Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 91862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“He may think that’s what he means, but what if it’s not the pleasure from the punishment you’re after? What if it’s the punishment itself?”
“Why would I want to punish myself?”
“For one, because you think you’re not worthy of your success.”
I raise an eyebrow. What Rosa says isn’t completely out of left field. How many times has the thought crossed my mind that I’m a fraud? More than a few.
“Let’s go one step further,” she says. “What if I told you it’s not just that you feel unworthy of your success? What if you blame yourself for what happened between your parents all those years ago?”
I shake my head. “Why would I do that? It wasn’t my fault. I was a kid.”
“Yes, and you’re right. It wasn’t your fault. But somewhere inside you is that seven-year-old girl, and she might think it was her fault.”
Did I?
Do I?
“I’m not sure I gave it any conscious thought at the time.”
“This isn’t your conscious mind at work, Skye. It’s your subconscious. You didn’t think about the fact that you fought your mother on everything, or that you were part of the reason she didn’t want more children. But inside your psyche, you knew. And perhaps your subconscious has always wondered if you drove your father away and drove your mother into another man’s bed.”
“I didn’t even remember Mario until yesterday.”
“But your subconscious mind did. Otherwise it wouldn’t have come blaring back to you when your mother told you.”
She’s not wrong. The image is now so clear in my mind that I could have photographed it myself. In color. Freaking Kodachrome.
“How does this relate to my need for punishment?”
“How does it not relate? You’re punishing yourself not only for your success, which you think you don’t deserve and won’t take any credit for despite having earned it, but also for your parents’ split all those years ago.”
“But…”
“What?”
“I…enjoy the punishment.”
“Do you?”
“Well, yeah… But…”
“But what?”
“The punishment isn’t really punishment. When Braden truly wants to punish me, he doesn’t tie me up or flog me. He denies me a climax. The other stuff isn’t meant to be punishment.”
“There you go. He doesn’t mean for it to be punishment, but on some level, you do. And that’s what is disturbing to him.”
I can’t deny that her reasoning makes an eerie kind of sense. “Are you saying I’m addicted to punishment?”
“I wouldn’t put it in those terms, but it’s possible that what Braden sees as kink and part of what he enjoys in the bedroom, you see as actual punishment. As you say, when he wants to truly punish you, he takes your orgasm. The other stuff is for pleasure, both his and yours. Or so he thought.”
“But I enjoy it. It does please me.”
“I know it does. The question is why?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Why indeed?
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket. It’s Braden.
“Do you need to take that?” Rosa asks.
“It’s him. It’s Braden.”
“Tell you what.” She checks her watch. “We only have five minutes left, and I’ve given you a lot to think about. So go and think about it, and I’ll give you an extra five tomorrow.”
I sigh. “I’m leaving tonight.”
“I thought you said you were staying the week.”
“I was. But after my conversation with my mother yesterday, I just want to go home.”
She smiles. “Don’t run, Skye. Work it out.”
“With my mother?”
“With your mother. Your father. Braden. All of them. It’s time to forgive your mother. And it’s time to forgive yourself.”
“Myself? For what?”
“For being a difficult kid. For fighting your mother so much. You weren’t abnormal. Lots of kids have a stubborn streak. I had one myself.”
“Did you drive your mother into another man’s bed?”
“No, but neither did you.”
I nod. I get what she’s saying. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“No, it absolutely wasn’t. Both of your parents would probably tell you the same thing.”
“My mom already did.”
“See?”
My phone stops buzzing. “I missed the call.”
“Go. Call him back. Then call me tomorrow at two p.m. and we’ll talk some more. If you need more help after that, I’ll find a referral for you in Boston. But, Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”
…
Back on Main Street, I reach for my phone to return Braden’s call, when it buzzes again.
I put it to my ear, smiling. “Hey! Sorry I couldn’t answer. I was just getting ready to call you back.”
“You were?” A female voice that sounds vaguely familiar. Not Addie, but Addie-like.
Shit. I didn’t look at the number. I just assumed it was Braden trying again.
“Sorry, I was expecting another call.”
“Are you Skye Manning?”
“That depends. Who are you?”
“I’m Apple Ames. Addison’s sister.”
Apple. Addie’s hippie twin sister. I met her once, a year ago. She prattled on and on about Zen and motorcycles and the Dalai Lama. Despite their duplicate DNA, she and Addie are like night and day. Though which is which, I couldn’t say.