Bittersweet Surrender

by Q. B. Tyler

  I shoot Vanessa a small smile as I sit on the love seat of his waiting area and she raises an eyebrow at me.

  Okay, definitely not best friends, got it.

  My thoughts of Vanessa’s disapproval are interrupted by my phone ringing and I fumble around in my purse before answering. “Hi, Mom, I can’t talk right now. Matthew and I are about to go into therapy.” My mother is less than thrilled that we need therapy in the first place, but she is on board with us trying to fix the issues in our marriage. She was ready for grandkids yesterday and believes this might be the ultimate solution.

  Little did she know.

  “Oh, honey, sorry. I forgot it’s Wednesday and Matty didn’t mention it when I saw him earlier.”

  My face morphs in confusion. “You saw him?”

  “Yes, he came and took me to lunch. We went to that new spot on Cross Street. He mentioned that he’d offered to take you but you said no.”

  “I didn’t say no. I said the menu didn’t appeal to me. And he invited me as an afterthought. He was already going with co-workers.” Also, Will and I had a solo appointment the day he asked. “But wait, you two went?”

  “Yes, Charley, they have a molten cake that’s to die for.”

  Matt enters the waiting area and I give him a wave before pointing to my phone. “Mom, can I call you later? We’re about to go in.”

  “Yes, of course. I love you.”

  “Love you too.” I end the call and look at him. “You had lunch with my mother?”

  “Yeah, she called the office to see how I was and I was heading out.”

  I swallow at the simple gesture as I try to ignore the guilt that washes over me. While I was being fucked within an inch of my life by our marriage counselor, my husband was taking my mother to lunch. To make matters worse, my mother adores Matt. Of course, we’ve talked about the problems in my marriage, but she urges me to try and work through them. She’s equally invested in me not becoming a woman of multiple marriages either.

  “Hey, you okay?” Matt asks reading my face as if he knows what I’m thinking. Maybe once upon a time, but as of late, I doubt Matt has any idea the thoughts that go through my brain.

  I don’t get a chance to answer before I hear Will’s silky voice waft around me. “Mr. Wells, Ms. Pierce,” he says and I turn around.

  “Hi, Dr. Montgomery.” I paint on the smile that is reserved for Will when my husband is around and follow him into his office. Matt takes his usual seat while Will waits for me to sit down before taking his seat across from us. Although it’s fleeting, I catch the look in Will’s eyes chastising Matt yet again for his lack of chivalry.

  “So, Monday’s session…we talked about a lot. I advised you to go home and talk about what was discussed. Did you come up with anything? Resolve anything?”

  “Nope, because when I took my wife to dinner to try and open the lines of communication she proceeded to leave me to go to the bathroom for twenty minutes. I took that to mean she didn’t want to talk.”

  “Ms. Pierce?” Will looks at me and I do my best to leave my attitude out of it.

  “Yes?”

  “Were you avoiding Mr. Wells?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Twenty minutes, Charlotte, really? You don’t take that long in the bathroom,” he says shaking his head. I scrunch my nose at his childish insinuation regarding my bathroom behaviors.

  “I went to the bathroom, Lauren called. I answered.”

  “And proceeded to talk to her?”

  “Yes, she wanted to know how therapy went.”

  “And so, you discussed it with her, but not with me.”

  “That’s typically how the best friend thing works, Matt. And I talk to Lauren way more than I talk to you, so your point is moot.”

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you today, how can you already be so pissy with me? Oh, is it that time?” he asks before he adds, “I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I see your vagina.”

  I blush bright red. “What the hell? Side note, you’ve known me for almost ten years and I’ve been taking the pill for the entire time. How the hell do you not know when it is?” I scoff.

  After four months, Will knows when my period is and even plans accordingly when it’s that week. He’ll order us fried food for lunch and I swear he cleans out the entire stock of Milky Ways at any given store. The first time I had one of our sessions while I was on my period, we fucked in the shower. The second time I blew him and by the fourth time he fucked my ass. I hate having sex while it’s that time of the month, but I know it’s only a matter of time before he breaks me down. I shake my head wanting to end this line of questioning.

  “Whatever,” I chuckle to myself and see I have the attention of both men. Matt’s eyes urge me to continue, taunting me, while Will’s try to remain impassive. “Six months ago, you and I went to a party at your boss’s house—a cocktail party. About an hour into the party, you disappeared and I couldn’t find you for two and a half hours. Only to find out that you, your boss, and a few of the associates had left!”

  “We weren’t supposed to be gone that long. We were just going to get those Cuban cigars from—”

  “Are you kidding me!?” I scream, pushing myself indignantly to my feet. “You’re berating me over twenty minutes at our favorite fucking restaurant where you know everyone from the owner to the runners by name, when you left me alone at some fucking party, where I hardly knew anyone for two hours!? You’ve got a lot of nerve, Matthew Wells.”

  “We weren’t trying to have an important talk that night. Charlotte, I’m sorry. I’ve apologized profusely for that.”

  “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TALK FOR ALMOST TWO YEARS, MATT!”

  “Ms. Pierce,” Will interrupts me and I shoot him a glare.

  “I’m just expressing my feelings. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do here? Get it out in the open?”

  “And I am glad we are getting to the root of the problems. I just wanted you to take a deep breath.”

  Our eyes meet and an unspoken conversation passes between us. Him urging me to calm down, me pleading with him to understand. I’ve been the meek housewife for far too long, and I can’t stand it another second. Inhaling, I sigh and turn back to Matt. “I’ve been trying for so long. You can’t up and decide one morning that you are ready to talk. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Dr. Montgomery said that’s exactly the way it works.”

  “Oh, now we are listening to Dr. Montgomery? Two days ago, you were convinced that therapy and the expensive-as-fuck doctor weren’t working. What did you call him again? A charlatan?” I smile at him before I take my seat back on the couch.

  “Okay, first of all,” he looks at Will, “I didn’t say it quite like that. Secondly, you are expensive as fuck and you know it. And thirdly, you know what? Fine, I’ll say it. This shit isn’t working. You’re not even trying,” he says looking at me.

  “I tried. A lot. For a long time. You just never noticed.” I look down at my hands.

  “Okay, let’s regroup. Ms. Pierce, we’ve discussed that with you attempting to move forward you can’t live in the past. He’s apologized for things that have happened. You have to let those things go if you have any shot in making it in the long run.” I look at him for a beat, careful not to stay focused on him too long.

  Why is he saying that?

  What are you saying, Will? I try to ask him with my eyes.

  Nothing, baby—I’m just trying to do my job. You and I are the long run. I imagine him saying back.

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Let’s take a few steps back. Mr. Wells, what makes you think that Ms. Pierce isn’t trying?” Will asks and I resist the urge to glare at Matthew.

  He doesn’t say anything for a while, and when I look over, he’s staring intently at the place where the coffee table used to be. “I knew something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it…what happened to the table?” he says looking for the table that Will and I destro
yed an hour ago.

  “Redecorating. It was time for something new.”

  “Oh, it was a nice piece. I know good craftsmanship when I see it.”

  “Full disclosure,” Will says and I run a finger over my mouth wondering where he’s going with this, “an angry husband broke it.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yes, he got pretty agitated with his woman. The table didn’t stand a chance.” I see Matthew tense in my periphery.

  “Seriously?” Matt says and I know where his mind is going. Don’t take us there. Don’t take us there. Please. Matt. “Is the wife…safe with him? I mean he broke your table, he’s probably got a bit of a violent streak.” I look at him and see the hesitation and worry in his eyes and in this moment, I’m pissed at him for alluding that Will is violent—although he doesn’t know it was Will, and I’m also in awe of his genuine concern for a woman he doesn’t know.

  I know firsthand that it’s genuine. It reminds me of how he was when we met. Matt has no tolerance for violence after having an alcoholic father who used him and his mother as punching bags growing up. When we met, it was like he knew. He could sense the similarities between us and he took action. Matt got me out of that hellhole before we were even romantic. He moved me in with him, set me up with the best trauma therapist in Atlanta and ultimately jump-started my healing process. Within days, he and his uncle—who happened to be the chief of police—had the cops at my house hauling that asshole out in cuffs.

  My body immediately tenses and I feel the chill in the air, just like I always do whenever I think about that time in my life. Matt’s hand laces with mine and I don’t miss the look that crosses Will’s face.

  “Ms. Pierce, are you alright?” he asks. He sees the walls coming up around me as I shut down. Fast.

  I shake my head willing the thoughts away. This is not a conversation I want to have with Will in front of Matt. “Fine.”

  “Charlotte,” Matt says from next to me and I look at him pleading with him not to say anything.

  He moves closer to me and I am aware of the man in front of me who is undoubtedly going crazy. “I’m sorry I said that,” he says. I nod before giving a small shrug, mostly for Will’s benefit.

  “It’s fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” Will interrupts and I resist the urge to look him in the eye. If I do, I’ll lose it. I keep telling myself that I need to tell Will about my past but I also want to keep that part of myself hidden. I don’t want him to see that, because of my past, I am still so dependent on Matt.

  “Charlotte,” Matt’s voice interrupts my thoughts, “maybe it’s time we tell Dr. Montgomery about Michael.”

  * * *

  “NO,” I TELL HIM FIRMLY and I don’t miss the look that crosses Will’s face. I hope he knows not to push me right now.

  “Ms. Pierce, Mr. Wells, if there’s something that you feel I should know, that I don’t already know, maybe we should discuss it. It’s a safe space here.”

  “Dr. Montgomery, Charlotte and I haven’t been very clear on how we met in the first place.”

  “Matt,” I snap at him, “we don’t need to get into this.”

  Matt draws his attention away from Will and eyes me warily. “You refusing to talk about it isn’t helping.” Condescension drips from his voice and I resist the urge to scream, already overwhelmed by the tension building in the room.

  “Are you kidding me? I spent two years talking about it.”

  “It’s a part of our past, and it’s something that maybe he can shed some light on.”

  “God, this is so like you! You think you know everything. You think you know what’s best in every situation. I said I don’t want to discuss it, so why are you pushing me?” I can hear my exasperation and I’m sure Matt can as well because he shoots me the look, the one he uses when he wants me to calm down.

  “Maybe you would feel better if I spoke with Mr. Wells alone?” Will asks me. “And then we could speak privately?” I’m about to jump at the idea of getting to be alone with Will and filling him in on the details myself when Matt answers the question for me.

  “Charlotte doesn’t normally like going into what happened unless I’m around to fill in the blanks. She prefers if I’m there with her.” This had been true once upon a time. There was a time where I couldn’t get through it without Matt holding my hand or stroking my back. I’d needed him to say the words that got stuck in my throat. But now, I would much rather explain what happened to me in the comfort of Will’s arms, where I feel safe.

  “Did something happen to you?” Will looks at me and I look away from his intense gaze, knowing that I can’t hold it for too long.

  “Both of us,” Matt interjects, “at different times in our lives.” He looks at me. “Charlotte, you shut down just now. I saw it all over your face.” I cross one leg over another before crossing my arms in front of me.

  “I had a stepfather. He wasn’t particularly nice to me or my mother.”

  Succinct and to the point. He can fill in the blanks. I notice Will tense immediately and I try to read his expression, but he’s not letting anything show which is for the best. See why I didn’t want to do this now?

  “Understatement of the century. Why are you downplaying this shit, Charlotte?”

  “Because it’s irrelevant!” I shriek. Why is he so determined to make me talk? It’s just going to take me back to a place that I spent years trying to escape. I’ll cry, Will won’t be able to touch me, and that isn’t good for either one of us.

  A look of horror crosses his face and I immediately regret the words. “It’s extremely relevant, Charlotte,” he says angrily and the heat behind his gaze shoots through me.

  Guilt floods me as I think about the trauma we’ve both been through. “I didn’t mean it like that. I am fully aware of the gravity of what happened, I just didn’t think it was necessary to bring it up now.”

  “I didn’t just randomly bring it up, Charlotte. You were fucking triggered.”

  “You triggered it!” I exclaim.

  “And I apologized for it. I just…” He looks at Will who hasn’t taken his eyes off of me yet.

  Look away, Will. Please.

  He must hear my thoughts because he manages to tear his intense gaze away from me to look at my husband.

  “I met Charlotte when she was twenty and I was twenty-two. The story is still the same, she was a waitress at a restaurant that I went to one night with some friends. We talked, I asked her out, and she turned me down. But it wasn’t as romantic as me wearing her down and her finally accepting which is how we tell the story. I went in the next day to see her, but another waitress informed me that she had called out sick. I didn’t think anything of it. I went back the next day, same story. I came back a week later and she had this gigantic bruise on her face. I mean…it was awful. She was wearing long sleeves in July…”

  I close my eyes, remembering the pain vividly. The purple bruise underneath my eye, the marks on my arm from his strong hands grabbing me. The smell of cheap vodka from his breath surrounds me.

  “Where have you been?” His words boom through the house as I close the door quietly behind me. He’s home and he’s already drunk.

  I take a step back, out of arm’s reach just in case he decides to take a swing at me. “I—I had class,” I stammer, my voice timid and quiet as I remember what happened the last time I apparently “raised my voice” to him. “And then I had to work.”

  “It’s almost six o’clock. You were supposed to be home at five.”

  “I—I stayed late at work. One of the other girls called out sick.”

  “You little liar! Where were you?”

  “I swear, I was at work!”

  “What did I say would happen if you lied to me again, Charlotte?”

  “Michael, please, I—” He raises his arm, and I brace myself for the mind-numbing pain the second he makes contact.

  I blink my eyes several times bringing me back to the present just
as the memory of his fist hitting my face flashes through my brain. I raise my eyes from the spot on the floor and find Will. Soft, blue eyes bore into me, and I fear he can see the pain of my past as I’m reliving it moment by moment.

  “It was a red flag because I knew the signs,” Matt continues. “I tried to talk to her but she was just completely void of emotion. There was no life in her eyes, nothing. I basically begged her that night to come have dinner with me because I was so worried for her to go home. I knew someone was doing this to her, I just wasn’t sure who it was. The first time we met she said she didn’t have a boyfriend, so I assumed it was a parent.”

  I remember that day like it was yesterday. Summers in Atlanta are brutal and it was the hottest day in July. I wore a black turtleneck sweater to cover both the bruises on my arms and the ones around my neck after his short attempt at asphyxiation. Everyone in the restaurant stared at the woman with bright red cheeks that was sweating profusely as if they knew. They knew what happened to me every night when I went home. I felt their gazes. Their pity. I hated it. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong but I still felt the sting of humiliation. The tears run down my face as I hear Matt recount the gritty details of that night. The night my life changed forever.

  “I wrote down my number and told her to call me if she ever needed anything. Sure enough, I heard from her that night.” I close my eyes and attempt the breathing exercises that my old therapist advised me to try whenever my brain went back to that night. But I was failing. I was too far gone. My eyes open and I’m there. I can see everything vividly. My old home that I shared with my mother and then two different husbands after my father died. Michael, my mother’s third husband, moved in shortly after they got married.

  I’m hunched over in the corner, my arms around my knees as I try to escape the pain in my abdomen. It hurts every time I take a breath making me wonder how many of my ribs he’s broken this time. My head throbs, and I can taste the blood in my mouth from the gash in my lip. I wipe the blood with the back of my hand and I can already feel it swelling under my touch.