Pieces For You (5 page)

“I am not a piece of meat, Sam,” Hunter feigned insult.  “And my eyes are up here.”

“You’re eyes are lovely, Hunter, but they have nothing on your abs.” 

“Sam, stop ogling Hunter.  I’m the one who has to live with his inflated ego when you’re done feeding it,” she scolded.  “And his butt is way better than his abs, if we’re taking stock.”

“Dear Lord, women, have you no shame?  I’m right here.”

“Of course you are, baby, now turn around and illustrate my point for Sam,” Ev joked.

Hunter shook his head and moved toward the door—walking backward to conceal his mouth-watering tush.  Such a shame.  I may view Hunter as a brother, but he wasn’t my actual brother and I wasn’t blind.

“Goodnight, Sam.  I hope you enjoyed objectifying me,” Hunter huffed but had a difficult time containing his smirk.  “Women.”

Once we were alone, Ev sat on the edge of my bed.  “Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine, this one wasn’t that bad.  I’m surprised I even woke you.  I just feel a little high-strung, but you two gave an impressive performance to distract me.”

“Then our mission was accomplished for tonight.” 

She squeezed my hand and I squeezed back, then Everleigh left the room to return to her own bed and Hunter.  I was thankful that she no longer needed to sleep on the floor to help me get through the night.

As I relaxed back into my mattress, I realized that my room was dark—completely dark.  My nightlight bulb must have burnt out during the night and for the first time, the absence of any light didn’t bother me.  I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back. 

I had found several significant pieces and puzzled them together in some semblance of the original.  I was feeling like Old Sam more frequently and for longer durations.  Progress.  Even Ev and Hunter had noticed my improvement.  They never came right out and said it, but it was obvious in their actions and reactions.  Since I returned home, they had slowly stopped hovering and the lines of worry creasing their faces began fading.  Hunter didn’t hesitate to stand close to me or hug me now.  For a while, he was taking great care not to be left alone in a room with me, as if I might panic.  Of all the men in the world, Hunter was the one I trusted most to keep me safe.  Ev became confident that I was comfortable enough having Hunter around and began purposely leaving us alone.  The excuses he provided to make an exit were hilarious.  When he finally caught on to our game, he turned the tables on us by refusing to ever leave a room either of us was in.  It led to “the great bathroom showdown,” where neither Ev nor I could use the bathroom because Hunter refused to stop tailing us.  We finally ‘fessed up to our shenanigans so he would relent. 

In the last few weeks, they even relaxed enough to talk to me like they used to—like I was just Sam, not an over-sensitive time bomb.  Their return to normal helped to fuel my own.  I found inappropriate comments sliding from my lips more frequently and I loved it.  Ev even had to tell me ‘too much information’ several times this week—now that was proof-positive Old Sam was alive and well. 

While much was still unaccounted for, a fact I was learning to accept, I was acutely aware of one key piece still missing in action.  My libido was still on extended vacation in Bora Bora, sunning herself on the deck of her overwater bungalow with a fruity drink in one hand and a book in the other.  She had an open ticket and clearly had no intention of booking her return flight in the foreseeable future…bitch.  I don’t think I was ready to explore that facet of New Sam yet, and it would take a mountain of trust for me to make myself that vulnerable to a man again, but it didn’t make my complete lack of sexual interest any less disconcerting. 

I watched the movie ‘Magic Mike’ yesterday and felt nothing…not a damn thing.  Sexy, built male strippers with killer dance moves and packages that could steal a girl’s breath—yet it did nothing for me.  Six months ago Old Sam would have been scrolling through her phone searching for viable ‘repeat performance’ contenders to put out the fire—New Sam went to sleep alone, not even a steamy dream to keep her company.

I looked at the clock and shook my head at the time.  I should be asleep instead of dissecting my inadequacies.  Tomorrow was going to be a challenging day.  I had my first therapy appointment with Dr. Cynthia Veritus, which was sure to be a fun and uplifting session.  NOT!  It wasn’t that I objected to therapy, I didn’t.  I knew it was a vital part of my recovery and it was nice to have someone emotionally objective whom I could toss my shit at without fear of upsetting them.  I have had video sessions with my therapist from TPC over the past month, but face-to-face sessions pushed me more toward absolute honesty.

My dread centered on the necessity to recount and relive what had occurred and my state immediately following the attack…that would inevitably be the focus of the first few sessions, which was going to suck.  By the time I left TPC, I was comfortable with all of the counselors and it was easy for me to share.  They helped me process and heal, but they understood my triggers and slowly helped me to stretch my boundaries.  I didn’t know what I would have done if approached with the ‘battering ram’ therapeutic approach…yes I do, I would have walked—well, wheeled, since I was still stuck in that stupid chair—the hell out of there and never looked back.  Now I have to start from scratch, building a level of comfort and trust with someone new.  It’s like training a new boyfriend, but without all of the butterflies in my stomach and lip locks—in other words, all the work and none of the rewards.

I yawned, finally feeling the weight of my exhaustion pulling me under, and then surrendered, closing my eyes with a prayer for another night of dreamless sleep.

I awoke in the morning feeling rested and ready to face the day.  As I entered the bathroom, I noticed that the recent nights of rest had helped to banish much of the purple shadows beneath my emerald green eyes.  My auburn hair was also finally growing out after being hacked off by my attacker.  Luckily, my skin was still sun-kissed from my months of recovery in San Diego, which helped distract from my still slightly gaunt frame.  I regained most of the weight I lost following the attack, so I was no longer the leading contender for a walk-on role in the latest zombie movie.  Unfortunately, with my tiny five feet one-inch frame—okay, four feet eleven and three-quarter inches, but I always wore at least a kitten heel so I had earned the extra inch and a quarter, dammit—even being down seven pounds from my pre-assault weight was substantial and unflattering.  I simply couldn’t pull off Kate Moss’ ‘heroin chic’ look, so I was not going to miss looking like the walking dead.

After a quick shower, I brushed on some blush and mascara to encourage a “healthy” appearance, before braiding my hair over my shoulder, Katniss-style.  I returned to my room and opened the door to my walk-in closet.  There were many reasons I loved my small, luxurious condominium, and the number one on my list was this expansive closet.  I was not OCD about anything
except
my wardrobe; my clothing was organized by type and color, and then sub-categorized by textile and/or attitude.  My shoes and accessories followed the same neurotic pattern.  I created each outfit, worn layer by layer, with great care, each communicating a message and theme to the world.  Through my clothing I was able to control how the world perceived me, which was a reaffirming prospect to someone whose choice and control were violently taken from them.  Yes, I even viewed clothing with therapeutic intent—it also didn’t hurt that I could refer to shopping as a healing activity now.

I visualized the outfit in my mind.  A white bohemian shirt to emphasize my tan and mask my too-thin body.  Navy cuffed shorts that lent seriousness to my casual Indian Summer look, and a pair of navy espadrilles with a floral ribbon at the ankles to add a playful element.  A pair of white feather earrings for whimsy and a collection of thin, gold bangles finished my look.  Perfect.  From the outside, I was the picture of stability and normalcy.

I made my way to the kitchen where I spotted Ev perched on Hunter’s lap as he fed her an omelet.  I grabbed a Greek yogurt from the fridge before joining them at the kitchen table.

“I think I liked you better when you were all reserved and aloof…this touchy-feely Hunter is kind of freaking me out,” I teased. 

In reality, I was overjoyed to see my best friend finally receiving the affection and love she deserved.  Ev and Hunter’s journey to couplehood had been fraught with secrecy and delayed gratification.  At one point, I had debated drugging them both and throwing them into bed together to speed up the process.  I was getting sexually frustrated just watching their self-denial…I’m not sure how Ev didn’t combust.

“You are just jealous you don’t have one of Hunter’s famous omelets.  My man has
many
talents—big, impressive talents.”

“Are you offering me a sample of Hunter’s impressive talent?”

Hunter nearly spit the coffee out of her mouth. 

“Paws off lady, I don’t share.”

“You always did monopolize all the good toys when we were kids, never sharing your Malibu Barbie.”

“For the hundredth time, you had the same freaking Malibu Barbie, along with her Malibu mansion, convertible, coordinating wardrobe, scooter, and whatever other accessories Mattel had marketed that year.  There was no reason for you to want
my
Malibu Barbie,” Ev returned with exasperation.  This was an ancient debate, which may pre-date the conflict in the Middle East.

“But
your
Malibu Barbie had a couture hand-sewn wardrobe and Meme painted Barbie’s nails with that little marker—so stylish…so me.”

“And then mom sewed a coordinating wardrobe for
your
Barbie and painted her nails.  There was no difference.”

“But
your
Barbie was the first, the trendsetter. 
Mine
was just a copycat wannabe.”

Ev threw her hands in the air dramatically. “I give up!  Fine, you want my Malibu Barbie?  We can switch.  Will that make you happy and finally end this ridiculous debate?”

“No need, I switched them during a sleepover one night.  I’ve had the innovative fashionista for the last thirteen years.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?  You stole my Barbie?  What is
wrong
with you?” she asked, no longer pretending to be annoyed by our age-old dispute…oops, I probably shouldn’t have ‘fessed up to that particular truth.

I shrugged.  “Sorry, but you really didn’t appreciate her.  You didn’t even notice when I made the swap—what kind of mother are you?”

Ev lunged across the table and would have caught me if Hunter’s arm hadn’t locked around her waist and hauled her back into his lap.

“Why you—“ Ev didn’t get the chance to finish what was sure to be a scathing reprimand because Hunter’s mouth was on hers in the blink of an eye, distracting her with what I can only say was impressive technique. 

When he finally broke the kiss, Ev was glassy-eyed and breathless.

“Would you like an omelet, Sam?” Hunter asked as if he had not just laid a scorching kiss on my best friend seconds before.  Bravo, Hunter, bravo.

“You are not preparing breakfast for that…that…Barbie snatcher.  Come on, Mr. FBI Man, can’t you drag her down to headquarters and charge her with something?  She may have even departed the country with Barbie at some point.  That’s a federal offense—do something useful with that badge of yours.”

Hunter rose, somehow managing to hoist Ev over his shoulder, and started down the hall.

“Excuse us, Sam.  Your best friend evidently needs a reminder of how useful I can be.”

I could hear Ev’s half-hearted protests as Hunter shut her bedroom door.  I laughed aloud at their antics.  Ev was one of the most determined people I had ever met.  She could easily steamroll over most adversaries.  It was divine intervention that she fell head over heels for the one man who could best her.  He challenged her and she loved every minute of it.  They were a unit, stronger together than their individual halves. 

Ev had been like a sister to me for the last fifteen years and now I had gained Hunter, who almost instantly became like a brother—a
really hot older brother who would hopefully parade equally hot friends through the house.  I may not be ready for a man right now, but that wouldn’t last forever and Hunter was my golden ticket into the sex-on-a-stick buffet.  When my appetite finally returned, I intended to stuff myself like a half-starved contestant at a hot dog-eating competition.

I finished my breakfast and headed out to my car.  Dr. Veritus’ office was not far and I arrived in less than fifteen minutes.  I practiced my relaxation breathing as I gathered the courage to face a history I would prefer to forget.  Confident I had done all I could to prepare myself, I entered the office suite.  I was comforted by the refined elegance of the space.  There was minimal clutter and several flowering plants, adding both color and life.  I settled myself in a comfortably stuffed chair and waited.

A few minutes later, the door in front of me opened and an attractive woman in her early fifties emerged.  Dressed in a colorful sundress and ballet flats, she conveyed warmth and acceptance.  I wondered if she had done this deliberately or if she just thought the floral pattern was pretty on the hanger.

“Sam?” she asked in a strong, clear voice.

I nodded.

“Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you.  I’m Dr. Cynthia Veritus, but please call me Thia.”

“Hi Thia, it’s nice to meet you, too.  I have heard great things about you; I’m hoping they’re all true.”

She laughed at my joke, which set me at ease.

“Come in, Sam—let’s get this over with.”

I followed her into the adjoining office, confused by her choice of words.  It wasn’t the most encouraging opening statement, but perhaps I had misheard.  I sat down on the comfortable, tan loveseat and noted that her office matched the style of the waiting room.  Thia sat across from me in a navy wingback armchair and offered me a kind smile.  I returned her smile and waited for her to begin.  She continued to smile at me but said nothing, which was becoming exceedingly uncomfortable.  My own smile began to fall and she smirked knowingly.  I rededicated myself to what was apparently a staring/smiling contest, determined to emerge victorious.  She smiled even wider and I caught a glimmer of laughter in her eyes, but she was rock solid and unwavering.