Conflicting Hearts (19 page)

Chapter 19

Painful Reunion

The week flies by and Thursday arrives. Before work, I
decide to forgo a pantsuit and dress in a skirt with a matching blazer. I
choose a white blouse, a few pieces of cheap jewelry, and spend more time on my
hair than I usually do. It’s obvious I’m trying to impress someone. By the time
five o’clock rolls around, my makeup will probably have faded, so I stick a few
extra items in my bag for a quick touch-up in the ladies’ room before meeting
Ian.

My nerves are on edge, and I try to remember points in my
conversation with Dr. Grayson. I need to keep my emotions in check and part of
me teeters on disassociating myself from the entire experience. I know if I go
that far, my eyes will glaze over, and I won’t hear a thing he says. Instead,
I’ll be busy constructing the brick wall so I won’t get hurt.

After blowing a breath of air from my lungs, I glance at the
clock. It’s time to revive my makeup before I take the elevator of doom down to
the lobby. As I glance at myself in the mirror, I appear outwardly confident,
but I can see the fear in my eyes.
Jesus, please help me get through this.
I
haven’t uttered a prayer like that in ten years.

“Okay, let’s rock,” I mutter aloud, giving myself a team
rah-rah. I get into the elevator, press L, and count the stops to let on more
homeward-bound workers. A few minutes later, I emerge and round the corner.

Instantly, my eyes pick him out of the crowd. I stop dead
and stare for a moment. It’s been so long, and he is so handsome. Ian is
dressed in a dark, pin-striped suit, with a powder blue shirt and dark-blue
tie. I want to jump him, but at the same time my knees are knocking together.
He turns and sees me standing there like a scare crow. Thankfully, his face
brightens into a smile. I melt.

My feet propel me forward like I’m on a conveyor belt, and
the next I know I’m standing in front of him. The cheeks on my face puff out,
and I smile from ear to ear. “God, you look good,” I say, eyeing him up and
down like a crazy woman. He gives me his classic smirk, and then leans over and
kisses me on the cheek. I’m surprised.

“God, you look good too” he says.

My heart bursts forth like a stream in the desert. “So,
where are we off to, law man?”

He chuckles and gives me his arm. There’s isn’t an ounce of
hesitation, as I wrap myself into Ian and yank him to my side.

“How about where we had our first drink?” He looks at me
with hopeful eyes.

“Sounds good.” I am slightly miffed. It seems he takes all
his women to that little Italian restaurant.

We take a short walk of a few blocks. Both of us are quiet.
I’m scared, but thrilled to be in his presence. I have no idea why I let this
man go, and the fears that I have lost him start to haunt me as we enter the
bar. It takes me a moment to adjust my eyes to the dim lighting. Ian leads me
over to a secluded table, helps me into my chair, and sits down across from me.

“Boy this sure is familiar,” I say, looking at him. He’s
avoiding eye contact with me. My stomach tightens.

A waitress approaches. “Coke,” I say. “Bud,” he says.
Afterward, he guardedly looks at me and parts his lips with a small smile. His
eyes have that familiar glimmer in them that I love.

“You really look fabulous, Rachel.”

“Thank you for the compliment. I accept.” He raises his
eyebrow at me.

“Well good,” he replies. “I’m glad to hear it.”

I want to tell him that I’m feeling better about everything,
but I don’t want to go down that road yet. How can I tell him the things that
I’ve told my counselor?

My pop and his Bud arrive, and we both take a sip. My mouth
feels like a ball of cotton, so I quickly suck the liquid through the straw.
Ian remains aloof, and I try to draw him out.

“So how have you been, Ian, really?”

He lowers his eyes into his beer and clears his throat. “Uh,
okay, I guess. Just busy.” He lifts his head and looks at me like he wants to
say something, but the cat has his tongue.

“You have something to tell me, don’t you?” I’m afraid of
what he’ll say, but I might as well open the door. “Go ahead.”

Ian quickly pulls his eyes away and hides in his frothy
beer. “Ah, Rach,” he says, heaving a puff of air from his lungs and shaking his
head. “I’m kind of confused, I guess.”

“About what?”

He brings the beer to his mouth and takes a sip. After he
swallows, he bites his upper lip nervously, and then sheepishly raises his eyes
to mine.

“My ex wants to get back together again.”

At first, I wonder if I’m hearing him correctly. His answer
reverberates in my brain, and the light in my eyes disappear. My soul crawls
into a fetal position, and I know what’s coming. Now, I avoid looking at him and
jump into the bottom of my glass. I was right, it was Susan having dinner with
him. My heart rate increases in both fear and anger.

Take charge of things, Rachel. Buck up,
I tell
myself. I know I have to get through this.

“Wow,” I answer, trying to keep a cheerful look on my face.
“That’s a surprise.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, it was to me too. She
broke up with her former boyfriend, and said she was having second thoughts
about having divorced me.”

“I thought you said you were over her,” I remind him of his
statement clearly announced the day we went to Multnomah Falls. I remember the
look in his eyes, and I believed him.

“Well, she didn’t want me then.” He quickly replies with a
lame-ass explanation.

“And now she does, so now you’re
no
t over her?” I’m
sounding miffed. “Sorry, I just don’t get it.” My mouth pulls to one side of my
face, showing my disapproval.

He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, and then takes another
drink of beer. “Like I said, I’m confused.”

“Have you been dating her again?” I already know the answer,
but I want to see if he fesses up.

He nods his head. “Yeah, we’ve had a couple of dinners out
and have done other stuff together.”

Other stuff. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Has
he done her?
My nails dig into my palms of my clenched fists. I want to
slap some sense into his confused pretty little head.

“Define
other stuff
,” I press, sounding annoyed.

“Not here,” he says, lowering his voice like he’s ashamed to
mention it in public. He avoids looking at me.

I shake my head in disbelief. “You don’t need to articulate
the
other stuff
, Ian. I get the picture.”

He doesn’t affirm or deny. His silence really irks me now.

“Well, I guess then if you’re confused, I’ll call it a
night. No use sticking around where I’m not wanted.”

As soon as the words leave my lips, he reaches over and
grabs my hand. His actions surprise me. I look into his eyes, and I see the Ian
I know. He wants me, too, but he’s conflicted.

“No, don’t go, Rachel. Tell me about you. I have missed you,
really I have.” He looks pitifully at me, like he’s a little boy again. “How
are things with counseling?”

I look down at his hand that clings tightly to mine. His
flesh is so warm and inviting, that I feel my eyes water.
Shit. I can’t
start crying now
,
I tell myself. I blink a few times to avert the
flow.

“Uh, it’s going good. Learning a lot about myself and why I
do the things I do. I’m trying to learn how to be loved.” I look him directly
in the eyes. “And to love.”

“What about the other stuff?”

Oh, now he wants to know about the
other stuff
with
my
sexual issues. I feel a coldness flow through my veins. Anger rises
in my heart, because I feel threatened. I lean forward and whisper.

“You mean my propensity for wanting rough sex and bondage
when you fuck me?” He scowls at me, and his hand slips off mine. “Well, that’s
what you mean, isn’t, Ian? You’ve met a masochist, and you want to know if I
still want you to be sadist with me in the sack.”

I’m shocked at my own words and admission to another human
being. It’s like AA, only for sex addicts.
Hello, my name is Rachel Ann
Hayward, and I have masochist tendencies.

 He doesn’t say anything. I sound perturbed, but I’m
being defensive. It’s far too difficult to dwell on the thought that I disgust
him at this moment. I try to soften my voice.

“Let’s just say that I’m working on it, but I won’t know if
I’ve conquered that desire until I get fucked again by another man.”

 I’m saying the F-word far too much, but I’m irritated
at myself for being so screwed up. If I was a normal woman, I wouldn’t be
having this god-awful embarrassing moment in front of the man I love. I’m
convinced now that he doesn’t love me, and all he sees is an emotional,
unbalanced train wreck. It’s better that he goes back to his prissy and arrogant
Susan.

Suddenly, I’m floating off somewhere in my head to where I
want to be hurt and bound, because I don’t deserve him. I look into his eyes
and realize that I am being hurt—by him, the man I love—only it’s an emotional
thrashing and not a physical one, which is by far more painful.

Ian lowers his head, and he’s staring at the table top. His
fingers play with the corner of his white napkin, turning the edge down and
folding it. He’s hiding, and I can’t take it any longer.

“Listen, Ian, I’ll make it easy for you. You figure out what
you want. If it’s me, I’d like to rekindle our relationship and see where it
goes. If you want to go back to your wife, and hope she doesn’t get
bored
with you again, then I wish you all the happiness in the world. Let me know,
and if you need a good counselor, I can recommend one.”

I rise to my feet slowly, flash him a gracious smile. Ian
lifts his pathetic gaze and looks at me dejectedly. His lips remain closed in a
hard line.

“I’ll be watching for you through the windshield of my car.”

My body turns to leave, and then I stop. I have to say it,
or my soul will burst. “By the way, Ian, believe it or not, I really love you.
You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Quickly, I run out the door and sprint to the parking
garage. Tears stream down my cheeks. I pray with every footstep I take in my
high-heel shoes, which are clicking across the concrete sidewalk, that at any
moment he’ll come up from behind me and grab me by the arm. I want him here
with me, telling me he loves and wants me, not with his haughty ex-wife; but he
doesn’t, and I’m crushed.

I’ve done my duty. Kept my cool. Now I’m going to go home,
cry, and probably masturbate with thoughts of some man hurting me to punish
myself. It’s all I deserve in life. It’s all I’ve ever known. When someone
hurts me; I hurt myself, validating my lack of worth.

“To hell with counseling,” I scream, as I push my key into
my car door lock. “Why put myself through this torture? For what? Nothing ever
changes.”

I crawl inside my car, slam the door shut, lay my head on
the steering wheel, and lose it.

* * * *

My drive home is scary. After sitting in my car and crying
for twenty minutes, I can’t process where I am or where I’m going. It’s that
feeling you get when you drive through a light and get on the other side trying
to remember if it was red or green. The road is a blur through my tearing eyes,
and I’m afraid I’m going to crash into the concrete barrier on the Sunset
Highway.

Finally, I take my exit and make my way down the street to
my apartment. I’m numb and angry at myself, at him, and at his stupid wife for
playing with his feelings. Inside I’m damning her left and right.

My firm grip on the steering wheel lessens as I turn into
the driveway of my complex. I pull into my assigned parking space under the
covered portion, turn off my car, and look in my rearview mirror. My heart
stops when I see the back of Ian’s trunk. He’s standing there waiting for me. I
don’t know whether to shoot him or kiss him.

For a few moments, I hesitate getting out. It’s obvious I’m
avoiding him, because he walks over to the driver’s side of my car door and
opens it for me.

“What are you doing here?” I look at him with my swollen
eyes and tear-streaked face.

His face is distraught. “I couldn’t let you go.”

“You’re not making this any easier for me,” I complain,
stepping out of the car and facing him.

“It’s not easy for me either,” he admits, closing the door
with a bang.

He’s upset; I’m upset. It’s a standoff. We’re staring at
each other eye-to-eye. I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling. The urge
to throw myself at him tempts me, but the thought to be a gracious and mature
brings sense back into my head.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, scooting by him and heading for
my apartment. He follows me up the stairs, and the next moment my brain
registers is when we’re standing in the living room ogling each other. My cat
wanders out to greet me, and immediately the traitor runs to Ian and starts
doing his dance around his legs.

“Whiskers!” I lift him into my arms, horrified at the
thought of cat hairs on his suit.

“Hi Whiskers.” Ian’s voice is kind, and he reaches out and
rubs my cat behind his ears. Instantly, the animal’s eyes glaze over, but I
don’t blame him. If Ian rubbed me behind the ears, I’d probably do the same.

“Let me stick him in the bedroom so he doesn’t bug us.”
Quickly, I walk down the hall, lay Whiskers on the bed, and then lock him
inside. I can already hear him scratching at the door, but I’m going to tune
him out.

I get back into the living room, and Ian is sitting on the
couch. He looks relaxed. One arm is draped over the back, one leg is extended,
the other in, and he’s placed his other arm on the rest.

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, tea, pop? Sorry,
no booze here.”

“No, nothing.” His dark eyes have clamped upon me, and I
feel uncomfortable under his piercing gaze.