Sex, Desires & Rock N Roll Page 18

  Panic slams into me. My body coils tightly. My lungs breathe out the last remnants of air, deflating rapidly in my chest. My heart ceases to work properly, skipping a beat and then galloping as if it’s going to leap out of my chest. My vision swirls and blurs. I feel the dark tendrils reach for me, wanting to pull me under and wrap me in a cocoon. I claw at my throat, at my chest, trying to get air into my lungs. My body won’t cooperate. I can’t breathe. There isn’t any air in the space. The fountain turns black, its plunk plunk sounds twists into something else—something familiar—the pounding of fists begin to echo from it. I grip my head, thrusting it between my legs. My body stiffens. My lungs cry out. My head throbs. My eyes burn with the sting of a torrent of tears.

  I feel warm arms wrap around me, pulling me closer. “Jules, you’re safe. It’s okay. I need you to focus. I need you to breathe through it slowly. In your nose and hold it, then release it out your mouth. Come on, Jules, follow me. In your nose, hold, out your mouth. In your nose, hold, out your mouth.”

  My body refuses to comply. The tendrils wrap around me, squeezing me so tight I feel as though my bones will break. I struggle to breathe. My fingers claw at my neck, causing welts to form, stinging my tender skin. I am drowning. There is no end to this. It completely consumes me, holding me down. My heart reaches an alarming rhythm within my chest. It bangs and rattles against my bones. I know it’s going to bust through my chest wall—it already feels like it does. There is no air. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

  My upper body begins to shake. “Jules, listen to me, focus on my voice.” My ears strain to do so, but the calming voice is washed out by his.

  “You stupid bitch! How many times to I have to tell you. Oh, that’s right, millions because you’re so fucking stupid and a waste of breath. Why do I even keep you? I should throw you out with the trash. You answer to me. You do what I tell and need you to do. Now! I won’t tell you again, Julia. I’m going to fuck you any way I want to, anywhere I want to. Do you understand me? Stop your fucking crying and spread your fucking legs. Now! I won’t tell you again! Remember you’re my dirty little slut. You’re mine!”

  Unimaginable fear rips through me and courses through my entire being. Blake’s eyes are dark and cold—devoid of any sweet emotion. He stares intently into my eyes, saying so much more than words ever could. His fingers trail from my inner thigh, along my stomach, my breasts until they reach my chin and still. His fingers grip my chin with such force I feel as though they will leave permanent indentations.

  “Blake, please, you’re hurting me.” My words spill out of my mouth in a hushed whisper he probably doesn’t hear.

  Blake leans in further, his body pressing me into the mattress. I can’t move; his weight holds me down. I am his prisoner. Something flickers in his eyes as I implore him with my own. He inhales deeply as his eyes squeeze shut. A soft kiss plays against my lips. It’s as though a switch has flipped and Blake sees what he’s doing, what’s happening between us. His breath exhales and fans across my face, the smell of whiskey hits me full force. I watch his eyes open millimeter by millimeter. Blake swallows, and then his thick voice fills the space between us. “I need you, Julia. I just need you…”

  The scene shifts and then fades away, being replaced with another.

  I decide to surprise Blake at work with lunch from his favorite sandwich shop. It’s something I never do but wanted to after the amazing day I was having. I reach his floor and notice his secretary is not at her desk. I make my way the few feet from her desk down a short hall to his office. The door is open a crack, and I hear a moan coming from it. My first instinct is that Blake is hurt and needs help, but then the moan grows louder, more needy. I realize it’s not a moan of pain but a moan of pure pleasure. My legs tremble and have difficulty caring me the few inches right to his door. My heart pounds in my chest, my eyes prick with tears. I reach the door and against my better judgment peek inside. My worst fears become my reality. Blake is sitting at one of the chairs in front of his desk, his secretary is on her knees before him, her head bobbing up and down. My hand flies up to my mouth, stifling the agonizing cry that wants to escape. Tears that were only a thought prior come streaming down my cheeks.

  “Amber, that feels so fucking good. Suck my cock. Suck it all, baby.”

  I’ve never heard Blake sound like that before. His voice is full of so much want and desire. My heart cracks in my chest. My body is numb. My mind is numb, devoid of all thoughts except for what I just witnessed. On wobbly legs, I flee before my heart shatters into a billion and one pieces and Blake knows I was there…

  My skin is covered in sweat. I feel hot and cold all at once. There isn’t enough air in the room. I’m going to die. I’m dying. My stomach tightens and rolls on itself, forcing foul bitter bile to my throat. I always knew Blake would kill me. But I always thought it would be by his hands, not his memory. My body, my soul, my mind start to succumb to the darkness. It’s easier. It’s freeing. I’m free.

  DASH STARES AT me. No words are spoken—they aren’t necessary. I know what he’s not saying. I feel it deep within my bones. Within my soul. He’s worried. He cares. He’s here for me. His usually brilliant blue eyes are darker, harder. They don’t hold disappointment. They hold tenderness and understanding. They hold hope. They hold me captive, and I don’t want to break free. I feel safe when he looks at me. I feel wanted when I gaze into them. I feel unbroken when I fall into their depths. I fall—freely relishing in how he makes me feel.

  Bright light blinds me. My body feels limp. My heart beats steadily within my chest. I blink. I try to focus. I see reality as Dash fades. I hold onto his image, his eyes, my favorite crooked smile until he slinks away into nothingness. I find myself on a small cot covered in lilac-colored sheets. The scent of peppermint and eucalyptus invade my nose. My vision adjusts to the light and focuses, a slight pounding echoing in my head.

  “Here, drink this.” A soft voice beside me draws my attention. My head turns, and my eyes meet the blue of Dr. Hoffman’s. They flash concern and then relief before they are devoid of all emotion.

  I attempt to sit up on my own as my triceps tremble and begin to buckle under the movement and pressure. Dr. Hoffman reaches to help me. Once I’m settled, I take the Styrofoam cup from her. “What is it?”

  “It’s just some herbal tea to help with relaxing.” Dr. Hoffman’s chin tilts to the cup, encouraging me to drink. The warmth of the tea seeps through the foam and into my hands. The effect is calming. I breathe in the steam from the cup, noting various fragrances that fill my senses and calm me even further. I take a small sip. The tea is light with a sweetness to it. I drink some more.

  “Thanks. This is really good.” My voice sounds so weak and so foreign to me.

  “I’m glad you like it. If you want, I can give you a few tea bags until you can get your own. How are you feeling, Jules?”

  I survey my surroundings as the tea warms me from the inside out. “At the moment? I feel… I feel better. That’s… they’ve never been that bad before.”

  Dr. Hoffman nods her head like she knows. “I’m glad it happened here with me. I want to prescribe something for you. I usually like my patients to use various tools before prescribing something, but after what happened today, I think you would benefit from a prescribed medication.”

  The idea of taking something prescribed or not scares me. I want to have control—as much control as I can when a panic attack overtakes me. I know she’s right. I need something to help, especially after this last episode. I can’t believe how intense it was. Usually I’m able to fight against the dark and see some semblance of light. But this time… this time there was no light to fight to. And as much as I think I’m strong and a fighter, this time I wasn’t. There was no strength. There was no fight. I succumbed to the dark and let it carry me away. The scary thing is at that moment when I let go, I did feel a sense of calmness I haven’t felt in a really long time. It felt like the calm I get when I’m with
Dash. Dash. He was the one that I held onto in the darkness. He was my light. He is my light.

  “Jules?” Dr. Hoffman’s voice stops my inner dialogue.

  “Sorry.”

  She smiles brightly. “It’s okay. I’m sure you’ve got questions, and I hopefully have the answers. First, I want you to know that what I am prescribing you will be a low dose. I don’t want to overwhelm your system with medication. It won’t inhibit you from going about your day as usual. You may start to feel better in one to three weeks, but it can take up to eight weeks sometimes to see more improvement. This will hopefully, along with the techniques you are already using, reduce the severity and number of panic attacks you have. Now, can you tell me what you were feeling before the attack started and during?”

  I knew she would eventually ask. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Dr. Hoffman since working with her, she doesn’t bullshit, and she doesn’t hesitate to ask the really hard questions. I think she thrives on it, and for me, that’s what makes her such an amazing doctor. I take a deep breath and another sip before putting the cup down. I take a few deep breaths, closing my eyes briefly. Images come fast and furious behind my lids, reminding me of what I was remembering. I feel my heart beat and pulse quicken.

  “Breathe, Jules. You control it. It doesn’t control you. In and out, in and out.”

  I do as instructed and repeat over and over in my head, “I am in control. I am in control.” It starts to help minimize the panic bubbling inside. In and out, in and out. I squeeze my eyes tight, the images blur, and a spark of bright white light burst and then nothing. I focus on a pinpoint of light off in the distance. It glows bright and grows bigger the closer it gets. The darkness in my mind’s eye is replaced with soft white light, and in the middle of all this light is Dash, his eyes twinkling with comfort, his crooked smile plastered on his lips, melting as always. Peace and calm engulf me, hold me in their grasp. I feel my body relax and my own lips pull into a smile. He nods and mouths the words I’ve heard him say to me before—I’m here, you’re safe.” and I do feel safe. I open my eyes, and Dr. Hoffman is looking straight at me, her face as always void of any emotion. I know she has to be a blank canvas when dealing with myself and other patients. Her blank canvas makes it easier to tell her everything because she’s so non-judgmental and she makes me feel and somewhat believe that what happened wasn’t my fault at all—that there nothing I could do to control Blake and his actions toward me.

  I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. Images begin to play in my mind’s eye like rapid fire even though I don’t want them to. I want them to stop, to fade away into nothingness like they never existed. My mind has other ideas. Suddenly, Blake smiling at me as we sit at the fountain in front of my store. Blake’s eyes furious, nostrils flaring as he yells at me while I sit paralyzed on the sofa. Blake kissing me on the lips before pulling away and telling me he loves me. Blake stumbling into our bedroom and falling into bed. The smell of stale beer and sweet perfume permeates off of him in waves that make my stomach roll. I’m wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer to hide the bruises on my upper arms. Blake slams me up against the wall at a club, his fingers squeezing into my neck. His eyes are devoid of any emotion except blind rage. More images flash behind my eyes, each one depicting a different time with Blake—some more aggressive than others.

  And then nothing. There are no more images slamming into me from my memory. My body feels warm, like its being wrapped up in a thermal blanket. I feel lighter for the first time in years. A sense of clarity begins to seep into my mind and fans out into my body and soul. Each memory I just recalled is played in rapid succession, but this time when I look back, I see them for what they are. I see myself clearly. I see Blake clearly. Blake was Blake, and being so, he is the one responsible—not me. I didn’t deserve his actions. I didn’t ask for it. I was not responsible for his brutality and cruelty. My words… my actions… my unreturned love didn’t make Blake do the things he did and say the things he said. It was him—all him. This realization hits me like a freight train. I feel as though I’ve been punched in the gut, my breath leaving my lungs in an instant.

  “Jules, you okay?”

  My arm wraps around my middle and I give myself a quick squeeze. I feel a heavy weight lift from my bones and drift away. The dark tendrils begin to swirl with white. “It wasn’t my fault.” The words are a whisper in the small room. “It wasn’t my fault.” The words grow bigger, louder. “It wasn’t my fault.” The words take up more space in the room, their sound loud to my ears. “It wasn’t my fault.” The words fill the empty spaces, and their sound echo off the walls.

  Dr. Hoffman’s usual expressionless face glows with warmth and understanding. Her lips grow into a wide smile, and her eyes gleam bright, tinged with moisture. “You’re right, Jules, absolutely right. It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and before I know it, she’s hugging me.

  IT WAS A couple of weeks ago that I left Dr. Hoffman’s office feeling the best I’ve ever felt. She said I had a breakthrough, but still had a long road of healing to do. But for the first time, that road doesn’t seem so bumpy and filled with pothole after pothole. I feel there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I know I will get there with her help and the help of my support group—my friends. Dr. Hoffman has actually suggested attending a support group of people who have similar experiences as myself. She knows I’m not one hundred percent ready for that, but I know she put that out there so I can prepare myself to go.

  During our most recent session, we talked a lot about Dash. Dr. Hoffman suggested I tell Dash about my relationship with Blake. She thinks since he was a trigger that first night I met him and seems to be my “light in the dark,” she actually quoted me after referring to her tablet, he should know some of what happened. She mentioned I don’t have to get into specifics with him just yet, but I should give him a general idea. Tracy and Val have said the same thing. Val more so than Tracy. Val sees on a regular basis how Dash is with me or when I’m not around. She makes it known that the guy has deep feelings for me—they go beyond that of a fling. She seems to think he would understand better than I think he will. I still hold onto the thought that once he does know, he will see how broken I truly am and won’t want anything to do with me. Val wants to knock me on my ass every time I say that. Dr. Hoffman is a little less violent.

  So I’m going to put my big girl panties on and have a long talk with Dash—or maybe a short one, the chicken in me pipes in. I know they’re both right; he has a right to know what’s going on with me. After all, he has witnessed a couple of panic attacks and a meltdown. He deserves to hear the truth about me from me. I just hope when he hears the ugly truth, he will be able to look at me the same. I cringe, thinking Val is going to smack me upside the head again. Her voodoo power knows no bounds. Even when she’s clear across town, she can threaten me.

  I shut down my computer and gather my things to leave when there’s a familiar knock on my door. I look up from my desk, and Hank stands in the doorway. He has that look on his face like he wants to talk about something he deems important, but at the same time he doesn’t want to hold me up. “Hey, kiddo, you got a sec before you take off?”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely, I might. What can I do for ya, Hank?”

  Hank makes his way into my office and then takes a seat in one of the chairs by my desk. His fingers scratch his beard, an idiosyncrasy I’ve come to recognize when something heavy weighs on his mind. He lets out a deep breath, and his mouth opens and then closes several times. I can see it in his eyes he’s unsure of what to say or how to say it. I decide to help him along. “Just spit it out, Hank.”

  He smiles, shaking his head. “You were always one to know when I need a push. I… we… Claire and I, that is, have been worried about you lately. You would tell me if everything… if there was…”

  I’ve seen Hank stumble over words like this only a few other times, and those other times was when he wa
s worried about someone in his family. It warms my heart to know Hank considers me family. He’s usually so put together—larger than life—able to talk to crowds at various engagements and whatnot. But seeing him like this about me makes me want to put his mind at ease and out of misery. Hank isn’t always a touchy-feely kind of guy, even though he’s fiercely loyal and regards only a select few his friends and family. “I’m good, Hank. Better than I’ve been in a long time.” I give him the honest truth. I haven’t felt this good in years, and it’s something I want to hold on to with all my might and strength.

  He nods. “You… you wouldn’t lie to me, would ya, kiddo?”

  The man knows me too well. There have been times in the past were I would brush off Hank’s concern with an “I’m fine,” and he would take it with a grain of salt and not push. So I don’t blame him for questioning me now. I get up from behind my desk and take the seat right next to him. Once I’m settled, I take Hank’s hand in mine, giving it a little squeeze, and look directly into his eyes. As I look at his soft brown eyes, I see nothing but worry and a glimmer of hope. I want to erase that worry and make that glimmer shine like the brightest star in the sky. “Hank, I’m really good. Beyond good, if I’m being honest. I haven’t felt like this in a really long time, not since before… anyway, you have nothing to worry about. I’m getting there.”

  Several emotions flit across his face, his lips pulling up into a huge grin. He squeezes my hand before standing, effectively pulling me up with him. Hank wraps his arms around me, giving the warmest hug—a fatherly hug. “I’m happy for you, kiddo, really happy.” He gives me one last squeeze before releasing me. My body still feels warm, and it’s as though his arms are still wrapped around me, continuing to give me what my own father never could.