BEAST
Eric was weak and he knew it.
Juliet needed time. She'd been more than clear about that. But it didn't keep her from seeking him out, either, and it didn't keep him from giving in--every single time. She was it, though. He already knew that she was. She was the one. He would spend the rest of his life with her, one way or another, no matter how long it took or how many times she broke his heart to get there. He was utterly and completely at her mercy and he had absolutely no problem with it. And after she had fallen asleep in his arms on the couch and awakened with a start at four in the morning, he had managed to convince her that it was no time to be going home and that she might as well sleep the rest of the night there. Shockingly, she'd allowed him to tuck her into his bed and he'd promised no funny business as long as he was allowed to hold her for the rest of the night. It was the best sleep he'd gotten in awhile, but he knew it wouldn't last. This would be the last time for a long time, he knew, so he chose to savor it.
Others, however, outsiders looking in, would find this situation appalling. He knew it looked bad on the outside. He knew he looked the part of the doormat, but those outsiders didn't know any better. They didn't know Juliet, they didn't know him, and none of it was anybody else's business, anyway. Not even Travis's.
Juliet had left around ten the next morning with her therapy appointment coming up at two. This left Eric with real time to think. And as he thought, he seethed. How dare Travis? What exactly had he said to her? Her first words to Eric as he'd answered the door last night were, "Do you hate me?" Did he hate her? How had she come to that conclusion? The same way she'd come to the conclusion about Travis? Travis was his brother. His twin, his best friend. Travis was supposed to support him, not say hateful things to Eric's girlfriend behind his back. Girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, whatever Juliet was, it didn't matter. Travis had upset Juliet last night to the point that she wanted to leave town and Eric didn't care to waste anymore time getting to the bottom of it.
Eric paced his kitchen in nothing but his sweatpants as he glued his phone to his ear. "I don't know what the fuck you told Juliet last night, but where the fuck do you get off?" He barked into the phone as soon as Travis answered it.
"Wow. Someone has a favorite word this morning," Travis murmured. "Hello to you, too."
"Save it, Travis. Start talking."
"Look," Travis said. "Right now's not...not really a good time. My girl almost walked out on me last night, I'm kinda...you know, making up for it--"
"Yeah? Well my girl showed up on my doorstep last night, claiming to have had a few choice words said to her when she was at your place last night," Eric spat. "I swear to God, Travis, things are already fragile enough as it is right now. I don't need you sticking your nose where it doesn't fucking belong and filling her head full of bullshit."
"Did you fucking look in a mirror yesterday?" Travis finally exclaimed. "Did you see yourself? You spent the entire day looking like someone fucking...ran over your puppy or something. It was pathetic. Of course I knew Juliet was the source of it. When is she not lately? So I got pissed. She showed up here last night after everyone else had gone, creeping in like she was trying to avoid something...or someone...and I spouted off some shit that I should have kept to myself. Beth's already fucking pissed at me for it. She packed her fucking bag last night. Then she told me Juliet's real story and made me feel like a complete, worthless piece of shit. I mean, I've already gotten it from all directions. I'm scum. I'm a bastard and an asshole, those became Beth's new terms of endearment for me last night. All right? I'm sorry. I get it. And when I find a good opportunity, I'll apologize to Juliet. Okay?"
Eric was stunned into silence. Well. Okay, then. So Travis knew. He knew the truth. And he already knew he'd fucked up and was already suffering the consequences, so...apparently Beth had beaten Eric to the punch. Wow. This would take some getting used to, Travis being in a serious relationship. Apparently, Beth did a pretty decent job at whipping his brother into shape and keeping him in line. What was left for Eric to say?
"Well...good," Eric said, his tone calming some. "As long as you know you're a fuck head and that I don't want you sticking your nose into things that you know nothing about."
"Trust me. You have my word. I get it, lesson learned. And..." Travis's voice trailed off. "And apparently Beth wants to be naked today, so can we just--you know, talk about this later or whatever?"
"Yeah," Eric nodded, breathless. "Yeah, sure. Good talk."
"Yeah, okay. Later."
And Travis terminated the call.
Laying his phone down on the island, Eric sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, looking around his kitchen. It was Friday. The day after Thanksgiving. There was no work, nothing to do. Nothing to do but sit and think. And he didn't want to think. So he decided that hitting the gym sounded like a plan. After all, the anticipation of hearing the outcome of Juliet's first therapy session was killing him.
___________________________________________________
Therapy was not for Juliet.
Dr. Leslie Thorne was a nice woman. She was easily in her early fifties with bright, green eyes and a sandy blonde conservative bob that curled under at her shoulders. Her smile was warm and her voice was soothing and she sat across from Juliet and listened with no sign of judgment whatsoever.
So she wouldn't blame Dr. Thorne for the abrupt end to their session halfway through it.
Juliet cried all the way home. Her fears about therapy had all come true. Therapy was useless. It was supposed to help and she could tell halfway in that it wasn't going to. Therapy only made it worse. With Eric, she had seemingly only cracked Pandora's Box open. Dr. Thorne came at Pandora's Box with a fucking battle axe and savagely went at it until it was nothing but a pile of painful splinters. There was no escape for Juliet. None at all. And so she ran and vowed never to return.
But seriously, what more was Juliet going to sit there and do, anyway? Talk about it? "And how does that make you feel?" Like absolute shit, how else was it supposed to feel? She didn't have to pay someone to lead her straight into the fiery pits of her own personal hell. Juliet could do that all on her own--for free.
No, therapy wasn't necessary. She knew what her problem was, she didn't need someone with a framed certificate to confirm what she already knew. She would just deal with it on her own. She'd find a way to do it. Maybe she'd start a diary and write in it everything she would have said to Dr. Thorne. That could work. And then she could sit and cry for hours in the comfort in her own home and be allowed to smoke and drink in the process. It was a perfect plan. A total win-win.
Except that Juliet couldn't keep her mind off of the half a session of therapy she'd endured. She just kept replaying it over and over and over and no amount of tears could seem to get rid of it. Dr. Thorne's low-ranged, soft voice was still fresh in her head.
"Welcome, Juliet. I hope you had a good Thanksgiving."
"I did, thank you. I hope you did, as well."
"I did, thank you. So you called me with an urgent request to begin therapy as soon as possible. Would you care to...elaborate a little on that?"
Juliet glanced down at her hands that were trembling in her lap. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks. "Um, well. I've, um...well, I'm sure you've seen me all over the papers," she smiled sheepishly. "The tabloids, they love to...label me. I'm apparently New York's most eligible socialite and my romantic life is of apparent extreme importance to everyone--forget the fact that I've literally designed and redesigned a good portion of this city." She paused and let out a breath. "Anyway, um...I've finally...I've met a man. the man, I mean, the one that...someone special. And...and he's wonderful. And he's beautiful and he's patient and he's the only man in my entire life who's made me feel safe and secure and...and I spilled my guts to him the very first night we met. I told him everything, my entire life story. And he didn't run for the hills," she laughed. "Except that...well, since then it seems like I have run for the hills. Because now, ever since then, all the memories have all come rushing back in full force, things I tried to forget, things I tried to bury. And it's affecting my relationship with him and I recently broke it off with him so that I could...you know, come here and do this. For him."
Dr. Thorne nodded in understanding. "He asked you to do this?"
"No," Juliet shook her head.
"So you're doing this for him, you're not doing this for yourself?"
"Well--I mean, I want him. I want to build a good, healthy relationship with him, like normal people do, but I feel like my own demons are holding me prisoner. He keeps telling me to lean on him and rely on him, but I don't want him to have to endure what I had to endure. He hasn't done anything to deserve those horrors. So I had to back away from him. Except that I can't, I keep going back because I can't stay away from him and, ultimately, what I'm doing just isn't fair to him. And I don't know how to stop. And I don't want to give him up. I'm sure I'm not making a bit of sense, but...but, that's just...that's it."
"You keep mentioning horrors and demons. I understand that you've experienced quite the traumatic childhood and then a very traumatic marriage early in your life, is that correct?"
"Yes. Before I came to New York."
Dr. Thorne's eyes studied Juliet as she uncrossed her legs and then crossed the opposite one, simultaneously adjusting her shirt. "What do you wish to get out of therapy, Juliet?"
Juliet scoffed as her eyes darted around the office. "I want to be normal. I want a normal relationship like most people have, where I'm not lying in bed next to the man of my dreams and waking him up with nightmares every night. I don't want to cry on his shoulder every single day, I don't want...simple words or phrases to trigger things that paralyze me for periods of time, I don't want...I don't want him to resent being with me. I don't want to be the damsel in distress, I don't want him to feel like he has to stay with me because he feels sorry for me, I just want to be...normal. You know? Just that."
Across from her, Dr. Thorne was steadily jotting on her legal pad. The jotting made Juliet nervous and her crossed leg bounced off her knee as a result. Finally, she looked up from her notes and adjusted her glasses. "Juliet, I want you to know that you are in a completely safe and open environment. There is nothing that you can say that will be wrong or judged. You are not required to discuss anything that you do not wish to discuss. This is your therapy session and you have the complete and total power to say no to anything at any time. You may slow or stop anytime you wish. But I will let you know that what you can expect out of these sessions is that we will be dipping into your past so that we may better understand your present and, subsequently define your future. You may say anything, you may ask anything, there is nothing in this room to hide or keep secret. I am as open a book as you want me to be. And I hope that you will be comfortable enough, in time, to be the same."
Juliet looked across at Dr. Thorne and let out a breath. Was this it? Was that her introduction, were they officially "starting therapy?" Was Juliet ready for this? Where would she start? What would she say? Did she just start from birth and lay out her life in a timeline? How did this work?
Her eyes wandered around the office, antique white walls with dark, mahogany furniture covering the room. Juliet couldn't have designed a more mundane work space if she'd tried. The desk, the bookshelves, the file cabinets--all matching mahogany. Even the upholstered chairs they sat in were lined in mahogany. There were tall, green plants in the corners and photographs on one of the shelves behind the desk that sat alone to Juliet's left. Finally, her eyes met the doctor's again. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself," Juliet said.
Dr. Thorne smiled and clasped her hands together over top of her legal pad. "All right. My name is Leslie Thorne. I was born in California and moved to New York as a teenager when I was accepted into Julliard as a ballet dancer."
Juliet's eyes widened. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed."
The doctor's smile widened. "Most wouldn't. Unfortunately an injury put me out and I wasn't able to dance again. So I left Julliard, naturally, and went on to study psychology at a 'normal' school and now here I am. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do or else I wouldn't be here. But I won't lie when I say that if I hadn't been injured, I would have stayed with the ballet. It was my dream."
Juliet smiled. "I can't say I would have blamed you. Who, um, who are those in your pictures over there?"
Dr. Thorne's smile never faltered. "My husband and my children. We just had our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and our gift was our daughter announcing that she's pregnant with our first grandchild."
"Congratulations," Juliet smiled. "That's wonderful."
"Thank you. We're so very excited."
"She's very lucky," Juliet replied quietly. "I, um, I can't have children. I found out at a young age and...well, ironically, I always wanted children. I'm not sure why, seeing as I've had nothing but horrible examples of parenting growing up, but...I always wanted to be a mother and have a family. Please don't let your daughter take her fertility for granted. We aren't all blessed that way."
"I'll be sure to remember that," Dr. Thorne replied solemnly. "How about you? Did you want to share a little about yourself?"
Juliet laughed sheepishly. "Well, there really isn't much to tell that isn't splattered all over the Times or on every tabloid magazine on every stand in the city. The truth is, I haven't, uh, 'enjoyed' men since I met Eric, so...at least I can officially say that most of the tabloids are lies now, at least for the past month. Um, there isn't much to tell beyond that, I lead a fairly boring life. I don't even have a pet. I co-own my own design firm, I spend most weekends and holidays volunteering at the children's home, and I love old jazz and Broadway theatre. I guess that pretty much makes me a typical New Yorker. Like I said, not very impressive."
"The children's home, huh?" Dr. Thorne nodded and went back to her jotting. "What do you do there?"
"Anything they need me to do. I'm a major benefactor for the one I volunteer at. But I do anything, really, cook, clean, tutor kids, gather supplies...I repaired a door once, that was interesting."
"Admittedly, I'm moved by the fact that a former foster care child is now a volunteer for such an establishment. I love when stories turn out like this."
"Well, foster care children should know firsthand how important it is to have a positive role model in their lives. There aren't enough positive role models to go around. And I try so hard to be one for the kids. If I could clone myself, I would. Foster children--and all children, for that matter--need to know and be assured that someone out there cares for them. There's always someone, always an answer. Some of us, like myself, weren't lucky enough to find that person. So now I want to be that person."
"I see," Dr. Thorne nodded. "A very admiral quality you have. How long have you been volunteering?"
"Um...seven or eight years now? I think?"
"Ah. So you've seen many children come through and grow and leave..."
"I'm always nervous when they leave. We deal with all ages and it isn't always easy. A lot of the teens are troubled, though some have good heads on their shoulders. They all do, really, they just need help realizing it through good counseling and positive influence."
"Do you counsel, also?"
"I try to be someone who will listen. Although sometimes I'm not sure I'm even qualified for that."
Dr. Thorne nodded as her eyes narrowed, studying Juliet. She was constantly studying Juliet. Was that, like, a therapist thing? Juliet decided it was. It made her feel better to think about it that way. "You're very dedicated and passionate about what you do. I understand that you run your own company, but did you ever think about becoming licensed? Perhaps as a guidance counselor or a child psychologist or some type of advocate? I think you'd be really good in a field like that. Fields like that need more people like you."
Juliet sighed and glanced down at her hands. "I'm thirty-three years old. I don't even hold a high school diploma. How I run a multi-million dollar operation is beyond me. Nothing short of a miracle, really. I'd be forty by the time I finished any type of schooling for that."
"It's not that bad," Dr. Thorne smiled. "Speaking of your high school diploma, though, I take it you didn't finish school. Was it because of academics or your living situation...?"
"Both," she admitted. "I couldn't do well in school if I was coked up all the time so that I could survive the days when the men's buddies made their house calls, if you know what I mean."
Juliet's own words stung her. It was the first jab of pain she'd felt since she'd walked into Dr. Thorne's office. Her stomach churned and the acid rose up in her throat and assaulted her tongue. She took a deep breath and tried to fight the visions away. She didn't want to see them, she didn't want to remember their faces or their hands or hear their sickening voices.
"Juliet," Dr. Thorne said quietly. "I'd like to get an overview of your life, if you don't mind, so that I can better understand where you're coming from in your quest for normalcy. A brief sketch, if you will. You don't have to go into detail if you don't want to. You can say as little or as much as you feel comfortable with. But I need to understand where you come from if I'm going to help you get to where you want to go. Does that make sense?"
It made sense. Of course it made sense. Where was Eric when Juliet needed him? Why wasn't she laying in his arms, feeling the comforting touch of his skin the way she felt when she'd poured her heart out the first time? Wasn't once enough? Wasn't twice enough when she had to replay the entire thing again for Beth? Hadn't she been through it enough? Couldn't Dr. Thorne just call up Eric and Beth and gather her own research without Juliet having to speak the words again? So that she didn't have to think about it? Wasn't there another way? An easier way?
Juliet's eyes met Dr. Thorne's and she cursed to herself. The woman was abnormally calm and soothing. Her office was warm and inviting. Her chairs were soft and comfortable. And she promised herself she would do this, both for herself and for Eric. If anything, she owed it to him to see this through, especially after the promises she had made.
Juliet took a deep breath. "My parents passed away when I was three. I barely remember anything about them and I feel that with each year that passes, their memory only keeps fading. I have no clue about any of my extended family and I had no siblings--only that I had a grandmother who was too ill to take me in, so I ended up in foster care. I was pretty much in hell from day one. I stayed in the children's home for a night or two, feeling the wrath of an older girl who liked to pinch and pull hair. My first really bad memories seem to start when I was in kindergarten. I was teased at school, starved at home. And I never stayed in one place for long. Changing families became second nature. Ironically, I was never removed from a home due to conditions. The parents were good at hiding from the social workers. I was threatened with hunger and physical abuse if I didn't play along--and both of those ended up happening regardless. I was a child, I couldn't win. Miraculously, the sexual abuse didn't start until I was in my early teens. Well, I might have been...twelve or thirteen, I don't remember. Not that that's any better, I was still a child, but at least by that point I kinda knew what was going on. I didn't get lucky enough to lose my virginity to a boy my own age behind the bleachers like most normal kids did it. Lost it in the middle of the night to a drunk foster dad. It was downhill from there. Bounced from home to home, did drugs, alcohol, anything to numb the pain, anything to believe that I wasn't...I wasn't..."
Juliet paused when she considered the term she was about to use. She thought about Amir Almasi and her recent trip to Miami. She thought about her relationships, or lack thereof, with men in the past and the way she conducted them. Always in control, she was. Never let them have the power. Except...except the reality was, they did have all the power. She gave it all to them. Approaching her, knowing she was a sure thing, buying her dinner, drinks...simply having sex on top wasn't what controlled the situation. How had she not ever seen that? Even as an adult, as a consenting adult, she'd been ultimately treated as a prostitute. Much like Amir Almasi attempted to treat her. Just as she'd been treated as a teenager. Just as...as... And the only person who hadn't given her anything in exchange for her body was Eric. Jesus, Juliet. Who the hell are you?
"I can't do this," Juliet suddenly blurted. Her eyes darted around the room, making sure the door was still located where she came in at. She stood and bent over to retrieve her purse. "I can't--I can't do this. I'm sorry. Thank you for seeing me today, Dr. Thorne, but I won't be needing your services."
Dr. Thorne's stammering was the last thing she'd heard as she ran out of the office. She couldn't breathe and the humiliation was enough to send her crashing to the floor if she let it. Juliet was a prostitute. She had been one her entire life. As a teenager, after moving to New York...her entire life. Trading sex for...for dinner and drinks. Was that what dating ultimately was? Prostitution? A night out, ending with sex with no strings attached? The tabloids were right, they had been all along. Juliet was a whore. A good-for-nothing, dirty whore. And Eric Reynolds was light years too good for her.
___________________________________________
Eric felt amazing as he stood in front of the mirror of the gym's locker room. It had been a great workout, nothing but him and the heavy metal that pumped in his ears as he'd lifted for the last two hours. Now he was fresh out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist, and he had been on his way to his locker when he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stopped in his tracks.
By nature, Eric had never been a narcissist, but now he wondered if he should be. He'd been aware over the past few years of how he'd finally come into his own and caught up with Travis, but he'd never really stopped to consider what women might see when they looked at him. And the truth was, Eric was one handsome devil.
The thought made him smirk at himself in the mirror. His blue eyes and his blonde hair popped under the florescent light and his eyes glanced over his exposed torso. The increased gym sessions were beginning to pay off and he was gaining muscle. Granted, he already possessed a good amount of muscle, but his abs and his chest were damn near impressive lately. And his biceps? Jesus, where had they come from? Anymore of this and he was going to have to have all his Armani altered. This caused his smile to widen.
Then he frowned again as he reached up and ran his fingers through his hair before smoothing it back down with his palm. It was getting to be time for a haircut. Maybe he should do something different this time...
As he admired himself, movement in the mirror caught his eye and Eric fought not to allow his reaction to show on his face. A tall man, a mammoth several inches taller than Eric, looked Eric over with his calculating green eyes as he approached the adjacent sink. The guy was absolutely enormous and his skin was as tan as...was he Samoan? Or Hawaiian? Wasn't that the same thing or something? But how many Hawaiians had green eyes?
The beast was still glancing over at Eric as he started the water in the sink. Eric tore his eyes away from the far more superior shoulders and arms that burst through the black tank top the guy wore. Finally, he spoke, the bass in his voice as deep as he was tall. "'Sup?" He asked with a short nod.
"'Sup?" Eric muttered back.
The guy turned off the water and turned toward Eric as he pulled a paper towel from the dispenser. "Hey, Travis, right?"
Seriously?
"No," Eric replied. Of course he wasn't Travis. Travis looked like he could have surfed the waves of Waikiki with this guy. How could he possibly be mistaken for Travis? However, Eric was in absolutely no mood for small talk so he didn't bother to correct the guy.
"My bad," the mammoth replied. "Thought you were someone else."
With that, the hulk walked away, opened a locker behind them, plucked a bag from it, and headed out the door. Eric let out a breath.
Then he turned his attention back to the mirror. Travis, huh? Was Travis making gym buddies now? Was Eric finally getting big enough to be mistaken for his brother? Again, he smiled to himself and puffed his chest out. 'Watch out, Trav. I'm coming for you, bro.'
Then, shamelessly, he snatched his phone off the counter, tucked his arm behind his head, and smirked into the mirror once again as he snapped a quick selfie. Eric was definitely feeling it today.
MY JULIET: 555-0880
SEND MESSAGE
It took him two seconds to press the camera icon and send the photo. The smug grin never left his face as he headed for his locker. 'Get you some of that, babe.'
**********
"Stud"
The text message didn't come through until three hours later.
That was because it took her three hours to actually reply.
It was after five in the evening and after hitting the gym, Eric had succeeded in keeping himself busy. He did a little clothes shopping, a task he once hated but suddenly didn't mind anymore, and then came home and decided to start, once and for all, sketching out the future plans he had for his apartment. When the text had come through, he couldn't stop staring at it. There was no punctuation, no smileys, nothing. Just the word. And it was enough to make Eric feel like he was on top of the world.
He couldn't wipe the grin off of his face if he tried. Nothing could. He sat back in his desk chair and stretched his back out, running his hand through his hair, and taking his glasses off of his face. Then he texted her back, "This stud wants to take you to dinner tonight. How about it?"
"I don't really feel much like going out tonight. Thank you for inviting me, though."
Her reply was startlingly formal. Since when was she so formal?
He chose to ignore the involuntary tightening of his chest. "No problem. We can stay in. I'll bring you Chinese. Or pizza. Or cook? You don't even have to leave your apartment. I got you." He added a wink for good measure. Then he hesitated and sent, "How was therapy?"
"I don't want to talk about it." The reply came through faster than any of her replies had so far.
Eric's heart rate increased. "We don't have to talk. We don't have to say a word. We can sit in silence. Rent a comedy? I can stop for a pack of smokes."
"Eric, that's really sweet of you. But I think I just need to be alone."
The blow to Eric's chest caused him to let out an audible breath. Something was off. It was wrong. Very wrong. He swallowed hard. "I'm here for you whenever you're ready. Always."
And he didn't hear from her for the rest of the night.
Eric was weak and he knew it.
Juliet needed time. She'd been more than clear about that. But it didn't keep her from seeking him out, either, and it didn't keep him from giving in--every single time. She was it, though. He already knew that she was. She was the one. He would spend the rest of his life with her, one way or another, no matter how long it took or how many times she broke his heart to get there. He was utterly and completely at her mercy and he had absolutely no problem with it. And after she had fallen asleep in his arms on the couch and awakened with a start at four in the morning, he had managed to convince her that it was no time to be going home and that she might as well sleep the rest of the night there. Shockingly, she'd allowed him to tuck her into his bed and he'd promised no funny business as long as he was allowed to hold her for the rest of the night. It was the best sleep he'd gotten in awhile, but he knew it wouldn't last. This would be the last time for a long time, he knew, so he chose to savor it.
Others, however, outsiders looking in, would find this situation appalling. He knew it looked bad on the outside. He knew he looked the part of the doormat, but those outsiders didn't know any better. They didn't know Juliet, they didn't know him, and none of it was anybody else's business, anyway. Not even Travis's.
Juliet had left around ten the next morning with her therapy appointment coming up at two. This left Eric with real time to think. And as he thought, he seethed. How dare Travis? What exactly had he said to her? Her first words to Eric as he'd answered the door last night were, "Do you hate me?" Did he hate her? How had she come to that conclusion? The same way she'd come to the conclusion about Travis? Travis was his brother. His twin, his best friend. Travis was supposed to support him, not say hateful things to Eric's girlfriend behind his back. Girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, whatever Juliet was, it didn't matter. Travis had upset Juliet last night to the point that she wanted to leave town and Eric didn't care to waste anymore time getting to the bottom of it.
Eric paced his kitchen in nothing but his sweatpants as he glued his phone to his ear. "I don't know what the fuck you told Juliet last night, but where the fuck do you get off?" He barked into the phone as soon as Travis answered it.
"Wow. Someone has a favorite word this morning," Travis murmured. "Hello to you, too."
"Save it, Travis. Start talking."
"Look," Travis said. "Right now's not...not really a good time. My girl almost walked out on me last night, I'm kinda...you know, making up for it--"
"Yeah? Well my girl showed up on my doorstep last night, claiming to have had a few choice words said to her when she was at your place last night," Eric spat. "I swear to God, Travis, things are already fragile enough as it is right now. I don't need you sticking your nose where it doesn't fucking belong and filling her head full of bullshit."
"Did you fucking look in a mirror yesterday?" Travis finally exclaimed. "Did you see yourself? You spent the entire day looking like someone fucking...ran over your puppy or something. It was pathetic. Of course I knew Juliet was the source of it. When is she not lately? So I got pissed. She showed up here last night after everyone else had gone, creeping in like she was trying to avoid something...or someone...and I spouted off some shit that I should have kept to myself. Beth's already fucking pissed at me for it. She packed her fucking bag last night. Then she told me Juliet's real story and made me feel like a complete, worthless piece of shit. I mean, I've already gotten it from all directions. I'm scum. I'm a bastard and an asshole, those became Beth's new terms of endearment for me last night. All right? I'm sorry. I get it. And when I find a good opportunity, I'll apologize to Juliet. Okay?"
Eric was stunned into silence. Well. Okay, then. So Travis knew. He knew the truth. And he already knew he'd fucked up and was already suffering the consequences, so...apparently Beth had beaten Eric to the punch. Wow. This would take some getting used to, Travis being in a serious relationship. Apparently, Beth did a pretty decent job at whipping his brother into shape and keeping him in line. What was left for Eric to say?
"Well...good," Eric said, his tone calming some. "As long as you know you're a fuck head and that I don't want you sticking your nose into things that you know nothing about."
"Trust me. You have my word. I get it, lesson learned. And..." Travis's voice trailed off. "And apparently Beth wants to be naked today, so can we just--you know, talk about this later or whatever?"
"Yeah," Eric nodded, breathless. "Yeah, sure. Good talk."
"Yeah, okay. Later."
And Travis terminated the call.
Laying his phone down on the island, Eric sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, looking around his kitchen. It was Friday. The day after Thanksgiving. There was no work, nothing to do. Nothing to do but sit and think. And he didn't want to think. So he decided that hitting the gym sounded like a plan. After all, the anticipation of hearing the outcome of Juliet's first therapy session was killing him.
___________________________________________________
Therapy was not for Juliet.
Dr. Leslie Thorne was a nice woman. She was easily in her early fifties with bright, green eyes and a sandy blonde conservative bob that curled under at her shoulders. Her smile was warm and her voice was soothing and she sat across from Juliet and listened with no sign of judgment whatsoever.
So she wouldn't blame Dr. Thorne for the abrupt end to their session halfway through it.
Juliet cried all the way home. Her fears about therapy had all come true. Therapy was useless. It was supposed to help and she could tell halfway in that it wasn't going to. Therapy only made it worse. With Eric, she had seemingly only cracked Pandora's Box open. Dr. Thorne came at Pandora's Box with a fucking battle axe and savagely went at it until it was nothing but a pile of painful splinters. There was no escape for Juliet. None at all. And so she ran and vowed never to return.
But seriously, what more was Juliet going to sit there and do, anyway? Talk about it? "And how does that make you feel?" Like absolute shit, how else was it supposed to feel? She didn't have to pay someone to lead her straight into the fiery pits of her own personal hell. Juliet could do that all on her own--for free.
No, therapy wasn't necessary. She knew what her problem was, she didn't need someone with a framed certificate to confirm what she already knew. She would just deal with it on her own. She'd find a way to do it. Maybe she'd start a diary and write in it everything she would have said to Dr. Thorne. That could work. And then she could sit and cry for hours in the comfort in her own home and be allowed to smoke and drink in the process. It was a perfect plan. A total win-win.
Except that Juliet couldn't keep her mind off of the half a session of therapy she'd endured. She just kept replaying it over and over and over and no amount of tears could seem to get rid of it. Dr. Thorne's low-ranged, soft voice was still fresh in her head.
"Welcome, Juliet. I hope you had a good Thanksgiving."
"I did, thank you. I hope you did, as well."
"I did, thank you. So you called me with an urgent request to begin therapy as soon as possible. Would you care to...elaborate a little on that?"
Juliet glanced down at her hands that were trembling in her lap. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks. "Um, well. I've, um...well, I'm sure you've seen me all over the papers," she smiled sheepishly. "The tabloids, they love to...label me. I'm apparently New York's most eligible socialite and my romantic life is of apparent extreme importance to everyone--forget the fact that I've literally designed and redesigned a good portion of this city." She paused and let out a breath. "Anyway, um...I've finally...I've met a man. the man, I mean, the one that...someone special. And...and he's wonderful. And he's beautiful and he's patient and he's the only man in my entire life who's made me feel safe and secure and...and I spilled my guts to him the very first night we met. I told him everything, my entire life story. And he didn't run for the hills," she laughed. "Except that...well, since then it seems like I have run for the hills. Because now, ever since then, all the memories have all come rushing back in full force, things I tried to forget, things I tried to bury. And it's affecting my relationship with him and I recently broke it off with him so that I could...you know, come here and do this. For him."
Dr. Thorne nodded in understanding. "He asked you to do this?"
"No," Juliet shook her head.
"So you're doing this for him, you're not doing this for yourself?"
"Well--I mean, I want him. I want to build a good, healthy relationship with him, like normal people do, but I feel like my own demons are holding me prisoner. He keeps telling me to lean on him and rely on him, but I don't want him to have to endure what I had to endure. He hasn't done anything to deserve those horrors. So I had to back away from him. Except that I can't, I keep going back because I can't stay away from him and, ultimately, what I'm doing just isn't fair to him. And I don't know how to stop. And I don't want to give him up. I'm sure I'm not making a bit of sense, but...but, that's just...that's it."
"You keep mentioning horrors and demons. I understand that you've experienced quite the traumatic childhood and then a very traumatic marriage early in your life, is that correct?"
"Yes. Before I came to New York."
Dr. Thorne's eyes studied Juliet as she uncrossed her legs and then crossed the opposite one, simultaneously adjusting her shirt. "What do you wish to get out of therapy, Juliet?"
Juliet scoffed as her eyes darted around the office. "I want to be normal. I want a normal relationship like most people have, where I'm not lying in bed next to the man of my dreams and waking him up with nightmares every night. I don't want to cry on his shoulder every single day, I don't want...simple words or phrases to trigger things that paralyze me for periods of time, I don't want...I don't want him to resent being with me. I don't want to be the damsel in distress, I don't want him to feel like he has to stay with me because he feels sorry for me, I just want to be...normal. You know? Just that."
Across from her, Dr. Thorne was steadily jotting on her legal pad. The jotting made Juliet nervous and her crossed leg bounced off her knee as a result. Finally, she looked up from her notes and adjusted her glasses. "Juliet, I want you to know that you are in a completely safe and open environment. There is nothing that you can say that will be wrong or judged. You are not required to discuss anything that you do not wish to discuss. This is your therapy session and you have the complete and total power to say no to anything at any time. You may slow or stop anytime you wish. But I will let you know that what you can expect out of these sessions is that we will be dipping into your past so that we may better understand your present and, subsequently define your future. You may say anything, you may ask anything, there is nothing in this room to hide or keep secret. I am as open a book as you want me to be. And I hope that you will be comfortable enough, in time, to be the same."
Juliet looked across at Dr. Thorne and let out a breath. Was this it? Was that her introduction, were they officially "starting therapy?" Was Juliet ready for this? Where would she start? What would she say? Did she just start from birth and lay out her life in a timeline? How did this work?
Her eyes wandered around the office, antique white walls with dark, mahogany furniture covering the room. Juliet couldn't have designed a more mundane work space if she'd tried. The desk, the bookshelves, the file cabinets--all matching mahogany. Even the upholstered chairs they sat in were lined in mahogany. There were tall, green plants in the corners and photographs on one of the shelves behind the desk that sat alone to Juliet's left. Finally, her eyes met the doctor's again. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself," Juliet said.
Dr. Thorne smiled and clasped her hands together over top of her legal pad. "All right. My name is Leslie Thorne. I was born in California and moved to New York as a teenager when I was accepted into Julliard as a ballet dancer."
Juliet's eyes widened. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed."
The doctor's smile widened. "Most wouldn't. Unfortunately an injury put me out and I wasn't able to dance again. So I left Julliard, naturally, and went on to study psychology at a 'normal' school and now here I am. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do or else I wouldn't be here. But I won't lie when I say that if I hadn't been injured, I would have stayed with the ballet. It was my dream."
Juliet smiled. "I can't say I would have blamed you. Who, um, who are those in your pictures over there?"
Dr. Thorne's smile never faltered. "My husband and my children. We just had our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and our gift was our daughter announcing that she's pregnant with our first grandchild."
"Congratulations," Juliet smiled. "That's wonderful."
"Thank you. We're so very excited."
"She's very lucky," Juliet replied quietly. "I, um, I can't have children. I found out at a young age and...well, ironically, I always wanted children. I'm not sure why, seeing as I've had nothing but horrible examples of parenting growing up, but...I always wanted to be a mother and have a family. Please don't let your daughter take her fertility for granted. We aren't all blessed that way."
"I'll be sure to remember that," Dr. Thorne replied solemnly. "How about you? Did you want to share a little about yourself?"
Juliet laughed sheepishly. "Well, there really isn't much to tell that isn't splattered all over the Times or on every tabloid magazine on every stand in the city. The truth is, I haven't, uh, 'enjoyed' men since I met Eric, so...at least I can officially say that most of the tabloids are lies now, at least for the past month. Um, there isn't much to tell beyond that, I lead a fairly boring life. I don't even have a pet. I co-own my own design firm, I spend most weekends and holidays volunteering at the children's home, and I love old jazz and Broadway theatre. I guess that pretty much makes me a typical New Yorker. Like I said, not very impressive."
"The children's home, huh?" Dr. Thorne nodded and went back to her jotting. "What do you do there?"
"Anything they need me to do. I'm a major benefactor for the one I volunteer at. But I do anything, really, cook, clean, tutor kids, gather supplies...I repaired a door once, that was interesting."
"Admittedly, I'm moved by the fact that a former foster care child is now a volunteer for such an establishment. I love when stories turn out like this."
"Well, foster care children should know firsthand how important it is to have a positive role model in their lives. There aren't enough positive role models to go around. And I try so hard to be one for the kids. If I could clone myself, I would. Foster children--and all children, for that matter--need to know and be assured that someone out there cares for them. There's always someone, always an answer. Some of us, like myself, weren't lucky enough to find that person. So now I want to be that person."
"I see," Dr. Thorne nodded. "A very admiral quality you have. How long have you been volunteering?"
"Um...seven or eight years now? I think?"
"Ah. So you've seen many children come through and grow and leave..."
"I'm always nervous when they leave. We deal with all ages and it isn't always easy. A lot of the teens are troubled, though some have good heads on their shoulders. They all do, really, they just need help realizing it through good counseling and positive influence."
"Do you counsel, also?"
"I try to be someone who will listen. Although sometimes I'm not sure I'm even qualified for that."
Dr. Thorne nodded as her eyes narrowed, studying Juliet. She was constantly studying Juliet. Was that, like, a therapist thing? Juliet decided it was. It made her feel better to think about it that way. "You're very dedicated and passionate about what you do. I understand that you run your own company, but did you ever think about becoming licensed? Perhaps as a guidance counselor or a child psychologist or some type of advocate? I think you'd be really good in a field like that. Fields like that need more people like you."
Juliet sighed and glanced down at her hands. "I'm thirty-three years old. I don't even hold a high school diploma. How I run a multi-million dollar operation is beyond me. Nothing short of a miracle, really. I'd be forty by the time I finished any type of schooling for that."
"It's not that bad," Dr. Thorne smiled. "Speaking of your high school diploma, though, I take it you didn't finish school. Was it because of academics or your living situation...?"
"Both," she admitted. "I couldn't do well in school if I was coked up all the time so that I could survive the days when the men's buddies made their house calls, if you know what I mean."
Juliet's own words stung her. It was the first jab of pain she'd felt since she'd walked into Dr. Thorne's office. Her stomach churned and the acid rose up in her throat and assaulted her tongue. She took a deep breath and tried to fight the visions away. She didn't want to see them, she didn't want to remember their faces or their hands or hear their sickening voices.
"Juliet," Dr. Thorne said quietly. "I'd like to get an overview of your life, if you don't mind, so that I can better understand where you're coming from in your quest for normalcy. A brief sketch, if you will. You don't have to go into detail if you don't want to. You can say as little or as much as you feel comfortable with. But I need to understand where you come from if I'm going to help you get to where you want to go. Does that make sense?"
It made sense. Of course it made sense. Where was Eric when Juliet needed him? Why wasn't she laying in his arms, feeling the comforting touch of his skin the way she felt when she'd poured her heart out the first time? Wasn't once enough? Wasn't twice enough when she had to replay the entire thing again for Beth? Hadn't she been through it enough? Couldn't Dr. Thorne just call up Eric and Beth and gather her own research without Juliet having to speak the words again? So that she didn't have to think about it? Wasn't there another way? An easier way?
Juliet's eyes met Dr. Thorne's and she cursed to herself. The woman was abnormally calm and soothing. Her office was warm and inviting. Her chairs were soft and comfortable. And she promised herself she would do this, both for herself and for Eric. If anything, she owed it to him to see this through, especially after the promises she had made.
Juliet took a deep breath. "My parents passed away when I was three. I barely remember anything about them and I feel that with each year that passes, their memory only keeps fading. I have no clue about any of my extended family and I had no siblings--only that I had a grandmother who was too ill to take me in, so I ended up in foster care. I was pretty much in hell from day one. I stayed in the children's home for a night or two, feeling the wrath of an older girl who liked to pinch and pull hair. My first really bad memories seem to start when I was in kindergarten. I was teased at school, starved at home. And I never stayed in one place for long. Changing families became second nature. Ironically, I was never removed from a home due to conditions. The parents were good at hiding from the social workers. I was threatened with hunger and physical abuse if I didn't play along--and both of those ended up happening regardless. I was a child, I couldn't win. Miraculously, the sexual abuse didn't start until I was in my early teens. Well, I might have been...twelve or thirteen, I don't remember. Not that that's any better, I was still a child, but at least by that point I kinda knew what was going on. I didn't get lucky enough to lose my virginity to a boy my own age behind the bleachers like most normal kids did it. Lost it in the middle of the night to a drunk foster dad. It was downhill from there. Bounced from home to home, did drugs, alcohol, anything to numb the pain, anything to believe that I wasn't...I wasn't..."
Juliet paused when she considered the term she was about to use. She thought about Amir Almasi and her recent trip to Miami. She thought about her relationships, or lack thereof, with men in the past and the way she conducted them. Always in control, she was. Never let them have the power. Except...except the reality was, they did have all the power. She gave it all to them. Approaching her, knowing she was a sure thing, buying her dinner, drinks...simply having sex on top wasn't what controlled the situation. How had she not ever seen that? Even as an adult, as a consenting adult, she'd been ultimately treated as a prostitute. Much like Amir Almasi attempted to treat her. Just as she'd been treated as a teenager. Just as...as... And the only person who hadn't given her anything in exchange for her body was Eric. Jesus, Juliet. Who the hell are you?
"I can't do this," Juliet suddenly blurted. Her eyes darted around the room, making sure the door was still located where she came in at. She stood and bent over to retrieve her purse. "I can't--I can't do this. I'm sorry. Thank you for seeing me today, Dr. Thorne, but I won't be needing your services."
Dr. Thorne's stammering was the last thing she'd heard as she ran out of the office. She couldn't breathe and the humiliation was enough to send her crashing to the floor if she let it. Juliet was a prostitute. She had been one her entire life. As a teenager, after moving to New York...her entire life. Trading sex for...for dinner and drinks. Was that what dating ultimately was? Prostitution? A night out, ending with sex with no strings attached? The tabloids were right, they had been all along. Juliet was a whore. A good-for-nothing, dirty whore. And Eric Reynolds was light years too good for her.
___________________________________________
Eric felt amazing as he stood in front of the mirror of the gym's locker room. It had been a great workout, nothing but him and the heavy metal that pumped in his ears as he'd lifted for the last two hours. Now he was fresh out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist, and he had been on his way to his locker when he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stopped in his tracks.
By nature, Eric had never been a narcissist, but now he wondered if he should be. He'd been aware over the past few years of how he'd finally come into his own and caught up with Travis, but he'd never really stopped to consider what women might see when they looked at him. And the truth was, Eric was one handsome devil.
The thought made him smirk at himself in the mirror. His blue eyes and his blonde hair popped under the florescent light and his eyes glanced over his exposed torso. The increased gym sessions were beginning to pay off and he was gaining muscle. Granted, he already possessed a good amount of muscle, but his abs and his chest were damn near impressive lately. And his biceps? Jesus, where had they come from? Anymore of this and he was going to have to have all his Armani altered. This caused his smile to widen.
Then he frowned again as he reached up and ran his fingers through his hair before smoothing it back down with his palm. It was getting to be time for a haircut. Maybe he should do something different this time...
As he admired himself, movement in the mirror caught his eye and Eric fought not to allow his reaction to show on his face. A tall man, a mammoth several inches taller than Eric, looked Eric over with his calculating green eyes as he approached the adjacent sink. The guy was absolutely enormous and his skin was as tan as...was he Samoan? Or Hawaiian? Wasn't that the same thing or something? But how many Hawaiians had green eyes?
The beast was still glancing over at Eric as he started the water in the sink. Eric tore his eyes away from the far more superior shoulders and arms that burst through the black tank top the guy wore. Finally, he spoke, the bass in his voice as deep as he was tall. "'Sup?" He asked with a short nod.
"'Sup?" Eric muttered back.
The guy turned off the water and turned toward Eric as he pulled a paper towel from the dispenser. "Hey, Travis, right?"
Seriously?
"No," Eric replied. Of course he wasn't Travis. Travis looked like he could have surfed the waves of Waikiki with this guy. How could he possibly be mistaken for Travis? However, Eric was in absolutely no mood for small talk so he didn't bother to correct the guy.
"My bad," the mammoth replied. "Thought you were someone else."
With that, the hulk walked away, opened a locker behind them, plucked a bag from it, and headed out the door. Eric let out a breath.
Then he turned his attention back to the mirror. Travis, huh? Was Travis making gym buddies now? Was Eric finally getting big enough to be mistaken for his brother? Again, he smiled to himself and puffed his chest out. 'Watch out, Trav. I'm coming for you, bro.'
Then, shamelessly, he snatched his phone off the counter, tucked his arm behind his head, and smirked into the mirror once again as he snapped a quick selfie. Eric was definitely feeling it today.
MY JULIET: 555-0880
SEND MESSAGE
It took him two seconds to press the camera icon and send the photo. The smug grin never left his face as he headed for his locker. 'Get you some of that, babe.'
**********
"Stud"
The text message didn't come through until three hours later.
That was because it took her three hours to actually reply.
It was after five in the evening and after hitting the gym, Eric had succeeded in keeping himself busy. He did a little clothes shopping, a task he once hated but suddenly didn't mind anymore, and then came home and decided to start, once and for all, sketching out the future plans he had for his apartment. When the text had come through, he couldn't stop staring at it. There was no punctuation, no smileys, nothing. Just the word. And it was enough to make Eric feel like he was on top of the world.
He couldn't wipe the grin off of his face if he tried. Nothing could. He sat back in his desk chair and stretched his back out, running his hand through his hair, and taking his glasses off of his face. Then he texted her back, "This stud wants to take you to dinner tonight. How about it?"
"I don't really feel much like going out tonight. Thank you for inviting me, though."
Her reply was startlingly formal. Since when was she so formal?
He chose to ignore the involuntary tightening of his chest. "No problem. We can stay in. I'll bring you Chinese. Or pizza. Or cook? You don't even have to leave your apartment. I got you." He added a wink for good measure. Then he hesitated and sent, "How was therapy?"
"I don't want to talk about it." The reply came through faster than any of her replies had so far.
Eric's heart rate increased. "We don't have to talk. We don't have to say a word. We can sit in silence. Rent a comedy? I can stop for a pack of smokes."
"Eric, that's really sweet of you. But I think I just need to be alone."
The blow to Eric's chest caused him to let out an audible breath. Something was off. It was wrong. Very wrong. He swallowed hard. "I'm here for you whenever you're ready. Always."
And he didn't hear from her for the rest of the night.