Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (16 page)

“A heart is
not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others.”

― L.
Frank Baum

~~~

Renata
Koreman

Joshua doesn’t
need sight to communicate his feelings. His open expression of wonder is far
too moving. Unable to face such honest, intense emotion, I avert my gaze.

“It
is
a
miracle,” I say, feeling the first stirrings of anxiety. After a long moment, I
add, “Sex can be intimate, passionate and mind blowing, but it can be fun, too.”
I begin to playfully nudge and tickle him, particularly under his arms.

I cry out
joyfully when I discover Joshua’s seriously ticklish. The resultant struggle
and wrestling skirmish between us alters the mood. We’re both laughing now.
Joshua’s poignant and self-reflecting frame of mind evaporates into a playful
tussle.

In the end, we
spend two hours in bed together and no, it wasn’t all sex. Much of that time
was spent talking and laughing.

Some people need
alcohol to relax and feel comfortable enough to open up. Some are totally
inhibited unless they take drugs. With Joshua, the endorphins released from
orgasm have put him on such an incredible high—I can’t get him to shut up. Not
that I’d want to.

Usually taciturn,
I never imagined he could be so garrulous.

“Renata,” he
finally says, when I explain our session is over. “I want to do this again.”

“And so you
should.”

“With
you
,”
he amends. “I want to be with you. I love you, Renata,” he says, unexpectedly
ardent. “Marry me! Stay with me! I’ve never felt as close to anyone before. I
make a decent living; I’d be a good provider. I care about you. I’ll make you
happy, I swear it.”

Damn it!

Leave it to
Joshua to go right to the end game. No hesitation—no thought of dating or
getting to know each other. Yet, I can’t blame him. We’ve talked together
honestly. I’ve accepted him without judgment and introduced him to the bliss of
a physical and emotional bond.

Sex is a
powerful, intimate act of communication and connection. Falling in love, from
making
love
is common. In fact, it’s a high-risk occupational hazard of the
surrogate’s job. Both clients and therapists are vulnerable.

Having Asperger's
presented social challenges for Joshua, but blindness isolated him even
further. How much more life changing would sex be for someone like him?

For Joshua to
feel comfortable enough to open up and share things he's never shared before is
significant. Until we'd made love, I bet he'd never felt as accepted or as
comfortable in his own skin with anyone. The fact that we've given each other
such pleasure helped him come out of his shell.

Joshua loves
me.

What does he know
of love? Romantic, lasting love, that is. What does anyone? Hell, I understand
as little as he does, in this regard.

I
so
want
to please him. I share his hunger for romance, love and acceptance. I hate the
unspeakable pain of rejection.

I don’t want to
hurt him.

Right now, I wish
there were two of me. That way, I could give one of myself to him, to fulfill
his needs. The other 'me' could continue on my path, helping others and figuring
out what
I
need in life.

I choose my words
carefully. “Joshua, we did this so you would gain confidence and find a reason
to have a relationship, remember?”

“Yes, but why
can’t my relationship be with
you
?”

“There are many
reasons why. For a start, I’m a professional. I was hired by your dad to
provide a service, which I did. A relationship between us wouldn't be a good
idea. I can’t marry everyone I help, now can I?”

“No,” he says, “but
you should marry me.”

I ignore this
statement and continue, “Another reason is that I'm your first. The first
always seems special.”

“You
are
special!” he declares vehemently.

I can’t help but
feel a little tug of pleasure at this heartfelt conviction.

I speak
reasonably with Joshua for some time as we dress. I point out that he needs to
have more involvement with others, particularly women. If he marries me—the
first woman he ever talked to, in time he might regret it. Unlike him, I’m no
genius. I only seem special because I have more social experience and we get along
so well together.

I’m exaggerating
about my social experience. Compared to Joshua, however, I suppose I do have a
lot.

“I’ve been with
many different men, Joshua. Now it’s your turn. I’d like to see you have a
relationship with other women.”

Joshua’s brows
draw down in a heavy frown. “
Many
different men?” he asks. “Did you work
as a prostitute?”

If someone else
asked me this, I may have taken offense, but I know Joshua doesn’t think like
that. He’s asked this question without realizing it might be insulting. It’s a
part of his disability. Even though he knows what a prostitute is, he has no
idea such a question could be considered offensive.

“Your father paid
me to introduce you to sex,” I counter in a calm voice. “Does that make me a
prostitute?”

His lips curve up
in a generous smile and he kisses my hand. “No. It makes you a really good
teacher.”

I laugh and his
unintentionally harsh words are forgiven. “Joshua, you know hardly anything
about me, and I have a career that involves me being intimate with many people.
I need to help others as I’ve done with you today.”

“But you’re not
married, right?” he asks. “You do want to be married and have children, don’t
you?”

How does he
zero in on that? Socially inexperienced and blind, he’s still observant as
hell. The man really is a genius.

I roll my lower
lip between my teeth. “Yes.”

“So you haven’t
found true love, either,” he says, with happy conviction.

The guy is way
too smart.

“I’m only
twenty-two and I love many people, Joshua. You and I barely know each other.
We’ve shared something extremely special. I have a soft spot for you, too, but
that’s no reason to marry.”

Or is it?

Joshua’s heavy
frown shows how upset he is. I hate to see pain in his expression. What makes
me feel worse is I've caused his pain. I was supposed to be helping him, not
hurting him. It makes me want to give in, to give him what he wants. To be
exactly the person he needs. From the way he’s looking at it, there’s no reason
we can’t date.

Joshua thinks he
loves me. I wanted to help him and I know I did, but I never meant to hurt him.

I can’t marry
him.

I care for Joshua
in many ways. I like him very much. In time, could I fall in love with this
brilliant man? Could we develop the kind of love a good marriage would build
upon? Who knows? I have no idea what I’m looking for in a partner. I don’t know
what I need or want.

To accept his
proposal would be lunacy and likely lead to disaster for both of us. The basis
of our relationship is nothing but a snapshot in time of two vastly different
lives.

Yet, I long to be
loved. I long to be married and have children. Could he fill my needs? Could I
fill his?

For a moment, my
mind touches on my little brother, Timmy. I really want children. When I see
mothers with their babies, I feel jealous. Of course, I feel jealous when I see
daughters out with their loving mothers, too.

When I see daughters
with their fathers, I feel nervous.

Right now,
Joshua’s offering me all I’ve ever wanted.

Love, marriage
and a family. Why does the mere thought of these subjects still make me feel
lost and sad and a failure?

André thinks I’m
still wounded through unresolved issues from my childhood. I frustrate him
because he hates to see me unhappy. Despite his extensive one-on-one counseling
and the many techniques he’s used to help me, he can’t fix me.

I’m not really unhappy.

It’s just
sometimes I feel like crying and I get into depressive funks. There's an
emptiness within me I can't seem to fill. It’s as if I’m half a person. All of
my life, I’ve longed for a family. I’ll meet the right man someday. Even though
sometimes I feel old, I’m still young. I’ll get there.

If only I knew my
other half
now.

After going back
and forth for a while, we come up with an agreement. Joshua can email me twice
a month for an entire year. In that time, he has to find and date
at least
one woman; preferably more.

“I do love you,”
he says quietly.

For a moment I
flash on to a memory of Jamie. Jamie opened my eyes to the intimacy and joy of
sex. I was forever changed and I told him, “I love you,” too. But Jamie
preferred men, so the subject of marriage didn’t come up.

“I’m honored,
Joshua, I really am. Your whole world has changed. I know, I’ve been there. For
now, will you go out and learn to love other people, too?”

He’s hurt and
upset. Change is difficult, especially for him. He’d like to spend more time
with me. We finally agree if Joshua is still romantically unattached at the end
of a year, and I’m not with anyone—I’ll date him.

Why not? We are
attracted to each other and we like each other. That’s a very good start.

“The patterns
learned as a child, repeat as an adult. Those with an abusive childhood are
very often oh-so blind to this inescapable truth.”

— André
Chevalier

~~~

Renata
Koreman

I lightly knock
on his door.

“Entrer,”
André says.

I tentatively
walk inside and close the door, resting my back on it.

André's study is
warm, inviting and utterly male. Dark wooden floors are covered by a medieval
Aubusson rug and his large teak desk is set so he can peer out over the
landscape of Las Vegas. Dark wooden beams along a white ceiling make it appear
as if the room’s set in some French château.

This is the place
where I first met André. What a mess I was back then. Just out of a psychiatric
unit for a psychotic episode, devastated by the death of Jamie, my best friend,
protector and first love.

For a long time
afterwards, I had nightmares, flashbacks and panic attacks. I wasn’t exactly an
easy case. I can’t believe André took me in, and took me on. I’ve been such
challenge and a trial to him. He’s devoted so much time and energy into helping
me heal.

Ever the
gentleman, André stands and gives me a friendly smile when I enter the room.
“Ma
petite souris,”
he says in a quiet voice.

It means, “My
little mouse.” He’s always affectionately called me that. His face is open and
welcoming; in fact, everything about him demonstrates his pleasure at seeing
me.

André wears his
usual perfectly tailored top-of-the-line charcoal suit and vest, with a
well-pressed, crisp white shirt. His subdued tie rests on the desk beside him
and his shirt is open at the neck.

Flat stomach,
broad shoulders, dark hair styled perfectly around his neck and ears, the man
is so incredibly handsome.

Still, I think
his personality is what’s most attractive about him. Character beats good looks
every time. If he was decrepit with age, hunchbacked and physically ugly, I’d
still find him to be the most beautiful person in the world.

I haven’t seen
André
in
ages.
Just the sight of him lifts my low spirits.

I’ve just come
back from walking Joshua Marks and his dog to the elevator and I feel so damn
down. I feel ridiculously guilty for not accepting Joshua’s offer. I feel bad
because I caused him pain. I’m confused because I don’t know what I’m doing. I
feel stupid, and hopeless. I never get anything right.

André reads my
turbulent emotions instantly. “Come to me,
ma belle,”
he says and opens
his arms wide.

With a sob, I run
into the safety of his embrace. The faint smell of nutmeg, cedar and Brazilian
Rosewood fill my senses and I breathe in deeply. God, I adore his cologne. I
love everything about him.

André grips me
firmly, patting my back and soothing my raw feelings with soft words of
affection and lighthearted chastisement. He knows I’m mad at myself
—I often am. I’m my own worst enemy.
He speaks only in
French, telling me I’m a “foolish little cabbage” and a terrible, terrible
trial to him, but he loves me anyway.

He’s called me a
“foolish little cabbage” so many times. This isn’t an insult—it’s a term of
endearment. Maybe you’d have to be French to understand the context. He’s being
affectionate and his playful teasing is just so damn sweet.

Either way, he
stops my downward spiraling mood in its tracks and makes me almost choke with
laughter, which he no doubt had hoped for.

When I’m more
composed, he takes my hand and we move to the couch where we can talk. He pulls
a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Taking gentle care, he wipes my eyes.

“You are upset.
Tell me what has happened to disturb your peace?”

“Everything with
Joshua went really well,” I reply in English, because I don’t have to think so
much while speaking in my native tongue.

“I expected no
less,” he says, switching to English, too. “You are most capable,
ma petite
souris.”

I give him a wan
smile and sniff in an unladylike manner. He hands me his handkerchief and I
blow my nose loudly. His bushy black eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The stunned
expression on his face makes me grin.

We both laugh out
loud.

“All is better,
is it not?”

I nod.

“And so?”

“Joshua asked me to
marry him,” I begin. “He’s got it in his head that he’s in love with me. I feel
like I ripped out his heart by saying no. The whole thing left me feeling
guilty and confused. André, I want to be in love and married. He’s a good guy.
We could be happy together…
probably.
”

He nods, his dark
eyes filled with understanding. André knows my triggers.

“Are you pleased
you did not give in and tell
Monsieur
Marks you would marry him?”

“Yes! But it was
really hard. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“It was well
done. Continue to work on your boundaries, little mouse. You improve on this
most vital skill. How did the session end?”

“We agreed if
Joshua is still single at the end of the year, and I’m not with anyone—I’ll
date him. But he has to date
at least
one woman before then. He can also
write to me twice a month.”

André stands up
and begins to pace. I knew this would piss him off.

“I do not fault
your actions,” he says, “but me? I doubt your reasoning. Every time you wish to
be the Superwoman,” he says flinging a hand in the air. “The Wonder woman, the
heroine who races in and saves people. But you cannot save everyone. You are
not to blame for Dr. Marks’ emotional responses to life. You cannot rescue someone
from themselves. People are never as helpless as they feel! When they improve,
it is not because of
you
—it is because they have
chosen to help
themselves!”

André and I have
had this conversation many times before.

As a child, I was
powerless. I couldn’t save my mother from my father. I couldn’t save my baby
brother. I try to fulfill other people’s needs in some sort of crazy form of
compensation because I want to give them what I never had. I have difficulty
making my own desires a priority.

In the scheme of
things, I feel unimportant.

Helping people is
all I want to do. Being needed makes me feel valued. Through helping, I’m able
to connect with others, yet a “rescuer” who's willing to forego her own needs
to support others, isn't the best idea for a therapist.

“I did tell
Joshua
‘no
,’” I say meekly.

He shakes his
head, hitches a hip on his teak desk and crosses his arms. “
Pardon
, you
did not say ‘
no
.’ You said you will not date him for a year and he may
write to you.”

“But only twice a
month.”

He rolls his eyes
at that.

“I wanted to say
yes… well, I didn’t really
want
to, but I couldn’t bear to see Joshua so
upset. And frankly, the things he said made sense. I know it's crazy.”

“
D'accord, eh
bien,”
he says with a sigh. “You did as you thought best and he is worthy
of your care. In fact,
he could be
the man for you. Who can say? I only
wish you would allow me to introduce you to people. I know of men who would be
good for you. Men who would cherish you, protect you and need you as you need
to be needed.”

“What? Not one of
your Dom friends again?”

He shrugs.

André’s into
BDSM. I know all about that. BDSM is a strange abbreviation because it’s formed
from the beginning letters of more than four words. It stands for bondage,
discipline, dominance, submission, sadism and masochism.

Often, André uses
a variety of erotic practices involving role-play, restraint and other
interpersonal power dynamics when he works with his clients. Helping people
find their way in life and within relationships is what he does best.

Like me, André is
a rescuer too, in his way. But unlike me, he’s not crazy. Despite being caring
and empathetic, André maintains his boundaries with ease. He’s able to separate
himself and his own wishes from those he helps.

In André’s
opinion, BDSM is a useful tool for personal growth and self-awareness. Why? He
says,
“BDSM is about honesty, communication, trust, sacrifice, service and
connection. This makes it not only something for the body, heart and mind, but
also a great remedy for the soul.”

It sounds
wonderful.

Too bad, it’s not
for me.

I’ll always
associate an inability to escape and vulnerability with the abuse I suffered as
a child from my scary father. I wouldn’t let André try it with me. He showed me
a lot of the basics of Domination and submission, but I was too much of a
scaredy-cat to go further.

He thinks if I
fell in love with a Dom and played Dom and submissive games, I could work
through all of my childhood shit. André says he’s solved many abuse cases in this
manner.

“Often,” he says,
“the same poison used differently and with trust, can become the cure.”

He means I need
to go back to the things that messed me up and face them again, but this time
with people I love and trust.

I don’t know if
it would work for me.

They say if the
only tool you have is a hammer, you’ll treat everything as if it were a nail.
For André, BDSM is one of his favorite tools.

“You did very
well with Joshua Marks, except now you are unhappy.”

“I know, it’s
nuts, but I feel as if I let him down. I feel like a failure.”

Voice and arms
raised, he jumps from his desk in a frenzy of passion. “
Oui, oui!
And a
good Dom would spank you for such idiocy! I would enjoy to see you unable to
sit down for a week! Yet, you will not have a good Dom, and I do not know how
else to help you!”

My reaction—or my
lack of one, is a testament to how far I’ve come over the years. The fact I
feel no physical or emotional response to André’s apparent threat of violence
or his raised voice, shows how much I trust him. He’d never hurt me.

André’s just
frustrated and disappointed as I confound him with my self-punishment and weird
depressive funks.

My doctor
prescribed me high-dose antidepressants for years. Now I’ve stabilized on a
minimal dose, but when it comes down to it, with the slightest provocation I
still feel like a fool and a failure.

For a long
moment, there’s only silence in the room.

I meet his eyes.
“If I
could
bring myself to play BDSM games, I’d want to play them with
you,” I say in a soft voice.

He smiles down at
me and looks sincerely apologetic. “I’m very sorry I cannot be who you need me
to be, little mouse.”

“Me, too.”

He nods. “On
another matter. I see from your schedule you are available tomorrow afternoon,
no?”

I have a ton of
work to do at the vet’s office, cages to clean, animals to attend to… but Diana
won’t mind. I can get everything done. I’ll do as much as I can tonight.

“Sure. What’s
up?”

“I have a new
client for you. His name is Grant Wilkinson. He is seven years older than you are.
As a child he was sexually abused by a man.”

I shake my head
and already feel sorry for the poor guy. Not that feeling sorry for someone
helps—it doesn’t. Pity sucks. I always hated when people felt sorry for me.

“What does Grant
need from me?”

André gives me
his typical Gaelic shrug. “Who can say? I have done all I can for him—for now.
It is for you to take him further, I think. This will not be one session as it
was with Joshua Marks. This could mean many, many sessions you must have with
him. It may take time to discover his requirements.”

“Did you tell him
about me?”

“I told him you
enjoy sex and are an experienced sexual surrogate. I told him I would inform
you of his history of sexual abuse, but that is all. He has spoken to me,
purging himself of details. I feel it would help him to speak to a woman of
these things.”

I frown and think
this over. “How should I bring up the subject?”

“Do as you feel
best. You are a counselor
par excellence
.” He shoots me a broad grin. “I
know, as I have trained you! Use your own judgment of how to proceed. I will be
available to answer questions, or to deal with any difficulties, of course.”

“Will I like
him?”

André grins. “
Mais
oui,
you will most certainly like him. I enjoy his company, oh, very much.
We shall see. If a connection does not form between you, I will find him
someone else.” His eyes narrow as his gaze probes mine. “Of all you have worked
with, of a certainty, Grant needs you more than any other.”

My heart kicks up
at these words.

I hear a soft
knock, followed by Gustave’s appearance and his mellow voice announcing,
“Le
déjeuner est servi.”

Lunch is ready.
The thought of Pascal’s wonderful French cuisine makes my empty stomach growl.
I’m hungry and now I’m all fired up. Tomorrow, I’m going to meet my new and
hopefully long-term client.

Grant
needs
me, André says. My clever friend knows me so well.

I feel loved when
I’m
needed,
and I’m happy and fulfilled when I feel loved.

It’s one thing to
know your own type of crazy, but it’s another to figure out how to deal with
it. My self-esteem is tied up with rescuing people and giving my heart away.
Pretty funny when I clearly need someone to save me from myself.

Right now, sexual
surrogacy is what works for me. I can help lots of people without getting too
tangled up emotionally.

Having caused
Joshua pain has put me on edge. The moment I return home, I plan to spend time
in my little box. I’ll feel safe there and be able to reflect on the day. I’ll
also consider Grant and his possible problems.