Black Lies
Page 72
Chapter 71
1 MONTH LATER
Round 2: It’s the second time I’m attempting to break up with Lee, and this time the doctor has agreed to stay quiet. To stay behind the one-way glass in the adjoining room. Brant hates it; he cursed us both until he lost control and left the room, but we all eventually agreed, and now I am alone, repeating the lines I have been coached through, the lines that will bring Lee out of Brant’s hypnosis.
My initial breakup attempt had been done without clueing Lee in to his condition. With the massive failure of that experiment, we regrouped. Decided to share the condition and hope for better results.
Two weeks ago, Dr. Terra told Lee about the DID. Lee refused to believe it, wanted to talk to Brant, then trashed the room when that option was refused. Dr. Terra stayed calm, citing facts that laid the truth out in big, fat letters that a child would understand and believe. Lee resisted, vocalizing his hatred for Brant in every four-letter word known to man. It was disastrous. I fled the room halfway through the outburst, unable to watch the systematic breakdown of a man who a part of me dearly loves.
Since then, Dr. Terra has spoken with him four more times, Lee getting less aggressive and more unresponsive with each session. The last meeting he spoke but didn’t stand, didn’t even open his eyes. Just laid on the couch and cherry-picked the questions he felt like answering. Today, I just hope he is open. I hope he listens. I hope he doesn’t break my heart any further.
“Lucky.” His eyes open and he sits up. Looks around. I wait for his body to tighten, for him to spring to his feet with clenched fists, but he doesn’t. Only rubs his neck and shoots me a sad grin. “Still stuck in crazy town, huh?”
“Yeah.”
He holds out his arms. “Come here. I need to smell you. Touch you.”
Such a basic request. I walk forward, breaking our plan already, but I need him. Miss him. I sit sideways on his lap and lean into his chest as he inhales against my neck, his chest rising as he sniffs me, his mouth grazing my neck, his teeth scraping and then gently biting the skin right below my ear. I lean further, feel every single bit of his hands as he runs them down and along the lines of my body, his mouth letting go of my name as he kisses a line from my ear to my collarbone. “Don’t do it,” he whispers. “I know what you’re going to say and you can’t say it.”
“I have to,” I breathe, his hand running over the top of my bare thigh and sliding down, in between my legs, his fingers pushing roughly against any attempt of mine to keep them together. I think of the man on the other side of the glass. Of the video filming this instance for Brant’s eyes later. Of the script that I am supposed to stick to. The one in which I tell this beautiful man that I never loved him. That I only dated him to keep tabs on Brant. That I want him to leave so that I can be with Brant. Lies. Black, dirty lies. I feel the push of his fingers as he slides his hand higher up my thigh, underneath the skirt that is doing nothing but helping his cause. I picked out this skirt. Pulled it on this morning when I could have worn a hundred more restrictive outfits. Did I know? Did I pick it intentionally? Am I really that cruel? To myself? To Brant? I fear asking the question when part of me already knows the answer.
“You don’t have to,” he says, his hand traveling higher as his other hand pries my legs apart, his mouth hot against my neck, stealing kisses in between his words. Kisses that claw at my skin and leave marks that won’t wash off.
“I do, Lee.” I fully abandon the script the moment my legs lose the battle and part further, the fingers of his hand at the silk of my panties, rubbing hot lines over my barely covered sex, teasing me through the fabric, his mouth moaning my name against my neck. “I can’t keep dragging Brant through this. The only way it will work is if you leave.”
He tugs my panties aside and pushes two fingers inside, the sudden invasion causing me to gasp, his mouth taking advantage of the opening and closing hard on my lips. He kisses me as he pushes and curves his fingers. Finger-fucks me there on the couch, my legs falling fully open as we create an image that I flush over. But I can’t stop. Not when I have needed this every night I have lain next to Brant. Felt the cold distance as he tried to sort his way through this. I open up my legs and let his fingers slide inside, feel the level of my need. Take me to the edge that I want to fall over.
“I don’t give a damn about that man,” he growls, lifting off my mouth and bucking underneath me, dumping me off his lap and catching me with his hands before I hit the floor, his rough pull of me more out of need than chivalry. “Bend over,” he orders, yanking at the zipper of his jeans. “Lucky, I will never leave you. I will never let you f**k him without my name on the edge of your lips.” He pushes hard on my back, shoving me over, his other hand jerking at my skirt. “Tell me you still love me.” My back arches without control on his first thrust, a full-fledge push of hard, angry man that shoves through any remaining control on its way in. I gasp, clawing at the back of the couch as he withdraws and then shoves back in. I see stars when he pushes in and feel the delicious want when he withdraws. I cry when he stops, when he pauses with only his head inside, the gentle push so different, the stop of him so jarring. “Please,” I beg, reaching for him, my moment of need never as strong as it is in this one moment.
“Tell me you still love me.”
I fight it, close my eyes so tight the tears fall, my feet straining on their tiptoes as he rocks a tiny bit inside and breaks every last dam around my heart. “I love you,” I whisper, and earn an inch or two of push.
1 MONTH LATER
Round 2: It’s the second time I’m attempting to break up with Lee, and this time the doctor has agreed to stay quiet. To stay behind the one-way glass in the adjoining room. Brant hates it; he cursed us both until he lost control and left the room, but we all eventually agreed, and now I am alone, repeating the lines I have been coached through, the lines that will bring Lee out of Brant’s hypnosis.
My initial breakup attempt had been done without clueing Lee in to his condition. With the massive failure of that experiment, we regrouped. Decided to share the condition and hope for better results.
Two weeks ago, Dr. Terra told Lee about the DID. Lee refused to believe it, wanted to talk to Brant, then trashed the room when that option was refused. Dr. Terra stayed calm, citing facts that laid the truth out in big, fat letters that a child would understand and believe. Lee resisted, vocalizing his hatred for Brant in every four-letter word known to man. It was disastrous. I fled the room halfway through the outburst, unable to watch the systematic breakdown of a man who a part of me dearly loves.
Since then, Dr. Terra has spoken with him four more times, Lee getting less aggressive and more unresponsive with each session. The last meeting he spoke but didn’t stand, didn’t even open his eyes. Just laid on the couch and cherry-picked the questions he felt like answering. Today, I just hope he is open. I hope he listens. I hope he doesn’t break my heart any further.
“Lucky.” His eyes open and he sits up. Looks around. I wait for his body to tighten, for him to spring to his feet with clenched fists, but he doesn’t. Only rubs his neck and shoots me a sad grin. “Still stuck in crazy town, huh?”
“Yeah.”
He holds out his arms. “Come here. I need to smell you. Touch you.”
Such a basic request. I walk forward, breaking our plan already, but I need him. Miss him. I sit sideways on his lap and lean into his chest as he inhales against my neck, his chest rising as he sniffs me, his mouth grazing my neck, his teeth scraping and then gently biting the skin right below my ear. I lean further, feel every single bit of his hands as he runs them down and along the lines of my body, his mouth letting go of my name as he kisses a line from my ear to my collarbone. “Don’t do it,” he whispers. “I know what you’re going to say and you can’t say it.”
“I have to,” I breathe, his hand running over the top of my bare thigh and sliding down, in between my legs, his fingers pushing roughly against any attempt of mine to keep them together. I think of the man on the other side of the glass. Of the video filming this instance for Brant’s eyes later. Of the script that I am supposed to stick to. The one in which I tell this beautiful man that I never loved him. That I only dated him to keep tabs on Brant. That I want him to leave so that I can be with Brant. Lies. Black, dirty lies. I feel the push of his fingers as he slides his hand higher up my thigh, underneath the skirt that is doing nothing but helping his cause. I picked out this skirt. Pulled it on this morning when I could have worn a hundred more restrictive outfits. Did I know? Did I pick it intentionally? Am I really that cruel? To myself? To Brant? I fear asking the question when part of me already knows the answer.
“You don’t have to,” he says, his hand traveling higher as his other hand pries my legs apart, his mouth hot against my neck, stealing kisses in between his words. Kisses that claw at my skin and leave marks that won’t wash off.
“I do, Lee.” I fully abandon the script the moment my legs lose the battle and part further, the fingers of his hand at the silk of my panties, rubbing hot lines over my barely covered sex, teasing me through the fabric, his mouth moaning my name against my neck. “I can’t keep dragging Brant through this. The only way it will work is if you leave.”
He tugs my panties aside and pushes two fingers inside, the sudden invasion causing me to gasp, his mouth taking advantage of the opening and closing hard on my lips. He kisses me as he pushes and curves his fingers. Finger-fucks me there on the couch, my legs falling fully open as we create an image that I flush over. But I can’t stop. Not when I have needed this every night I have lain next to Brant. Felt the cold distance as he tried to sort his way through this. I open up my legs and let his fingers slide inside, feel the level of my need. Take me to the edge that I want to fall over.
“I don’t give a damn about that man,” he growls, lifting off my mouth and bucking underneath me, dumping me off his lap and catching me with his hands before I hit the floor, his rough pull of me more out of need than chivalry. “Bend over,” he orders, yanking at the zipper of his jeans. “Lucky, I will never leave you. I will never let you f**k him without my name on the edge of your lips.” He pushes hard on my back, shoving me over, his other hand jerking at my skirt. “Tell me you still love me.” My back arches without control on his first thrust, a full-fledge push of hard, angry man that shoves through any remaining control on its way in. I gasp, clawing at the back of the couch as he withdraws and then shoves back in. I see stars when he pushes in and feel the delicious want when he withdraws. I cry when he stops, when he pauses with only his head inside, the gentle push so different, the stop of him so jarring. “Please,” I beg, reaching for him, my moment of need never as strong as it is in this one moment.
“Tell me you still love me.”
I fight it, close my eyes so tight the tears fall, my feet straining on their tiptoes as he rocks a tiny bit inside and breaks every last dam around my heart. “I love you,” I whisper, and earn an inch or two of push.
