Exposure (5 page)

T
he next day
, right before I was trying to mentally prepare myself for venturing outside again, I got a surprise visitor. I answered the buzzer and a disembodied voice said “Ms. Parker?”

“Yes?” I said into the speaker.

“My name is Dr. Valence. May I please come up?”

Dr. Who?
“I’m so sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Dr. Valence. I’ve been sent here by an Asher Sloane. He didn’t tell you?”

I had to admit that it was early, and I hadn’t checked texts or emails just yet. So, if Asher had indicated that there would be a doctor coming to my place, I hadn’t yet read the message.

I buzzed up the woman and waited for her to show up at my front door. Internally, I was curious and excited. I assumed that I wouldn’t ever hear hide nor hair from Asher again, so just having somebody in my place who was connected to him was more than a thrill. The next best thing to being with him, at any rate.

The lady finally appeared and I let her in. “Please, have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the couch. Scarlett was at work, so it was just me and this doctor in the apartment.

She sat down and said “I’m so sorry for startling you. Mr. Sloane told me that he would tell you that I was coming. But you’re obviously not prepared to meet with me.”

“No, no,” I said. “I am. I’m just confused on who you are and why you’re here.”

She smiled. “Mr. Sloane told me that you’re suffering from agoraphobia and really needed therapy. I make house calls for just this purpose. I’m a psychotherapist who specializes in panic disorders and phobia.”

I nodded. “Well, thank you for coming, but I’m really sorry. I can’t afford your services right now. So, I’m just going to have to try to muddle through on my own.”

“Mr. Sloane is paying for my services,” she said.

Huh. Paying for her services. While a part of me was thrilled that she was there, because I really did need somebody who could help me, another part of me was feeling very weird that Asher was paying this woman. He hardly knew me.

Yet that was probably the kindest gesture that I had ever heard of.

“Oh, okay,” I said. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m happy you’re here. How long do I have you for?”

“For as long as you need,” she said. “Mr. Sloane told me that you probably need intensive therapy.”

I sighed. I guess it was finally time to get some professional help.

For the first time in a long, long time, I finally started to have some hope.

S
o
, for the rest of the morning,
I talked with Dr. Valence. At first, it was difficult. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened to me. But she convinced me that this was necessary, as it was the key to my recovery.

“I need to help you find a better way of processing your trauma,” she said. “So, as soon as you’re ready, I would like for you to tell me about your traumatic incident.”

Oh, boy. Here we go….

I took an enormous breath and tried mightily to calm my pounding heart. “Okay, well, let’s see. It was an ordinary day. My mom lives in Brooklyn. She was pretty young when she had me – I just turned 24, and she’s only 40 years old now. She got married again about five years ago, and she was surprised when she was able to get pregnant right away. Not that she was particularly old, but I think that she wasn’t really wanting anymore children. But you know what they say – you make plans and God laughs.”

I was stalling and I knew it. I had to give some kind of background information to what had happened, but I wasn’t at all anxious to have to relive that day.

She chuckled politely and said nothing.

I took another deep breath. “Okay, well. I had a little brother. His name was Nathaniel. I think that he was born when I was 20. So, obviously, there was quite a generational gap there. But I loved him all the same….” I took a long pause. “So, it was an ordinary day, really.” And then my heart started pounding again. I was going to have to relive it, and I just didn’t think that I could. “An ordinary day.”

“Okay,” she said. “And what happened that day?”

I bit one of my nails and looked down at the floor. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t face what I did. How could I tell even this woman about what a horrible person I was? How I was a murderer? How, if it weren’t for me, that little boy would be alive today?

I shook my head. “Nothing, nothing happened that day. I mean, something did. But I just can’t talk about it. It’s too horrible. It’s too shameful.”

She put one sympathetic hand on mine. “You can talk about it when you’re ready. Perhaps we should gear this session towards something else, such as coping mechanisms. Have you ever heard about cognitive therapy?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve read all about that on the Internet and on my message board group. I’m also in a chat room with other people who are shut-ins like myself. So, yeah, I know about that.”

“Have you tried the techniques that you have learned about from your peers?”

“I have. I must not be doing them right, though, because they haven’t helped.”

“Okay,” she said. “Then we need to practice them right now. I can give you homework to do and maybe having a more structured environment for your therapy will eventually allow you to be able to leave the apartment without panicking.”

I nodded. I was feeling on more solid ground now that I knew that she wasn’t going to push me to tell her about what had happened to me. To Nathaniel. Sweet, handsome little Nathaniel with the blonde curls and the mild disposition. He would have been such a happy little guy if it weren’t for me.

“So, do you think that I have a chance to become less of a basket case one day? I mean, are people cured of this type of thing?”

“Remission is probably a better word,” she said. “It’s like any other kind of chronic condition. You might have a recovery, but you always have to be diligent to make sure that you don’t have a recurrence. That’s where many patients go wrong. They’re able to start going outdoors again, and they believe that they’re cured. So, they stop seeing their therapist. But then something might trip them up, and they end up not being able to leave their home again. It really becomes a vicious cycle, as their recurrence causes them to not be able to seek professional help again. Sometimes it takes the patient years to be able to get to the point where they can try for remission again.”

“In other words, if you cure me, I have to keep seeing you.”

“For a period of time at least. Think of it as a maintenance period.”

A maintenance period. It disheartened me to know that I might never be rid of this menace. Even if I thought, somehow, that I was safe. There might come a time when I would be tripped right back into my rabbit hole by something I see. I supposed that PTSD was like that – there were all kinds of cues in the world that might send me spinning back into what happened that day. Triggers.

I started to feel hopeless that I could ever be cured.

But I at least had to try.

“Okay, then, let’s try going through some coping mechanisms first,” Dr. Valence was saying. “There are ways to not only quell your negative thoughts with cognitive retraining, but you can also adopt strategies that will help you when you see, smell and hear things that might be triggers. Smells are especially powerful for triggering memories.”

So, for the rest of the afternoon, Dr. Valence and I carefully went through strategies for me. We went through ways to retrain my thoughts and ways for me to retrain my brain so that, when smells, sights or sounds triggered me, I wouldn’t necessarily be spun back into panic.

By the end of the day, I was feeling confident that I could at least try to go outside without feeling like the world was about to collapse onto me. For that I was grateful to Dr. Valence.

And I was especially grateful to Asher.

A
fter Dr. Valence left
, I immediately went to check my emails and text messages, and found that there was nothing from Asher. Then it occurred to me why this was – he didn’t actually have my phone number or my email address. I didn’t give these things to him, and he didn’t ask.

So, when I checked my emails later on that day, just because that was what I did all day – checked emails, scouted message boards, and binge-watched series on Netflix – I was more than surprised to see that there was one from him.

“CJ,” the email read. “I hope that Dr. Valence was able to help you.”

I was startled, but I immediately answered back. “She did. Thank you very much for sending her to me. I don’t know how I can repay you. PS – how did you get my email address?”

He emailed me back not a minute later. “I have my ways, CJ. I’ll see you soon. I’ll buzz you when I get to your place.”

My heart started racing with excitement. And terror. True, Dr. Valence did help me feel more confident that I could leave my apartment without totally freaking out, but I wasn’t sure.

But that sense of terror was overrode by the sense of excitement I felt in seeing him again. I assumed that I wouldn’t ever see him again. After all, he didn’t ask for my phone number or anything else when he dropped me off at my apartment. Yet, here he was, messaging me, and apparently wanting to come over.

I wrote back. “You’re coming over?”

“I am. See you in about five minutes.”

Five minutes? He obviously was messaging me from his limo. “Okay. I hope that I can come out to meet you.”

“You will. I’ll be expecting you.”

And, five minutes later, I heard a buzzing. I answered the intercom tentatively. “Hello?”

“CJ, it’s Asher. I’m down in the lobby. Come down to my limo, which is parked out on the street. I’d like for you to come down and meet me in my limo by yourself, but if you need an escort, I’ll be happy to come up and walk you down.”

“No, no, I’ll be okay,” I said. “I’ll be right down.”

As I rode my elevator down to my lobby, and then walked tentatively out into the street, I tried to use the strategies that Dr. Valence had taught me about feeling in control. There were breathing exercises and cognitive exercises that I learned from her, so I tried everything possible.

But it wasn’t too big of a deal, as Asher’s limo was parked right in front of the building. Double-parked, of course.

I went to the limo, and Asher got out and opened the door for me. “Good to see you, CJ. Really good to see you.”

“You too,” I said, sitting down on the soft leather seats of the limo. “Where are we going?”

“We’ll end up someplace where you can practice what Dr. Valence taught you. But, for now, I have other things in mind. I hope you would like to drive around the city for just a little while. Say for a half-hour or so?”

He put his hand firmly on my thigh, and I immediately got his drift. Then he put up the barrier between us and the driver, and my heart started racing even more.

He smiled devilishly as he put up the barrier between us and the driver. “I don’t necessarily want Eduardo to hear you moan in ecstasy. He’s a brand new driver, so I don’t want him to go screaming into the night.”

At that, he started to kiss me passionately. “Oh, God, I could think of nothing but you yesterday. You’re going to ruin me, you know. I can’t concentrate on my multi-million dollar transactions until I can make you scream at least a few more times.”

I laid down on the seat, and he laid on top of me, his fingers instantly finding my throbbing clit while he kissed me. Then he sat up and brought me up as well. He unbuckled his pants and brought out his enormous cock. “Suck it, CJ,” he said. “I want those beautiful lips of yours firmly around my cock right now.”

I took his shaft and held it firmly in my right hand. I stroked him up and down forcefully, and then I opened my mouth wide and put his thick cock into my mouth. He groaned as I teased his head lightly with my tongue while my hand stroked him up and down. He forced himself further into my mouth, triggering my gag reflex, but I soldiered on. It was difficult to suck him off, as he was enormous, but I knew that he was enjoying himself, so I continued to do so for a few more minutes.

He finally lifted my head by pulling on my hair, and he kissed me passionately while he unbuckled my jeans and brought them down. I kicked them aside and spread my legs. He slipped on a condom and was immediately thrusting inside me hungrily. I burst within seconds, my body flooding with endorphins. My limbs felt like jelly as I started to scream in ecstasy. I simply couldn’t hold it in.

“Tell me what you want, CJ,” he said. “Tell it to me.”

“Just keep fucking me,” I said. “Just keep fucking me, never stop fucking me.” My heart was racing out of my chest, and I had the feeling that I never wanted this to end. Ever.

“You want this big cock, CJ? How much do you love it?”

“I love it so much,” I said, as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He started kissing me again, his lips devouring me as he finally groaned just as I had yet another orgasm.

We laid there, him on top of me, as the limo continued its tour of the city. He kissed me gently, his lips feathering from my mouth to my cheeks and onto my forehead. Then back again. “That was amazing, CJ,” he said, in between kisses.

My heart was pounding, and my breathing was labored, so I wasn’t able to answer him at first. Then I finally managed to croak out some words. “Oh, it was. It was. Amazing is the understatement of the year, really.” How did this guy know exactly how to make the earth move for me? I wondered if it were possible for me to become addicted to another person, because I felt like I was in danger of that happening. That he would become as necessary to me as breathing. The very thought of being so dependent upon another person was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Mainly terrifying, though. Scarlett’s words about Asher rang in my ears. Asher was highly desirable and would end up, long-term, with some supermodel type. He certainly wouldn’t end up with somebody like me. For some reason, he found me attractive and a great fuck, but the woman that he married was going to be gorgeous and well-bred. There was no doubt about that.

Which completely left me out of the picture, as far as that was concerned.

This made me want to push him away.

But I didn’t. He was still kissing me, and, before I knew it, he was hard again. “I guess that this limo ride is going to have to be extended just a little bit,” he said, as he slipped on another condom. “The last time was a little quick, CJ, but I’m going to make this one last much, much longer.”

I breathed in as he filled me up again. He moved slowly, deliberately, leisurely. And, somehow, this slower rhythm got me even more excited and wet than before. It certainly did seem more intimate, more like there were feelings attached. I arched my back, and wrapped my legs around him as he kissed my neck, breasts and mouth passionately.

He went so slowly that he was able to stay hard for quite awhile in the limo, and, just like that, the cars and the street sounds faded into the ether. I suddenly became aware only of him. The way that he smelled – I picked up the faint scent of woodsy cologne and musky aftershave. The way that he felt – he was rock-hard everywhere, and I mean everywhere. The way that he looked – he was so beautiful in the natural light of the limo, his piercing blue eyes enveloping my own.

I grabbed his hair in my hands and he groaned. “I love it when you do that,” he said. “Keep pulling on my hair.”

I obliged and he moaned louder. He finally started to speed up his rhythm, and I knew that he was about to cum again. In a few seconds, he groaned loudly and laid down on top of me again.

As he lay on top of me, and I was stroking his hair and his back, he said “oh, CJ, what have you done to me?”

I didn’t know what I was doing to him, but I knew what he was doing to me. He had claimed me, body and soul, at this point. I was possessed by him, as surely as he was holding me captive. I didn’t want to leave that limo, and not just because I was so afraid of the outside world. I didn’t want to leave the limo because I felt, at that point, that he was a part of me.

I sighed and sat up, as did he. He smiled. “That was amazing, as usual, but I guess that we probably can’t fuck the entire day. And that really wasn’t why I invited you to come with me, although I’ll admit that was a major reason why.”

“Oh?” I said. “What other reason was there?”

“I wanted to see how well you would do in Central Park. With the huge crowds of people and wide-open space. It’s more of a test for you than when you and I walked to that Chinese Restaurant, because it’s much more expansive.”

My heart rate started to climb, but I talked myself down. “Okay, Asher, let’s do it,” I said weakly.

“You don’t exactly sound very convinced that this is something that you should be doing.”

“Well, I’m nervous, of course, but, at the same time, I know that you won’t push me too much. Perhaps I can venture into the park in tiny baby steps. Teeny-tiny baby steps.”

“Of course,” he said. “Well, we’re almost here, so….”

“I’m ready.” I had no idea if I meant that when I said it, though. But I guessed, at that point, I was as ready as I would ever be.

`