PROLOGUE
I remember the mantra I was always meant to reiterate every single time I stared at myself in the mirror.
I'm beautiful, strong and confident. I will seek who I once was and I will love again. This, birthed from our very first meeting. Not to just say it, but feel it.
Problem is, loving isn't what got me here. The absence of it in my heart, for lack of a better term, and the repercussion from it had been nearly fatal. And there lies the crux of the problem; The need to overcome the fear of loving again post trauma, and ultimately the importance of finding myself again.
The good doctor thinks I need to find the confidence to love again, thinking I run away from relationships to avoid being hurt again. The truth is the opposite, and probably scarier than he'd imagine. That's why I've never corrected him when he'd first given me the mantra.
I'm unable to seek the person I once was because the Payton pre trauma remains the Payton post it. My need for no relationship remains unchanged, the only growth out of my trauma a sterner upfront warning to the person I'm involved with.
My gaze remains fixed on the image bouncing off the wide antique mirror. Firmly planting both palms on either side of the sink, I take a deep shaky breath.
One probation, one year, three months, two weeks and four days to be exact and yet here I still am. In just a few months I'll need to go back to court for his trial. But until then, the once three times a week of spilling my guts to Dr. Martin had thankfully been reduced to only twice a week. Still, every so often, I'd long for the one session a week as it had been with Dr. Mac in Manhattan.
Tentatively, I reach for the thin white paper towel, yanking it off the roll and wiping my damp hands dry before tossing it in the nearby trash. One hasty glance in the mirror and I'm off, swinging open the bathroom door to the shrink.
The good doctor is of course already seated in his comfy grey chair in our usual setting as I plant myself into the plush brown sofa and force out a smile.
"We have made quite a progress you and I," he acknowledges with an easy smile of his own.
"I'm sorry I'm…"
"No, that's alright," He cuts me off with a quick wave of his hand. "Please consider these just finishing touches"
I remain silent; quietly observing the freshly clad therapist with his dark hair now neatly spruced to the back and his long sleeved white shirt and grey pants hanging loosely on his body, giving him a somewhat haggard look. I wonder if he deliberately makes himself look unsexy. Maybe some of his female patients come on to him?
"I'm curious about something," His voice startles me out of my errant thoughts. "When was the last time you cried?"
Caught off guard by the sudden change in the direction of his questioning, I blink before formulating a response I already know.
"When my dad died"
"When your dad died," He repeats, drawing back slightly, bros knitting together in thought.
"Yes"
"Fourteen years ago?" his mouth slowly slacks open in shock, or surprise, and I quickly look away. My dad, a well to do businessman in New York, had passed away when I was eight. Leaving two daughters he'd loved very much and a wife he'd spent most of my young life cheating on. "It isn't like I've been in situations that necessitated me bawling my eyes out"
"I beg to differ, Payton," He challenges, "One would say your assault would've been an appropriate venue to let out some tears"
Choosing not to respond he continues, "Do you show real emotions with your friends?"
Now I shoot him a hard look. You have been with me over a year. If you can't tell by now then we are really in trouble. "I'm not a sociopath Dr. Martin"
"That isn't what I'm implying at all. I'm still trying to figure out who the real Payton is. Who is behind that mask? Believe it or not you are still very guarded."
I slump back against the soft brown sofa I've grown a bit too accustomed to, in this room that is now as familiar as my own apartment. This arrangement had been a result of a joint decision between my mother and my roommate's. My assault had definitely injected some adrenaline into my mother's maternal instinct, making her overly protective and borderline possessive of her little girl. So while I hadn't wanted any part of it, it had been the only way to ease my mother's anxiety about my move to Chicago from Manhattan.
Therapy. And lots of it.
"So when was the last time you really felt something, anything?" he tries again.
"What do you want me to feel exactly?" I bite. There, that that was exasperation. I didn't expect this line of questioning. Dr. Martin's eyes narrow, knitting his brows together. His fingers move to rub on his chin before resting gently on his lap. Something tells me I should answer the question. If I'm being uncooperative my mother would know which would only give me grief.
"I'm happy for my friends, I sympathize, I empathize. I love them. What else is there to feel?"
"Something entirely for you"
"I just told you" I shrug.
He gazes at me with that look that often unnerves me, eventually watching him reach for the pad rested on the small table beside him and immediately flips it open.
"How about your nightmares?"
I look away, fixing my gaze on the edge of the table before responding, "They are still very sporadic. Sometimes I don't get any for a month and sometimes it's every week"
"So you'd say they haven't subsided at all by any measure of degree?"
"No, not really"
"I see," He nods pensively, as I wonder why the sudden interest in the one subject we'd always managed to glaze over. "Frankly, I think we need to revamp your whole approach to your nightmares" He says suddenly, "You still have no inkling who or what your pursuer, and it's very obvious humanizing what is chasing you hasn't helped at all" The doc's lips purse just briefly before speaking again. "Whatever is chasing you, how close would you say it is?"
"Uuum…" I sigh, contemplating.
"Would you say the pursuer is gaining on you or is the gap between you two widening?"
My forehead creases to a frown. Before, all I used to hear the echo of footsteps behind me. Now I can almost pick up some grunts, an animal's huffing of breath. I shudder. "Gaining"
I see," He breathes, leaning back against his chair. "Now, I'm going to ask you a question that would seem rather stupid and pointless, something you've heard before I'm certain, but I'd like you to answer nonetheless"
Oh-kay?
"Instead of trying to outrun this figure, this situation, have you ever given a serious thought about maybe stop running? You know, ever been tempted even for a split second to just whip around and confront whatever might be chasing you?"
"That would definitely put an end to it, wont it?" I let out a tired laugh.
"Forgive me. I know this fact is apparent to you as well. And I know it's easier said than done especially when you are fearful of what might be in the shadows" He offers me a sympathetic gaze. "The entity chasing you matters, Payton. It's everything"
I ball my hands in fists and bring them up to my chin, my elbows braced on my thighs.
"How about we temporarily switch gears to something else" He suggests, seeing that silence is all he's going to get. "Let's talk about your relationship with Brad"
Oh, Brad. "I have no relationship with Brad"
"You are seeing him, aren't you?"
Shifting my stance, I clasp my hands together and rest them on my lap. "Just casually"
"You've been together for about two months now if I'm not mistaken?"
Not really together but….,"Yes"
"How often do you see each other?"
I pause, thinking about his question. It's not like we have a schedule. We don't pencil it in. "Whenever it suits both of us I guess" I give a vague response. The good doctor remains silent, almost gauging my reaction for a quick second before adding. "Now, I'm aware that you'd seen one person very briefly before Brad came into the picture"
Briefly? It was a one night stand, doctor.
"Have you seen anyone else since you've started seeing Brad?"
Have I slept with someone else? "Yes" I admit with a shudder. Brad has not turned me monogamous but after my encounter with the worst sex ever, for a millisecond, I almost considered it. There's nothing worse than unquenched pent up hunger with a man who couldn't even last five minutes on the most basic of positions. He sucked, and had the audacity to think he could stay over after exerting so much energy on his masterpiece.
"Just the one person?"
"Yes"
"Once?"
"Yes" I figure it best to stick to one word responses.
"When the two of you are together what positions are you most comfortable with?"
My mouth hangs open, my eyes widening in surprise. I could feel my skin heating and believe I ought to be completely scarlet. I'm no prude but this is definitely intrusive. Recovering quickly I press my lips together, silently wondering why this information could be at all helpful to my
'recovery'. Dr. Martin cocks his head to the side and shift his stance, his left leg crossing over top the other and resting comfortably against the chair.
"We do all kinds" I respond, absolutely mortified.
"That's not what I asked"
I know what you asked! "I'm more comfortable being in charge". I fight the urge to hang my head in shame, hoping he won't probe any further. He nods, eyes squarely on my face. Surely he isn't making this any less awkward.
"Is it safe to assume that he doesn't give you what you need or is it safer to assume that you don't allow him to?"
"It's a bit of both I think"
Whatever he's interpreted my response to mean he scribbles down in the pad and places it back on the table separating us before gazing up again. "Do you masturbate?"
I could almost find the courage to laugh if I hadn't been so dazed from his line of questioning. "I'm trying to find out if you climax when you pleasure yourself". He explains, those grey eyes boring mine. "You'll be surprised how often intimacy is affected by trust issues"
Trust issues?
"I do" I murmur quickly, very quickly, and carefully uncross my knees, pulling the length of my green skirt back to knee length.
"Every time?"
"By myself, yes" I guess this must mean I trust myself implicitly.
"Hmm."
"Is Brad good to you?"
Relief washes over me and I actually let out a long exhale. Definitely a safer subject to explore. "Yes"
Brad is perfect actually. 27 with a good head on his shoulders and has his life together. A banker at Finley; a very prominent bank located just east of downtown Chicago, born and raised in this city and couldn't think of one thing that would make him move away. He is comfortable and charming. Everything good on paper. If I ever were to get enough sense to settle down he would be the safest choice. As it stands he knows nothing can come out of him and I.
"He slept over last week" I offer voluntarily, a part of me thinking the good doctor would consider this tremendous progress since no one before him ever did.
"Why is that?" He hunches forward to grab the pad again, quickly scribbling something down. His disapproving reaction takes me aback slightly.
"I-don't-know" I stutter.
"I do," he drawls deliberately, his eyes quickly darting over the brown wall where the clock is. My gaze follows where his have landed and we push to our feet simultaneously. Our time is up. He sighs, offering me an acknowledging nod and walks past me to the door. He pulls it open and steps aside to let me pass.
"We'll tackle this first thing next week, Payton"
"Sounds good" I respond, offering him a light smile once I have crossed the threshold before heading to the elevator.
The chilly air outside the Royal Building brings goose bumps on my skin and my arms automatically hug my body tighter as I make my way to the Toyota Camry. I turn on the ignition and stare briefly at the window of the eighth floor which hosts what I now call my second home before pulling away. Just then it comes to me.
Crap!
I think I've just clued in on Dr. Martin's assumption.
Our lips mingle together and our bodies tangle in an erotic dance on my bed. He rolls me onto my back and teasingly cups my nape, tracing soft kisses along my neck. Immediately I roll back and pin his arms down.
"Payton…"
"Shhh" I whisper, capturing his lips with mine and moving teasingly on his member until whatever protest he'd had is soon forgotten. A swoosh of breath tears from his chest when I take him deeper, moving up and down his member, consuming, possessing until he is nothing but incoherent groans. I know he is close, almost there and I increase the pace, riding him savagely. Brad's fingers dig into my skin on my hips and his teeth grate as he lets go in a draining cry. I slump on top of him, listening to the sound of his heart beating furiously in his chest.
"Did you…?" he whispers against my ear, tenderly gathering my hair on one side so he could take a better look at me in the now dark room.
"No" I sigh. Not for a while now. But it's not you…it's me. It's always me.
"Figured" he nods impassively, his expression does not garner any clue as to what he is really thinking or feeling. Gently, I slide off his lap and roll to my stomach, resting my head on the soft feather pillow of the queen sized bed. Brad climbs out of bed and elegantly walks to the bathroom. After a few short moments the bed sinks under his weight.
"Are you okay?" I ask, quietly but am only offered another nod. When I turn my back to him, he plops closer, his arm wrapping tightly around me.
I close my eyes and let the matter go.
"Payton you only have an hour!" Ella continues pounding hard against the door and successfully elicits another deep lazy groan from me. She'd been at it non-stop close to a minute but we'd both decided to play coy and ignore her.
Second night of a sleep over with Brad …and no nightmares that would definitely send any suitor scattering away to the dark night. Which only brings Dr. Martin's unvoiced concerns into focus
I may be making Brad feel special but subconsciously, because he is such a guy next door, my underlying motive might be to drive him away by ways of nightmares. Meaning I'm getting ready to run.
"Wake up you two!" Ella yells again from outside the door. Brad's arm, still a monocle around me under the covers, now falls to his side when I turn to my side to face him. Fortunately for him I'd been exhausted and slept like a baby.
"We are busy!" Brad shouts beside me, his eyes squinting at the sudden light ray of sunshine seeping through the one and only large window of my bedroom.
"As if! I know you don't do shit in the morning" she responds with a voice full of humor. I stifle a laugh.
Ella and I met four years ago at New York school of Interior design. Born and raised in Chicago with two younger siblings she'd considered New York the perfect place to do her undergrads. We'd struck our friendship right in our freshman year and quickly decided to become roommates in a residential facility easily accessible to NYSID. I'd attributed this quick bonding to the lack of thereof with my own sister, Sandy, who is six years older than me.
For Ella the move to New York had been easy while it'd taken me almost promising my first born child for my mother to allow me to live a few miles away from her.
Frankly, there've been times I'd wondered why Ella and I had become such close friends, especially since we are what one would consider complete day and night. She is focused…I tend to spaz out every once in a while. She is in a long time committed relationship. I'm lucky to hold on for two months, and post undergrads she'd gone back to Chicago and chosen to proceed with her masters of fine arts in Interior design. I, on the other hand, had sought employment at Alexandra O'Riann Interior Architect and Decorators, a medium sized growing company at the heart of Chicago. In my spare time, to alleviate boredom, I've taken to learning a second language.
"Go away, Ella" I holler and squeeze my temple when the sudden pain hits me like a cannon ball. Last night was a blast. Ella, her boyfriend Lane and I had gone out to a club to party. At some point, clearly obliterated and horny I'd called my casual.
The rest is history.
"I'm coming in. You all better be decent" Ella voices her impatience, irritation clear on her face once she has walked in. I clutch the bed sheet tighter on my chest with one hand, thanking the lucky stars that Brad is still securely covered under a blanket and fling a pillow with the other. It hits her squarely on the face. Picking it off the floor with a devious smile she chucks it right back at me, hitting the headboard instead
"What do you want Ella?" Brad's voice is still groggy from sleep as he addresses the fully dressed blonde in tight black shorts and a plain grey t-shirt.
"We don't want to be late for brunch. Mother will kill us both"
"What brunch?" His questioning gaze shifts back and forth between the two of us, and I quickly slump back in bed. Uuugh, I'd completely forgotten about being summoned by Laura this time around, a product of missing one too many Sunday brunches. A custom that'd been established before I'd gotten here. But marching in the Mitchell's mansion with a massive hangover is not the best way to maintain that "stellar" impression I'd tried to garner over the months I've been here. Especially since Laura had been instrumental in convincing my mother of the importance of leaving Manhattan after college post my incident, just like I'd wanted to begin, just to leave it all behind and have a fresh start. In fact Dr. Martin had been out sought by Laura.
"Alright then" Brad sighs beside me and Ella gives me the 'just do it' look that I choose to ignore, muttering instead. "We'll be out in a minute"
With a hard to miss eye roll she takes swift strides, closing the door behind her. Brad turns to face me with a half-smile and his fingers tentatively trace the spot on my chest where a long birthmark lays. I sigh, feeling like a dick suddenly.
"I have to shower"
"Time for me to go I guess"
"I'll call you" My fingers weave in his hair, pulling him closer to me for a long sensual kiss. He reciprocates fully, deepening the kiss almost instantly.
"So much for not doing shit in the morning" I murmur, breaking the kiss with a light joke. His lips rest on my shoulder blade before he speaks.
"You know we can do shit in the morning"
"I'm really tired" I grimace the instant the words slip off my lips. Shit. Tired. Really?
"Tired?" His forehead crease in confusion and I don't blame him. A giggle bursts from my throat and I plant my hands on his chest to steady myself before lifting them to adjust my hair clip. Brad's eyes immediately travel to my full breasts and he swallows hungrily. I bite on my bottom lip to stifle the chuckle, "I really need to get ready"
He silently drags himself off the bed and grabs his pants off the rich dark mahogany floors, pulling them on quickly and follows with the shirt from the corner of the bed. I watch him dress up, silently appreciating the view; a whole five feet ten inches of a gorgeous body, until he finally rests his eyes on me and falters that light smile.
Please don't ask me to ask you to stay. This can't be anything more than what it is supposed to be.
Brad stealthily saunters back to where I've remained seated on the bed and gives me a longing kiss. "Let's do this again sometime"
"Oh, certainly". Without much warning his hands snake under my arms and he pulls me to a stand on the cold wooden floor. He gives my naked body another appreciating gaze.
"You are gorgeous"
"Thank you" I respond with an awkward smile and tip toe to plant a quick kiss on his cheek before slipping from his embrace.
"I'll be expecting that call"
"Of course" I murmur and watch him take deliberate steps out of the room.
"I really thought you'd invite him this time" Lane leans in for a quick grab of fresh hors d'oeuvre from Rene before she has had a chance to disappear back into the massive gourmet kitchen that the Mitchell's residence holds.
"I'm too hangovered to bring anyone. Besides, inviting a guest as a guest is a big no no surely"
"Yeah, that's the problem here"
Deliberately ignoring him I lift the bottle to my lips for another long swig of my nearly frozen water, letting his attention wander across the massive living room to his approaching girlfriend while momentarily giving me a reprieve to enjoy the fresh scent of baked bread emanating from the kitchen, reminding me of home. My eyes briefly search around the large and richly decorated expanse that today hosts two extra female guests I'm certain I've never met.
"Laura wouldn't have minded if Payton had brought Brad, would she?" Lane's voice breaks my concentration and I whip my head back to the couple. Ella's eyes sparkle with a devilish glint.
"Could have asked if you wanted"
"Thank you but no thanks". There's no breaking the boundaries I've set up. Lines become blurred and everything gets complicated. Pursing her lips Ella tilts her head side to side and sings aloud to some lyrics of one of my favourite songs.
"…She don't want love she just wants a touch, she got all the moves to make you give it up…" "What does that make me?"
"…He'll never be your only". She keeps going without skipping a beat, completely disregarding my question.
"Who will never be Payton's only?" Laura, undoubtedly one of the toughest women I've ever met interrupts suddenly, magically standing beside me, having materialized out of nowhere like some ghost in the night, making me jump.
It's no secret she wears the pants in this family. Very expensive pants too may I add, and for a very well deserving, very successful self-made business woman with a great eye. She'd taken all her savings from her lawyering years, combined them with her fellow lawyer husband and turned to her real passion, art, eventually owning a few art galleries in Chicago, turning it into a lucrative multi-million dollar business.
"Give me a hug dear" she murmurs softly, already leaning in for one, her flowery cotton dress pressing against my skin. Once she has pulled back, her soft hands cup my cheeks and she studies me.
"It's been a long time".
No it really hasn't. I was at your anniversary dinner not long ago.
"How have you been?"
"Good." I offer her a measured smile, inwardly cringing at what would happen if she smelled alcohol on my breath. Maybe nothing?
"I talked to your mother on Tuesday"
Well, alright then. Haven't talked to her in two days.
"I'll call her tonight" I retort quickly, anticipating the direction the conversation is headed and ending it before it has started.
"You better young lady" She admonishes before sashaying away to the dining room and to her husband, leaving me with a tight knot in my stomach. With a therapist on my case, one would think my mother wouldn't be worrying so much. That it would've been sufficient to ease her anxiety over my well-being, of the need to reassure her that I was alright every single day. Well, that would be a mistake.
I take a sharp intake of breath and whisk around to a now smirking Ella with a practiced smile of my own.
"Kreténe" . The swear off my lips widens her smile. She gives me the finger. "Czech this"
"Brunch is ready!" Laura announces from the dining room, and like lambs to a slaughter we all approach the meticulously set table with a white elegant cloth draping around the fourteen chairs length furniture, and a huge red and pink flower vase forming a marvellous centerpiece, to take our rightful spots.
"You better not put my winnings to waste". Ella, now sandwiched between me and her man, whispers. It takes an actual glance in her direction to realize she is addressing me.
"What?"
"Get Brad to go with you to. I want those tickets used"
Oh yeah. Those tickets.
Her winnings.
Access to The Scene of the Crime, or The Scene, as it is popularly known now. The hottest, trendiest nightclub in Chicago, famous for its top notch service and even more top of the line entertainment.
The IT place to be.
Too bad that one night full of limo rides, unlimited Champagnes and all sorts of VIP treatments just so happen to coincide with her planned vacation to Hawaii in two days.
"Tickets will be used"
"One of them better be yours"
"How can you even think of clubbing after last night?" I scowl, still nursing a massive hangover. "And why would you even ever enter some ballot knowing very well you wouldn't be available to attend it?" I hiss.
"As if I thought it was ever gonna happen!" She snickers and passes me a nicely curved plate of devilled eggs whose sight alone almost makes me hurl, "I feel like I've won a lottery"
Grabbing the plate quickly, I pass it to one of the two new guests next to me, taking a hold of the next that is all bacon. "I'll take Andrew"
"Whatever you do have a good time"
"You too. Don't forget the basking in the sun part. Take tons of pics. Make Lane hate himself for missing it" I muse.
Mundane chatters flow freely around the table throughout the meal and even after when we are all gathered back in the living room.
"I'm sure it'll be incredible," Laura's eyes lighten with joy with a mention their trip, bidding them adieu. She envelops me in a tight hug. "You take care you hear?" I can read the genuine worry in her voice even without having to pull away to meet her eyes.
"I will," I nod, resting my head against her shoulder, wondering if I'm actually this incapacitated.
No matter how much I try to move past it, in their eyes, Gregg's attack will always define me.
"We are here!" Lainey announces excitedly, immediately drawing my gaze out the limo before it'd come to a complete stop to a line of partygoers awaiting entrance, stretching out the street. Even then, that isn't what catches my eye. The elegant and immaculately written logo displayed with the Scene of the Crime, in deep bloody red, is exhilarating and breathtaking all at once. No time to take all this in before the Limo door opens.
"Ready ladies?" The chauffer stretches his hand again to help us out.
"This is really good!" I exclaim in wonder after a brief once over on our way in.
"Yes it is Mam. It is the best" he admits, leading us inside to some unfavourable reactions from awaiting partygoers.
Past the huge doors with security perched on either side we are guided through an intimate foyer which I'd guess to work on keeping the crowd to a minimum outside the club.
Lainey nudges me by my shoulder. "We look like rich bitches"
"Rich classy bitches I hope" I giggle, following our guide to the loud music heard from the foyer and into a massive two level club, surprised even further when we are led further onto on the main floor instead of upstairs where usual VIP sections are, until we reach a bit tiered secluded section that is both private while still manages to be part of the action.
"Here you are ladies," He mutters and steps aside to let us slip in the soft and exquisitely elegant booth. "Your server should be here any minute"
"Thank you!" Lainey responds with a wide grin.
"You have yourselves a great evening," he bows before quickly retreating back to where we'd come from, leaving me taking in the splendour of the VIP section with as much awe and fascination as a kid in the candy store. Anticipation over what's ahead of us this evening washes over me, sending my heart raging in my chest and my stare running right smack in the middle of Michelangelo's muse.
A stunner.
Sitting alone with a short glass of something amber in front of him, his attention is completely engrossed a distance away and to the entrance where VIP occupants roam in and out the secluded portion. A single booth separating us, and Lainey's back to him, I find myself in the most fortunate vantage points from which to ogle to my heart's content without being noticed. Hands neatly tucked together on the mahogany table and eyes intent in its target, the only blemish on his person are those tight lips caused by the slight flex of that curved from stone chiselled jaw.
He's…brooding.
"What would you ladies like to drink?"
The waitress' voice startles me, making me jump, much to Lainey's chagrin. "We can special order a drink or bring a bottle of Champagne to start"
"A bottle of Champagne will do, please" Lainey goes all in with a beautiful smile to boot. After the beautiful blonde has disappeared to fetch our request and I'd unceremoniously spared her the dubious stare, she gives me a mischievous smirk, shrugging her shoulders before winking. "We were told to have a great evening, Payton"