34. Source of all Misery
Chapter thirty-four
Source of all Misery
Astoria
I didn't know I could be dead and not know it. I still can't remember the first three months after I escaped him. It took three psychiatrists to piece some of my sanity (not all) back together. But, one thing no one tells you about being kidnapped is that the person you were never returns, and so you live the rest of your life no longer fitting in with the people you love. He killed me the night he took me to his house. I just didn't realize it until I got out of the psychiatric ward.
I glued myself to Mindy’s couch for another month. But eventually, mandatory therapy appointments and Mindy’s wedding planning forced me to step outside the house, accompanied. The day we hunted for her wedding dress was a disaster. Anytime she was more than six inches away from me, I'd have a panic attack. And, anytime she put on a dress, she had the same reaction. Like I said, disaster. But after five shops and twenty five dresses, we found the one. Grateful that it was over, we sat in a secluded corner of a bar. It was my first time drinking alcohol again.
“Why don’t you answer Romeo’s calls or texts? At least talk to him,” Mindy suggested.
I took a sip of martini to ease the question into my brain and shook my head. “I can’t. It’s–you wouldn’t understand, Mindy.”
“Try me.”
“If Julian suspects that I’ve talked to Romeo for a second, he will kill him.”
“Tory, he’s gone. The police are after him now. He’s not coming back.”
Laughter exploded out of me. “The only reason I dared to get close to Romeo in the first place was because I thought Julian was gone.”
Mindy sighed. “This is ridiculous. I can’t believe that the police haven’t found the house you described to them. What the fuck?”
“Oh, I know what it is…”
“What?”
“They don’t believe me. Between me screaming for the baby and everything else… I mean, did you see the cops' faces when I told them Julian always wore a mask, had a skeleton painted on his face, or blindfolded me? These cases never get solved, which means he’s going to return. This is just a test." I shrug. "I’ll believe he’s gone when I see him frying on the electric chair. Besides, I have no interest in dick or what’s attached to it right now.”
She sighed. “Okay, then what do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him I am eternally grateful, but I associate him with what happened–”
“Tory, that’s fucking awful!”
“I know. And that’s exactly why he’ll leave me alone and move on.”
Mindy stares at me but surrenders, “Fine.”
It took Fernando another two months to train me back to walking outside by myself. Everyday he'd ask me to get the mail despite having just passed by the mailbox himself. I'd only do it because I knew he was watching my every step. We knew I was ready for my second attempt at life when I didn't freak out after realizing he'd left me alone.
Then I got my job back but with a different boss. I laughed because since I told Mindy that Julian was a guy from work, the police wouldn’t stop hounding my old boss for information. I even heard HR threatened to fire him if one more complaint was filed against him. Oh, karma.
Everyone knew who I was. So, naturally, no one wanted to talk to me. Maybe next time Julian takes me, I’ll thank him for that.
A year after the escape
Today would have been my baby's first birthday. I dress in my white puff-sleeve lace top, wine-colored velvet skater skirt, and black long boots, then fool both Fernando and Mindy into believing I’m going to work. Instead, I call in sick and walk through the chilly city to my favorite park. It's not as cold today as it was that day. I sit on a bench by the big pond with a fountain where swans and ducks hang out in the spring, but unfortunately for me, they’ve already flown south. It’s so quiet here that I have no choice but to listen to my thoughts.
I take out my prescriptions from my purse and open them. They’re supposed to numb the pain to prevent another breakdown, but all they do is force me into this zombie state where I'm not really present. The pills fall into the semi-frozen water. I’m done hiding from reality, from what I’m supposed to feel.
As the hours pass, my emotions overwhelm me. They take over, and I force myself to stay put despite the flashes of memory, the shaking, crying, and the beginning of a panic attack. Fuck it. I want to be me again, not some numb, useless thing that can’t even be there for her best friend. My five o'clock alarm goes off and an undefinable thought crosses my mind.
Me to Mindy: Ugh… My coworkers insisted I go to the happy hour. Don’t wait up for me. I promise I’m fine.
She’s been on me like an overprotective mom since I escaped, but today I need some space. Three blocks from the park, I take a bus I haven’t taken in a long time. It’s the bus that leaves me a block away from Dr. Michaelson’s office. I dismiss the hammering of my heart as a side effect of not taking the pills, and take the small mirror out of my purse, and to combat my paleness, I paint my lips to match my skirt.
An hour later, I enter the lobby and a young beautiful lady at the front desk greets me.“Hi, I’m Kristin. May I help you?”
“Um. Is Dr. Michaelson still here?” I take off my jacket and fold it over my arm.
“Yes, he is. Did you have an appoint–”
“What’s his first name, by the way?”
“Oh, it’s Asher.”
“Really?” I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Asher Michaelson… It’s a nice name.
"Did you have an appointment?"
The hairs on the back of my neck stand when I hear the door that leads to the examination rooms squeak open. “Kristin–” It’s Dr. Michaelson’s voice. Asher…
I turn around, and our eyes lock. My cheeks burn while butterflies flutter all over my body. It's the same person I day dreamed about for months to survive Julian, the same blue eyes, same black hair, although it now has a little salt and pepper. He's stunned into silence with slightly reddened cheeks. A sadness replaces the shock in his eyes. After walking on eggshells around a psycho for a year and a half, I’ve learned how to read people more carefully.
“Astoria? Wh-what are–”
“I think… I need to speak to you.”
“Uh.” He clears his throat. “Of course. Kristin. I’ll see you on Monday?”
“Bye, Doc.” She smiles menacingly and waves her fingers as if she’s caught him doing something inappropriate.
“Have a great weekend.” It escapes none of us that he’s hinting for her to leave.
I tighten the grip on my purse strap as I walk to him while he holds the door wide open for me. Even at this time of the day, he smells like expensive cologne. I can’t believe he's here, in the same place. It’s comforting how some things don’t change. Without turning around, I say bye to Kristin. My eyes are still locked on his and no one can convince me that the air between us isn’t hot, heavy, and full of static energy, pulling us toward each other. The hallway is still familiar, but to walk to his office we take a different turn than usual.
It's a small office. Across from the door is a huge window with books covering the two feet tall wall under it. Every wall is stacked with shelves full of books making the room feel cozy. “Please… sit down.” He closes the door behind him and sits in his light brown leather chair across the desk from me.
Out of nervousness, I lick my lips and then sweep them against each other. Why am I here? “Uh. I’m sorry to disturb you. I-I don’t know why I’m here. Um. Are you aware of what happened… to me?” My eyes snap to his after I scan the walls for his diploma, finding none. I have no idea why I’m searching for it but it's strange that he doesn't have them up like every other doctor.
“Yes. I am. It was all over the news. How are you, Tory?” He clears his throat again. “I mean, how are you really ?”
“I’m fucked up is what I am.” What starts as a fake chuckle won’t stop. The giggling goes on for so long that tears escape my eyes and I cover my face with both hands. When the laughter dissipates, I wipe my eyes. But he sits across from me with the most serious expression, unfazed. He’s being professional and I’m here on the verge of a psychotic break because I dumped my therapist and pills today–of all days. The giggle resumes. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t laughed like this in two years, so… I guess it’s coming out now. Plus, I quit my meds today, so I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m a mess.”
“It’s okay. Astoria, you sure it's safe for you to quit your medication at this time?" He passes me a tissue from the box on his desk.
“Yeah." I nod, the giggles finally calming down. "Don't worry. I did it right." When our eyes meet, there is no doubt that he knows I'm lying. "I’m so sorry, Doctor. I don’t know why I’m here. I had a feeling and somehow... I ended up here. You probably have a family to go home to. I should go.” The words rush out of me as I stand, he mirrors my action and his finger tips touch my wrist while he’s saying, “No. Astoria, wait.”
I take two steps towards the door and he walks around his desk, places his palm on the back of my shoulder and I turn around but step away, gasping, ending up with my back against the door. Dr. Michaelson raises his hands and backs away from me while taking in my state with concern clearly written across his scrunched up brows. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Already, I’m out of breath and sweating. My knees tremble and want to buckle, but I close my eyes and take deep breaths. The square root of twenty-five is five, the square root of sixteen is four, the square root of nine is three, the square root of four is two… Everything’s fine. I'm strong. I'm not going to lose it in front of him because I am so fucking strong! I scream in my mind then cover my mouth as my body equalizes.
“Astoria." His voice is so even that I absorb the calmness to sooth away a part of the hurricane in me. "I don't have anywhere to be or anyone to see. You came here because you needed to talk to someone, correct?”
I nod. “I-I guess…”
“I’m honored that you thought of me. I would very much like to listen to whatever it is you want to talk about, whether it’s yellow flowers, whatever happened, or whatever is happening now. Please.” He gestures with his open palm toward the chair where I sat before. “Sit down.”
Yellow flowers... That’s quite the coincidence. I’m reaching, of course.
He walks back behind his desk, waiting for me to recuperate.
“I don’t know where to begin,” I explain after I sit down.
“Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and tell me the first thought that comes to your mind when you open them again.”
Our gazes lock. “Did-" I clear my throat. "When you met me, could you tell I’d been abused? Did you know?”His jaw drops and he scratches the back of his head. Another chuckle erupts out of me. “Don’t answer that.”
“Why?”
“Because I already know you did.”
“Why are you asking me this? Is it because of what I did–”
“No. No, it isn’t. I just want to know if I act like a victim.”
“You acted like a normal young lady, Astoria. I never saw you as a victim. Still don’t."
I chuckle. “Oh, come on, Doctor. Listen, for an entire year, I’ve had everyone around me walk on eggshells, bullshitting me, treating me like some fragile flower. I’m not a fragile flower. I survived the most fucked up situation you could possibly imagine. There’s nothing fucking fragile about me!” I stop when I realize I’m yelling and cover my mouth. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing for everything. That’s the first thing you have to do to stop coming off as a victim. Someone gets hurt by what you say or do, fuck them, too bad.”
I smile and a heat rises in me. “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
At first the surprise at my statement widens his mouth and eyes, but then he titers. “Thank you, I think.”
I love that he can’t hold back the smile on his face despite his attempt. He pulls his bottom lip in and keeps it behind his teeth for a couple of seconds. Another heat wave rolls through me. “You said to just say what I’m thinking.”
“Yes. I did.” He averts his gaze, watching his own fingers pushing a pen around on the desk.
“Would you be my first fuck?”
“First-w-what?” Shock fills his face again.
“You heard me. I want to have a drink or two at a nice hotel bar, forget who I am, then you take me up to a room where we can see the entire city, and help me get past this.”
“Past what?”
Past today, Asher. “Yes or no?”
“Astoria–”
“I’m no longer your patient, Asher. Though I suspect I never was. Correct?”
He sighs. “Correct.”
“Then tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
I stand, slowly walk around to his side of the desk, and whisper in his ear, “Tell me you want to fuck the living shit out of me.”
He stands and cups my cheek. I lean my head into his palm.
“Please… Tell me,” I beg him with my eyes closed. When I open them, he’s still staring at my lips. He takes them, sucking on them and kissing me deep, his tongue dominating mine. A violent wave rushes through me, leaving every part of me burning, aching, throbbing, without any choice but to moan. It's a call to his aggression. He runs his teeth on my bottom lip. His mouth muffles my scream as he sucks on my tongue. I need him to take me so much that it hurts. Please!
My hands cup his face as my insides catch fire. He ends up slamming me against the bookshelf, kissing my mouth, neck, and shoulder. His hand cups my breast, then reaches down under my skirt and pushes my panties to the side to finger me.
“Oh fuck. Please–!”
“First, let me see you come all over my fingers like a desperate little whore.” Another finger jams into me and I’m whimpering like a bitch, my eyes closed, panting. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to hurt you? Like he did?”
“Yes.”
“Why me?” he whispers in my ear while my body melts on his, no strength left.
“Because I feel safe with you. I have the feeling you can handle how fucked up I am, because I know you’re fucked up, too.”
“Tell me where you need me to fuck you.”
“Every hole, Asher. Everywhere. I want you to not listen to me when I scream and cry, ‘No.’ I need you to hurt me"
“You sure?”
Just the way he speaks those two words… wanting my consent, all while fingering me… I hear how wet I am with every thrust. "Uhuh. Fuck. Asher… Asher. Oh… Oh my God." I feel the climax coming.
"You can handle that, Tory?"
“Plea–se. I need to feel alive.”
“Alive, huh?” His pace hurries, slamming against my pussy. I double over until my face lands on his chest, smelling even more of him.God, I missed him so fucking much.
“Yes,” I squeal, pant, and fist his lab coat."Please. Please. Please!" My walls quiver violently.
I find him watching me, eating all my reactions. I don’t care. The way he looks at me… it's the way I've been wanting to be looked at all my life. I just want him to be mine, even if it’s just for today. After, my body shakes on his fingers, he sucks on them while staring at me, then whispers in my ear, “Good girl. Now. Let’s go get you drunk so I can fuck you to death.”
He picks up his keys and wallet, takes my hand, and walks fast out of the office, into the elevator, down to the parking lot to the same car he had before I disappeared. Not the same car as him…
I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the old, fancy hotel he takes me to. In complete contrast to the gothic architecture, the furniture in the lobby is ultra-modern and trendy. We walk toward the back of the lobby where the bar is. The real tree growing in the middle of the bar catches my eye as we slide into a booth.
“What would you like to drink?” the waiter asks me.
“Two appletinis and a cold bottle of water,” I order.
The waiter repeats my order as he scribbles and asks, “And you, sir?”
“Macallan-18, year 1997.” Asher hands him his credit card from between his middle and forefinger.
My gaze sweeps from his hair to his eyes to his pink, perfect lips to his Adam’s apple down to his fancy, professional looking baby blue dress shirt. I lick my lips then bite the bottom. “So. Your first name is Asher.”
“Mm-hmm.” He nods once, leaning toward me with both his arms on the table, never taking his eyes from me, but I can’t hold his gaze. It’s too intense and invasive.
“I like that name. Do you want me to call you Asher?”
“You can call me whatever you want.”
I smile back at him with heat burning my cheeks; he knew right away what I was referring to.“I can’t believe you made me come so many times, even before I knew your first name.”
“So many? It’s only been twice, Astoria.”
“Oh… yeah.”
He pulls back from the table and squints at me. “Why do I have the feeling there’s more going on here than what meets the eye? Do you have something to ask me?”
“Nope.” I shake my head even though I have an infinity of questions for this man. The waiter saves me by placing the drinks on the table. I take a gulp and feel the sugar masking the alcohol while Asher studies me.
“What did you see in me that made you…”
“You’re beautiful but humble. You’re smart but were too quick to trust. That’s no longer there.” He pauses. “And that’s a good thing. You’re strong, but you forgive too easily. It’s like you only want to see the good in people and forget the bad.”
I take another gulp. “Who hurt you, Asher?”
“That’s a long, old story. And no one hurts me because I don’t let anyone in.”
“Some would say that’s not living.”
“I say people are not worth it.”
“Ooh, so dark and brooding.” I tease. “Tell me.” My tone is too demanding so I soften it to say, “I have a martini and a half’s worth of time.” I shrug my shoulders.
“My mother was very harsh with me and I was too sensitive, so one day I made the mistake of asking her why and she told me. She never wanted to have me. She was raped and lived in a part of the country that didn’t have abortion clinics.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink, setting the glass down and staring at the brown liquid. “Her family didn’t believe her. They disowned her and threw her out. We ended up poor because of me."
A son born from rape. With the gulp I take, I finish the first drink. As I turn the goblet in circles, holding it by the stem, I correct him. “No. You ended up poor, and alone because she was raped. And her family can go fuck themselves.”
He laughs. “I like this side of you, Astoria.” I'm relieved when the twinkle returns to his face. He doesn’t smile enough but when he does, it changes all of his face. He looks spectacular.
“I’ve learned many things in the last two years.”
He nods.
“Why did you become a doctor? Was your mother’s rapist a doctor?”
“She always said I was the source of all her misery. It didn't matter if I was good or bad, she'd always find a reason to beat me and throw me in the basement with the rats and roaches. It taught me not to care what people think and not to search for love in anyone. I thought it was in my nature to be evil because of my father. I became interested in science because I wanted to know if I could take out the gene that made me the bad guy, but of course, as I grew up… the interest evolved.
“Why do you think men love raping women, Asher?”
“It’s a sickness that society propels, encourages even. It’s so tangled in the fabric of our nation that eighty percent of the time, women don’t even know what’s happened.”
“Good answer.” I suck on the curly apple skin while staring at him. My gaze drops to the table while my right hand swirls the second drink.I get lost in a trance. I like those because I'm neither here nor there. Looking back now, I know why he said the things he said to me when we kissed in his car, why he beat that guy up for me.
His right hand covers my left. “Are you okay? We–”
“I’m fine.” I pull my hand away too abruptly. “As fine as I can be. Did you ever find out who your father was?”
He shakes his head. “No. It was a case of the wrong place, wrong time for her, then I was born.”
Our gazes meet. “Asher?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you were born. Has anyone ever said that to you?”
He looks to the side, drinks, and shakes his head.
“You’re a beautiful-looking gentleman. And you help people.”
“Help people? I think you’re confusing me with someone else, Astoria.”
“You helped me.” I shrug.
“I did?”
“I… thought of you a lot when he had me locked up in the dark.” A chuckle escapes me. “I even had a dream that you came to rescue me, but… then I woke up. Turned out I was just bleeding to death.” Another chuckle erupts from me. “I’m sorry. It’s been a year and I guess…”
Time passes, and I'm relieved that it’s not awkward to sit in silence with him. He waits for me to think, to finish my thoughts.
“Asher?”
“Yes?”
“No one believes me.”
“Believes what?”
“He would’ve been one year old today, but… I lost him. And no one believes me. I have to remind myself that I’m not crazy, that I felt him inside me, that it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks.” For the first time since the conversation turned dark, my eyes meet his, which are studying me more than ever with a somber expression. This time, he's the one that can't hold my gaze. His falls to he keeps turning.
“You were pregnant?"
I nod.
"You wanted to have his baby?” There’s no judgment in his eyes, just confusion.
“The baby, he made me feel alive. For the first time since I was five years old, I was alive. He’d wake me up every day at three a.m., doing cartwheels in my belly. I grew up with my mother asking me if I was whoring around, or if I’d had an abortion, or if I was pregnant. It became this end-all be-all thing not to do. When I heard the heartbeat… I wanted to die. But… he was inside me. He knew only me and I needed him.” My eyes snap to Asher’s face. He looks like he should be at a funeral.
It takes me a while, but I recuperate and mix in a joke. “You helped me by making me climax for the first time with my consent.” He doesn't laugh but a smile pulls at the corner of his lips. Something about the way he does it speeds the eating of my heart.
“Not completely consensual. But you’re welcome.” We chuckle. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can take the room and just talk,” he offers.
“No. I need to forget who I am, Asher. Do you think you can help me? Just this one last time?”
“Yes. Whatever you want. Let’s go, Astoria.”
“Give me one second.” I grab my phone, ignore all of Mindy’s texts and type.
Me to Mindy: I’m fine. I swear I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow after work. I have an idea for the wedding.
Then I turn off my phone. “Let’s go.”