“ Jade cut himself off. “Yes, you should help.” He hung up.

  Beth pushed her phone back into her pocket, knowing Jade had almost said she wasn’t Dante’s partner. But she was, because she was pregnant with Dante’s child, which meant his ex-girlfriend couldn’t get her claws into him again, especially since Dante had always said he wouldn’t leave the mother of his child.

  Beth climbed into her car, happy she would be seeing Dante soon. He’d been in the psyche unit for just over two weeks after having a bipolar episode. And if he was better, then they could finally be together like they were meant to be – as a family. Beth touched her stomach, wanting the father of her child more than anything in the world.

  2

  Dante

  Dante had been through hell. At the age of thirteen, he’d seen his brother get raped and his mother murdered, while over the following ten years he’d been used and abused by various people, including the ones he loved. Yet it was that one simple line that had broken him:

  ‘You’re gonna be a daddy.’

  Beth had said those words a couple of weeks ago, not long after he’d made love to his ex. He rested his head in his hands, still unable to cope with her words or the happiness she’d exuded while saying them. He’d been prepared to tell her that he’d chosen to be with Kara, and would’ve done it if she hadn’t said those words, but now...

  Everything was so fucked up and he had no idea how to fix it—let alone fix himself.

  “Why did you hurt yourself, Dante?” the psychiatrist asked.

  Dante glanced up at the woman, who looked freakishly like his late mother. She had long black hair, olive skin, and a toned physique; even her hazel eyes had a similar tone. It was like his mother was asking the question, prodding him to confess everything he’d hidden from her.

  “Dante,” the psychiatrist said, “are you going to answer me?”

  His friend had brought him to her after he’d reacted badly to Beth’s baby news. He didn’t remember much about that day. The psychiatrist told him he’d had a psychotic blackout, something he’d experienced twice before. The first time had been after his childhood sweetheart had broken up with him. She’d been the first girl he’d fallen in love with at the not so sweet age of thirteen. The second time was after another break up. He’d trashed his room both times and had to be forcibly restrained. Though, this time he didn’t trash his room—he’d taken a knife to himself.

  The psychiatrist leaned back in her chair, the beige leather making a squeaking sound. “If you’re not going to answer me, you can return to your room,” she said, giving him that tight-lipped grimace he’d come to expect from her, “because I won’t sign you out if I think you’re going to harm yourself again.”

  Dante returned the grimace, ashamed over what he’d done. “I told you, I don’t remember cutting myself.”

  “Or maybe you’re choosing not to remember.”

  His grimace morphed into a glare, angered she wouldn’t take his word for it. “I. Don’t. Remember. It,” he ground out. “Why won’t you believe me?”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I’m just trying to determine whether it was a true blackout or if you’re suppressing memories, something I have a feeling you do a lot. And the issue over you cutting yourself—”

  “I still can’t believe I did that.”

  “Mr. Park and Miss Connor both saw you do it, and you have the bandages on your legs to prove it.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t do it, I just can’t believe I’d do sumpthin’ like that.”

  “So, you are honestly telling me you remember nothing? Not even picking up the knife?”

  “Yes, and it makes no sense why I would do it. I hate knives.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He looked down at his shirt and started picking at a loose thread, not wanting to answer her. He often pushed things to the back of his mind, burying them deep so he couldn’t remember them. It was the only way he could cope. Yet all the bitch psychiatrist wanted to do was to dig it all up again, making him relive the horror show called his life. What was so fucking wrong with trying to forget about it all? It allowed him to function without having more of those bloody breakdowns.

  The psychiatrist leaned forward in her chair, the squeaking sound making him raise his gaze. Again, his mind went to his mother and the way she used to question him. He had withheld things from her too. Though, he knew the psychiatrist wasn’t going to stop until she’d picked apart his brain, dissecting all of his secrets.

  “I’m here to help you, Dante,” she said, “to listen to your troubles, and to sort through the ones you need to deal with, so you can cope better.”

  He remained silent, trying not to snap at her, because if he lost his temper or said the wrong thing, she would make him stay longer, and he needed to get out of this loony bin. He hated being contained. He’d been thrown into jail more times than he could count. He’d also been put into youth residences when he was younger, which were basically jails for kids. The first time was when he was thirteen. He’d escaped it and had lived off the streets for a few weeks before the cops caught him. But at least it had been better than living at home, because—

  “You’re wasting my time again, Dante,” the psychiatrist said, cutting off his line of thought.

  He refrained from telling the upper-class bitch to go fuck herself. He hated talking about his life, let alone to someone who had no idea what it was like to walk in his shoes.

  “Dante, answer me.”

  He dug a toe into the plush blue carpet, again willing himself not to lose his shit. “A knife killed my mother, that’s why I hate them,” which she would have known. It was in his file, so she didn’t need to make him say it out loud. Bitch!

  The psychiatrist nodded as though he’d gotten her stupid question right. “It wasn’t the knife; it was the wielder who killed your mother.”

  “She’s still dead cos of me.”

  “No, it was your stepfather who—”

  “—took the knife offa me after I attacked him; so end of conversation.”

  “It’s still not your fault. You were thirteen at the time—a child.”

  “I wuzn’t a child at thirteen; I lost my childhood when Chaz walked through my front door.”

  “Yes, he took it, like he took your mother’s life. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

  “I still feel responsible.”

  “I understand that, but regardless, it wasn’t your fault. Your stepfather is responsible for what happened—”

  “This is ancient history; it’s got nuthin’ to do with my blackout.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I agree, we should get back to why you blacked out. What do you think might have made you try to harm yourself?”

  “I’ve already answered this in the other sessions,” he snapped, losing his patience. “Why do I hafta keep repeating myself?”

  “Because it gets you to open up more. So, why did you harm yourself?”

&nbs
p; “As I said yesterday and the fuckin’ day before, and the fuckin’ day before that, Beth told me she wuz pregnant with my baby.”

  “And...”

  “She did it right after I slept with my ex. I wuz gonna tell Beth I’d chosen to be with Kara then she came out with that fuckin’ gem.” He thudded his boot against the floor, using anger to hide his shame. He knew he was a weak bastard when it came to women, his dick his lord and master, but this time he’d fucked up beyond what he could dig himself out of.

  “Continue,” she said.

  He breathed out. “I know that I shouldn’t have fucked Kara, but when she’s in front of me, I find it hard to resist her. Yeah, it’s a shit excuse, but I want her so fuckin’ bad my balls hurt.”

  “Language, Dante.”

  He grimaced. “I speak how I fuckin’ well please, so stop gettin’ on my case.”

  She sighed. “Okay, let’s get back to Kara. It sounds like it’s purely a sexual thing you have with her.”

  “It’s not only sexual. I love her.”

  “Then if you want her more than Beth, you should be with her.”

  “You didn’t lemme finish. When I’m with one of them I want that person completely, but when I’m with the other I want them just as bad. Though, the fucked up thing is, I’m never fully happy with either of them.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They always want things from me that I’m not willin’ to give ’em, or can’t give ’em, and when they don’t get it they become fuckin’ bitches—”

  “Again, please watch your language.”

  He continued, not giving a shit, “And what’s even more fucked up is I let ’em get away with it.”

  She breathed out, looking frustrated. “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know, cos half the time I wanna walk away. Nah, I do know: it’s my dick’s fault.”

  The psychiatrist pressed her lips together, looking like she was stifling a smirk.

  “It’s not funny! I’m bein’ serious.”

  She smiled. “It’s the way you said it, and you shouldn’t blame your ... penis. You do have a mind of your own.”

  “One that’s controlled by my cock. I did tell ya I’m a sex addict.”

  “True. So, is that the only reason you stay with them?”

  “What do ya mean?”

  “For sex.”

  “No. I like bein’ with them, but at the same time don’t. I don’t know whether that makes sense.”

  “It does. You want an emotional connection, but have trouble forming one due to your heightened sexual urges, which in your case, developed from being sexually abused as a child.”

  He pulled a face, thinking the woman had lost the plot. “What the fuck are ya on about? I wuzn’t sexually abused back then.”

  “That’s not what you said yesterday.”

  “Bullshit, I never told you that.”

  “It was during your hypnotherapy season.”

  “I still don’t believe you.”

  “It’s on tape, and I think you block out some of the horrible things people do to you. You say something happens, then recant it the next day. I’m not saying you’re lying, it’s something else. It’s what’s called a coping mechanism. It allows you to deal with life. Unfortunately, it’s only a temporary measure, because eventually everything will become too much, resulting in a breakdown—like what happened the other week.”

  “That only happened cos Beth told me she wuz pregnant, not your bullshit theories. Plus, I’ve had so much crap done to me that it’s better to have a blackout every few years than cope with remembering everything day in and day out. I just wanna forget, and it doesn’t fuckin’ help with you dredging it up.”

  “But in forgetting, you continue to allow people to hurt you, and I also think you seek out those people. You’re so used to certain behaviours that when you look for a partner you look for abusive characteristics.”

  “That’s a load of crock.”

  “Really? Because you said you get a thrill out of Kara being rough, but afterwards you feel like you’ve done something wrong. I think you seek her out because you want her to hurt you like you were hurt in your youth, while with Beth, you allow her to beat you through her words.”

  “Bull-motherfuckin’-shit.”

  “Dante! You need to control your language. I’m here to help you, not to be bombarded by your foul mouth.”

  “It’s cos you’re pissing me off, and half the time it comes outta my mouth before I realise I’ve even said it.”

  “Then try to control yourself, but back to what I was saying. Tell me if there has been anyone you’ve been with that hasn’t done you wrong, and I’m referring to partners and girlfriends.”

  “Lavinia didn’t do me wrong.”

  “You said she broke your heart, not to mention you had sexual relations with her.”

  “That last part wuz a good thing.”

  “No it isn’t, Dante. You were underage. She wuz sixteen and you were thirteen. What she did was a crime.”

  “I wuz the one who talked her into it.”

  “That doesn’t make what she did any less wrong. It’s statutory rape.”

  “She wuz fifteen when we started, so she wuz underage too.”

  The psychiatrist shook her head. “You’re doing it again, making excuses for the people who have wronged you. And what about that teacher? Another person who could’ve gone to jail.”

  “I came onto her.”

  “Dante, she was an adult.”

  He shrugged.

  “Shrugging doesn’t help, and I think possibly you let women abuse you to make you feel more masculine.”

  “Are you high? How the hell would that make me feel more masculine? And I hit on Lavinia and that teacher. There wuz no abuse involved, only fuckin’ great sex.” He thrust his crotch out. “Unless you count my cock battering their pussies as abuse.”

  “Dante!”

  “Don’t get mad at me. I’m just stating how it wuz, while you’re tryna twist every sexual experience I’ve had into abuse. That’s wrong.”

  The psychiatrist exhaled loudly. “Regardless, those two still committed statutory rape.”

  “We either stop this line of conversation right now or I’m walking out of here.”

  “You can’t leave.”

  “Then you’re abusing me.”

  She made a derisive sound. “I am doing no such thing.”

  “Yes, you are. You don’t have a fuckin’ right to keep me here. I wanna leave, so bloody let me.”

  “You shouldn’t treat me like a jailer. I’m here to help you. That is what Mr. Park is paying me for. He’s concerned for your safety, so stop fighting me all the way.”

  “You’re not helping me, you’re pissing me off. Lavinia and that teacher are mostly happy memories. Yeah, I flipped out when Lavinia dumped me, but that shit happens to everyone. She never hurt me physically, nor did Mrs. Hatton. The people who’ve hurt me are my stepfather and Ant Torres, not the bloody chicks.”

  She pointed at him. “Finally! You admitted your stepfather hurt you.”

  He sneered at her. “Of course he did, he beat the living shit outta me when I tried to stop him from raping my brother.”

  She exhaled loudly. “For once I thought you were actually going to admit everything he did to you.”

  “I don’t hafta admit shit, I know what he did, so go back to your perfect home, with your perfect life, and fool yourself into believing you’ve helped me. The end.” He pushed out of his seat.

  “If you sit back down, Dante,” she said, indicating with a hand, “I won’t ask about your stepfather again.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The point is I think I can help you, and if you’re not willing to discuss your stepfather, we’ll talk about something else.”

  He lowered himself back into his chair. “What?”

  “Your two girlfriends. I want you to get past the issues you have with them.”

 
; “How?”

  “By getting you to admit to how you feel about them.”

  “What do ya mean?”

  “Your true feelings for them. Do you love them?”

  He nodded.

  “From what you told me in the hypnotherapy session yesterday, I’m not so sure of that.”

  He frowned. “Why? What did I say?”

  “You said they don’t make you happy.”

  “That’s nuthin’ new, I’ve said that loads of times. They drive me fuckin’ insane,” or even more insane than I already am.

  “It’s because you’ve fallen out of love with them.”

  Dante shook his head. “You’re wrong, otherwise I could walk away from them without a problem, but I can’t. I would die for the both of them.”

  “Would you die for the man who brought you in?”

  “Jade?”

  She nodded.

  “I guess so; he’s a better bloke than me.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Fuck no! I ain’t no homo.”

  “So, dying for someone doesn’t necessarily mean you have to love them.”

  “So what?”

  “Would you kill yourself if a close family member died?”

  “I wouldn’t commit suicide, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

  “What about if Beth or Kara died?”

  “No, but I’d be fucked in the head, even more than I already am.”

  “Which means you don’t love them.”

  “How do ya figure that? There are plenty of people who wouldn’t kill themselves if someone they loved died. They’d mourn.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your answer; I was referring to how you looked when you said it. You reacted more to your family members possibly dying, yet barely flinched when I mentioned your lovers. Now, Dante, do you truly need to be with either Kara or Beth? Do you want to wake up to them every morning? Do you want to sit and watch TV with them…”

  She continued asking questions, each one pissing him off more and more. He didn’t care what she said, because he did love both Kara and Beth. He had to be in love with them to go through all their shit ... although he wished he didn’t have to see them for a while. He just wanted to be left alone until he could cope with things better.