Enchanted Dreams (22 page)

But I continue to feel the nagging sense of alarm, especially since the peculiar interruption that occurred in the middle of my first session repeated itself in today's session. It was no more than a little blip in the proceedings, probably unnoticeable to anyone else, but I can't quite express the effect it had on me to hear it happen again. It was as conspicuous to me as a scream. But I know that it would be hard to explain it to anyone else and get the same response. It was once again about halfway through the session, at the peak of my unconsciousness. Something happened—I am certain of it—something distracted me in the middle of answering one of Dr. Czernick's questions. This time I made a small sound, no more than a gasp, really, but before I could protest further, Dr. Czernick instantly and smoothly filled in the gap with his next question and I, being in a state of unconsciousness, was easily distracted from whatever it was that had disrupted me. What was it that stopped me short and made me gasp? A needle prick would have that effect. And after the interruption, the therapy once again became more intense, with Dr. Czernick's comments becoming even more persuasive.

And yet again, I cannot find any evidence at all that I was drugged or tampered with in any way, either physically or psychologically. And in the end, even the hypnosis treatment has had almost no effect on me. I feel that my outlook is exactly as it was before.

Yet I can see a clear difference in Tom's behavior during this week since his session, which undermines my earlier supposition that Dr. Czernick was favoring him. When I asked him about his session, he said he couldn't remember anything about it. It would appear that Tom underwent the same treatment that I did, except Dr. Czernick must have given him suggestions favoring my point of view. And Tom, being more desirous of a reconciliation between us, and, too, being more susceptible to the hypnosis, has no doubt embraced the suggestions made by Dr. Czernick—much like Eleanor Dobbs had. How else could such a drastic change in his behavior have come about? He has been wonderfully attentive, asking me questions about even the smallest details of my day. And last night I came home to the most splendid, home-cooked Italian meal, with tortellini steeped in a fabulous white sauce. It is hard to remain indifferent when someone is making such a genuine effort. I can't help thinking of the man he was when we first fell in love, so many years ago. But I wonder how much of his behavior is the hypnosis and how much is really Tom. And does it matter? I don't know. Frankly, I am simply glad that things are going more smoothly between us now, so that I can focus more on what is happening in my practice.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Today I set aside the deprogramming therapy with Eleanor Dobbs and allowed her to simply discuss her feelings about her husband. There is an obsessive quality to her personality I hadn't picked up on before. This could be playing a part in her inability to grieve her loss and move on. Although she is still young enough, she doesn't even appear to consider the prospect of finding another man. It's like she is still
living
the memories, and seems satisfied to settle for that. Her connection with her husband appears to grow stronger with every day that passes.

The discussion once again turned to her sex life with her husband. As I listened to her, I struggled again to identify the motivating force behind her absolute compliance with all of his requests. I contemplated the source of her inflexible devotion. Night after night, she would crawl around on the floor, playing dead or chasing balls in a never-ending desire to please him. Why?

"…and he spread it all around the area," she was saying. "I waited, perfectly still, until he gave me the command and then I rushed forward. Dogs love honey, and so I began lapping it up, licking all around his balls to get every bit that I could…"

"Why is it," I interrupted her suddenly to ask, "that you always played the part of a dog?" At her confused expression, I added, "Why not a cat?"

She wrinkled her nose. "He hated cats. He would never have had a cat."

"Okay, then how about a…bird?"

She snorted and just looked at me as if I were insane.

"Could you have played the part of a bird, do you think?" I pressed.

She thought about it. "No," she said at last. "I can't even imagine doing that."

"Back in the very beginning when this started—the night your husband first gave you the collar—had you ever imagined being a dog before?"

She thought about this. "No…" she answered slowly.

I took my time, too. I wasn't even really sure what I was looking for.

"Why were you able to play the part of his dog so well?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess maybe…I
wanted
to do it well."

"Every time?"

"What?"

"You wanted to do it well every time—it was nearly every night that you did it once you got the collar, right—and you
always
wanted to perform well for him, every night?"

"Yes!"

"You never got tired?"

She looked at me and kind of laughed. "It's weird, I know, but I never did."

I was genuinely puzzled. "Did you never get sick? Too sick to play dog, I mean?"

She appeared to think about it and then shook her head.

I was silent a moment, thinking.

"Sometimes," she began, "I really thought sometimes…like…like I was a dog. Like maybe I was a dog in another life or something. I was comfortable with it. Everything he wanted me to do seemed natural. It seemed natural to have to eat dog food and beg for table scraps. Chasing the ball for him. All of it…seemed natural. When he would pet me, you know, when he would pat my head—I can't describe it. It was like I felt how a real dog would feel. He was my master and I wanted his approval. I
needed
it."

"You needed it…sexually?"

"No!" She shook her head emphatically. "I loved pleasing him that way, too, but what I needed was just to please him, period, as his
dog.
" She looked at me dismally. "What am I now?"

I took a deep breath. "So your need to please him was your need…
as a dog?
" I repeated.

"Yes! It was like I had the needs of a dog."

"Had you ever had feelings of being a dog or any other animal
before
your husband gave you the collar?" I asked.

She thought about this, then shook her head. "I don't think so."

But we had run out of time. I felt certain I was onto something.

And I was preoccupied with thoughts of Tom. I wondered how his session with Dr. Czernick was going. This week with him has been remarkable—his efforts are having an effect on me. He's so much like when we first met. I find myself thinking about him all the time now. I didn't think that I still had feelings for him, but clearly I do. Surely they are worth exploring.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

I have not had the opportunity to listen to the tape of my session with Dr. Czernick today as there is simply too much going on, but I'm beginning to realize that I have been way off base about him anyway. It occurred to me today that my suspicions were really a kind of denial. Clearly I was not ready to look at my own issues, so I distracted myself with delusions about Dr. Czernick. I'm so glad now that I didn't confide in anyone about what I was thinking!

It appears that Tom's sessions have worked wonders. Unlike me, Tom has not been resisting his therapy. I am now wondering why I have been fighting it so hard. Perhaps I had some kind of misguided fear that I could not have it all. That I must give up something if I am to succeed at my practice.

In fact, with things so peaceful at home, I feel clearer than ever with my patients. I realized today, for instance, that Eleanor Dobbs suffers from a mixed delusional disorder, which brings about hallucinations that she is a dog. I'm not even sure anymore that these experiences she relates with her husband ever really happened. I have written her a prescription for an antipsychotic and we will begin cognitive behavioral therapy immediately.

I think today I had the epiphany that Tom has been waiting for. It came in the form of twelve very stunning white carnations that were delivered here this morning. All day long, their delightful scent has acted as a reminder of how sweet it is to be loved. Tonight is the first night of the rest of our lives together!

He felt a brief twinge of guilt.

But then he saw her expression as she came to him—her shy smile—and he was reminded of how she used to look at him when they first fell in love. It was worth the price, surely, he assured himself. The end would justify the means. He would use Dr. Czernick's therapy only so far as it was beneficial to them both. He would not take advantage of it or of her.

Angela's manner, so happy and appreciative, made him feel omnipotent, and a wave of protectiveness for her rushed over him.

Mostly there was relief. He could finally relax and trust his own instincts. He could be himself, without worrying that every little action was going to offend. Yet he promised himself yet again that he would not take advantage of her. He knew that with power came responsibility.

Tom noticed the arousal in Angela's eyes and he felt his heart jump. She came to him—willingly? Yes, he insisted adamantly as he pushed aside another wave of guilt. She was clearly willing—and
happy
.

Tom gently took Angela's face in his hands and brushed his lips over hers every so lightly and tenderly, almost apologetically. She pulled his head closer and kissed him back hungrily. Her response activated the various pent-up emotions in him, triggering an eruption that sent a harsh shudder through him. His earlier guilt was suddenly buried under the anger and resentment that had been building and churning within him for all of these years. It was Angela who had brought their marriage to this point! His embrace turned almost violent in defense of his own actions, and he grasped her head firmly in his hands as he crushed her lips in an all-encompassing kiss. He felt her shudder in response, and it gave him a sense of power to have that effect on her. In turns, he kept alternating from tenderness to fury, and she responded to both equally. Everything he did seemed to fan the flames of her desire. Her response triggered his, and the kiss became an ardent embrace that left them both gasping for breath. And suddenly everything else was lost to the kiss; she kind of melted against him in a minisurrender as he held her steady in his arms, all the while continuing to ravage her mouth, even nipping at her lightly with his teeth. He could feel the heat emanating off of him, and even his breath seemed as if it might scorch her as it flared from his nostrils.

With every advance from Tom, it seemed that Angela became more pliant and yielding. Was this what she needed from him all along, or was it simply that he could now do no wrong? Tom was beginning not to care. Angela was clinging to him as if she needed him. For whatever reason, she needed him.

Tom struggled to control the overwhelming sense of power he felt over Angela. Her response filled him with confidence. He suddenly picked her up and carried her straight to their bedroom without interrupting their kiss. She appeared to be as consumed by the passion as he was. He felt he could kiss her for hours. Since she wasn't complaining that his face was too rough, or his body heat was too cloistering, or anything else she might have said before, he took his time, suddenly wanting to make up for all the lost years. He kissed her leisurely and thoroughly as he laid her out on the bed beneath him. It almost seemed as if he could erase the anguish of all the unhappy years of their marriage if only he could kiss her long enough. Surely that would heal both of their wounds and make it worth the price.

But with so much more pleasure to be had, Tom eventually became distracted from their kiss in his desire to touch Angela's body. His hands moved slowly and introspectively over her body, simultaneously caressing and probing, lingering over every nuance as if he were discovering her for the first time. Here and again he would carefully remove a piece of her clothing, clearing it out of his way decidedly and unapologetically. Where before there had been withholding and restraint, there now was utter freedom. Angela was his willing wife, for him to do with as he wished. He found that he wished to punish and please, both at the same time.

The scant clothing that remained was suddenly in his way. Tom tore at it fitfully. He wanted to see every single inch of her that instant. A part of him felt that he was fully entitled. All that had previously been forbidden or out of bounds was his by right. He would take all of it—and then some. Where before he had meekly accepted what little crumbs she tossed in his direction, he now would not be satisfied with anything less than all of it. He wanted to push the limits. Later, he would make it up to her, but for the moment he was still too well aware of a score to settle.

With this in mind, Tom bared Angela's body fully to his gaze, moving his hands over her body again and again as he drank in the sight of her. He loved the way she looked and wanted to set every inch to memory. Out of some misguided instinct, she tried to cover her nakedness with her hands, but he grasped her hands in his and placed them firmly at her sides.

"Let me see you," he said earnestly. He wanted to look at the woman he had married. And he wanted her to submit to him willingly. This was still a bone of contention for him. And yet he saw that it was shyness, not willfulness, that caused her reaction. "It's okay," he told her, wanting to put her mind at ease. "The sight of you brings me pleasure. It excites me to look at you here," he said, lifting her breasts gently in his hands. "And here—" he moved his hands down along the length of her stomach "—and here." He cupped his hands lovingly over her mound. "I love looking at you, Angela," he told her truthfully. He saw that his words had the desired effect, and she visibly relaxed.