Chapter 22 – Emma
CHAPTER 22
EMMA
I leaned back in my chair, swiveling softly from side to side as I chewed on the back of my pencil. My client, a man in his mid-forties, sat on the green sofa across from me, wringing his hands as he spoke. I nodded, knitting my brows together as I mulled over his words.
“It’s just not fair.” He wiped his eyes. “I didn’t choose this. I hate that I was born this way.”
“Barry…” I leaned forward, knitting my brows together. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Trust me, pegging is much more common than you might think.”
“Honestly?” He blinked the tears from his bloodshot eyes.
“Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “In fact, there are a lot of women that are into it. It's just not... how do you say... typical bar conversation, so you never hear about it.”
Everyone’s struggles are valid… But after being attacked by wasps and leopards, being forced to eat bugs, getting chased through the jungle by men with guns, not to mention surviving white water rapids and two plane crashes... Larry’s obsession with a lady going at him with a dildo doesn't even scratch the surface of being extreme, much less a concern to address.
“It’s important to be open and honest about what your needs are early on in a relationship.” I tapped my pen on the edge of my notebook to emphasize my words. “It’s better to hold out for the right person than to try to change who you are. It’s obviously causing you a lot of stress to constantly repress these desires.”
“How would you even go about bringing up something like that to a woman?”
“Um, well, that's navigating into dating advice more than my specialty, but I'd imagine you ask what she's into, and she'll ask you the same.” I shrugged. “If you show that her pleasure is a priority, chances are, she’ll be open to trying something new when you tell her what you're into too.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"Look, there's no telling how anyone will react to your request, but trust me on this––what you want is some lady's thing, too. But worrying about it, about judgment, that they'll bail on you––all of that is out of your control. The good news is that the sting we all feel when it happens is temporary, fading away faster than used toilet paper."
I glanced at my watch to give him the hint.
“Thank you, Dr. Jackson. I've got some stuff to... think about.”
“Don’t mention it.” I smiled, standing up to walk him to the door. “Don’t forget to do those meditation exercises I showed you.”
He gave me a thumb’s up as he headed through the door leading out to the parking lot.
Letting out a long, cleansing breath, I pulled the bobby pins out of my hair, ruffling my fingers through my bun as it untwisted and fell around my shoulders.
“TGIF, am I right?” Nancy, my receptionist, pushed her glasses up her nose.
“Indeed.” My heels made a satisfying click with every step as I headed back to my office to update Larry’s file and check my emails before kicking off the weekend.
I had put my house in Saint Lucia up for auction. Even with the Prime Minister being charged with his crimes, I didn’t see myself ever feeling safe there again. Instead, I bought a house on the coast of Florida and started up a new practice there.
My office smells of citrus wax melts, and all my furniture is plush and new. It doesn’t quite feel like home yet, but I was adjusting.
During the week, I buried myself in work, since it was the one place I felt competent and in-control. On the weekends, I’d made myself a promise that I would pull myself away from that security blanket and do something for myself.
I locked up the office and kept my keys in my hand, pinching my house key between my fingers and thumb in case I needed to jab someone in the eye with it. I'm afraid St. Lucia left a mark on me that was still playing out. Nothing like having assassins chase you around a jungle for a few days to give you life-long anxiety, no matter how safe you think you might be. At least I know I'm capable of defending myself when I need to.
I changed and drove straight to the beach where my friend Stacy held up her beer to get my attention. The sand was still hot from the afternoon sun and I had to zigzag between all the picnic blankets and lounge chairs because, as usual, the beach was packed. Stacy reached into her ice-chest and pulled out a beer, handing it to me as I sat down in the camping chair next to hers.
“How was work?” Stacy smiled from behind her dark sunglasses as her pink hair whipped around in the wind.
“Boring.” I twisted off the cap and dropped it into the cupholder on my armrest. “How’s the water?”
“Not bad.” She blatantly stared as a bodybuilder in a speedo walked by. “The offshore wind is ideal for aerial moves, but I pulled my hamstring the other day, so I’m just kind of chillin’.”
“Nice.” I took a sip, watching the foaming waves roll over the sand. “Did you submit your portfolio to that magazine yet?”
Stacy was a photographer that worked with athletes doing extreme sports like rock climbing, snow-boarding, and sky-diving. We’d developed a ritual of coming to the beach on Fridays to unpack our week.
“No.” She slid her glasses down her nose to peer over them, arching an accusatory eyebrow. “Did you call Nathan yet?”
"What?!" I rolled my eyes. “What happened to 'romance is a lie meant to boost the economy?'”
“In most cases, it is.” She lifted her beer to her lips and took a long sip. “But then again, I’ve never had a man like that .”
“A man that eats bugs?” I chuckled.
“A man that put my needs before his and gets my toes to curl.” She got a far-off look in her eyes and I patted her on the shoulder.
“Yeah, he definitely could do that, but I’m in Florida and he's flying god-knows-where to go save babies from terrorists or something.” I settled deeper into my seat, curling my toes in the warm sand.
“Come on, Em.” She groaned. “You’re already in love with him, and I think we both know the whole thing about his life being dangerous is bullshit. What you’re really afraid of is letting someone into your life that has the power to hurt you.”
My stomach clenched. I wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but hardly a day had passed that I didn’t think about Nathan.
Staring down at the green glass bottle in my hands, I took a deep breath and shook my head.
“Looking back, I think I actually do regret walking away.” I forced a brittle smile and shrugged. “But we've both moved on now. I'm certain he has anyways. What happens in the jungle–stays in the jungle, Stacy. C'est la vie."