Chapter 2
Kylie Martin shifted from side to side in the big overstuffed chair, a chair that felt oddly out of place in a shrink’s waiting room. Sucking mindlessly on the straw of her Starbucks Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccino, she shifted left, then right, then left again. To the casual observer, it would appear she just couldn’t get comfortable as she flicked through the pages of the waiting room’s copy of People magazine.
But there was nothing casual in Kylie’s movement. It was deliberate. Very deliberate. Peering over her magazine, she checked out the very proper receptionist, a total mini-me clone of her employer, and was thrilled to see that the girl was thoroughly wrapped up in her work and paying no attention to Kylie.
“Fucking Brazilian,” Kylie muttered under her breath as she continued to squirm. And then, there it was, the right spot. She’d found it and began to rub against it in an almost imperceptible movement. Scratch that itch.
Ahhh, relief.
There was nothing worse than the itching and pain from a Brazilian wax that was just beginning to grow in. Another torturous thing women had to endure.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Snickering, Kylie knew if she kept up the motion the Brazilian wouldn’t be the only itch she’d be scratching. How funny is that! she thought and for a second wondered if she could pull off a silent orgasm just feet away from Miss Prim and Proper right there in her shrink’s waiting room. Just the act of doing the nasty in a place she wasn’t supposed to be doing it, sent a shiver-inducing jolt to the apex of her thighs.
Serves Claire right for making me wait. If I come now, I’m just going to want to sleep during our session. If we do a regression today, good luck in keeping me awake.
Closing her eyes, Kylie placed the magazine on the table next to her and sucked on the Frappuccino, continuing the almost undetectable motion with a smug smirk on her pretty face. Feeling the pressure build, she wanted to unbutton her already too tight jeans, unzip the fly and stick her right hand down her pants. She always did herself with her right hand, she mused, with a barely audible chuckle. Mmm, felt so good and she couldn’t believe how quickly she was getting closer, even without using her hands. She had no idea that the excitement of doing a selfie-nasty with someone just feet away, who didn’t have a clue or did she? Maybe I’m a closet exhibitionist? Or some other kind of weirdo perv. Note to self: Discuss with Claire. Not!
So close. She pressed against the seam in her jeans. So fucking close.
The surprising click of the entrance door opening behind her instantaneously plucked Kylie from the amorphous electric edge of orgasm and deposited her with a thud under the harsh lights of the waiting room. Left to quickly scramble to regain a straight-backed, seated position, she attempted to act like nothing was going on.
It was the door from the outer hallway. No one ever came when another patient was there. Ever. Claire spaced out her patients to ensure privacy. What the fuck? The UPS man?
Opening her eyes, he was as shocked to see her as she was to see him.
Flustered, he turned to the receptionist. “M-my appointment,” he stammered in a gravelly voice that Kylie would’ve recognized even if she’d been blindfolded.
Miss Prim and Proper was as flummoxed as he was, “Your appointment is on Wednesday.”
“Well, isn’t today…” his voice trailed off, the confusion evident in the tilt of his head and the furrow that appeared between his brows as he quickly raised his mirrored aviator shades. He looked rough, as if he hadn’t slept in days, dark circles betraying his truth, yet at the same time, this was the most clean-cut Kylie had ever seen him look. Under his low-slung baseball cap, his hair was cut neatly at the sideburns, around his ears and neckline, transforming the appearance he was known for with his trademark rocker locks, to more of a model with his sculpted features finally being given their due. Almost immediately, he dropped the glasses back into place.
“Today’s Tuesday,” she corrected his non-verbalized thought.
“Oh,” he appeared genuinely confused. Turning toward Kylie, “Sorry, I recently got back from Australia and have kinda lost track of days since then. I-I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Responding to her smile with one of his own, she felt as if they were the only two people on the planet sharing a great secret.
And in a way, they were.
Kylie now knew that Jesse Winslow, one of the sexiest bad-boy rockers on the planet, was a patient of the preeminent psychiatrist, Dr. Claire Stoddard. And Jesse Winslow knew that a very pretty, full-figured girl with the most gorgeous natural auburn hair he’d ever seen, who liked to drink frozen drinks in the dead of winter, saw Claire, too.
With a smirk and a slight smile, “Sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders. The distressed leather of his jacket making a slight creaking sound.
Kylie smiled wider. The tip of the straw still in her teeth. With a slight nod of her head she acknowledged his apology for the intrusion.
And then he was gone.
Kylie could feel the energy charge in the air dissipate. Had it been because Jesse had been in the room, or her unfulfilled orgasm, or was it her reaction to Jesse. She wasn’t quite sure, but Kylie had felt it leave in a whoosh.
It wasn’t two minutes later that Dr. Claire Stoddard opened the door to her office. The Inner Sanctum, Kylie had dubbed it.
“Kylie, I’ll see you now.” Her demeanor was detached and formal, her clothes polished and professional, if not a little bland. The Ivy League-trained doctor had perfected perfection. Never seen with a hair out of place or a wrinkle in the impeccable fabric of one of her earth-tone suits, Claire Stoddard personified aloof, or at least that was what Kylie thought.
Brushing past her, Kylie stopped. “So, Jesse Winslow is a patient of yours, huh? I’d love to get inside both his head and those painted on ripped jeans. That man has a seriously beautiful ass.” With that, Kylie plopped herself down on the big leather couch, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
Turd aimed at the punchbowl.
She shoots.
She scores!
Knowing exactly how much she’d just freaked out her psychiatrist, Kylie let the bombshell sink in for a moment. When Claire had nervously readjusted her glasses twice, Kylie finally offered up an explanation, “I guess he thought it was Wednesday, because he showed up here.” Again, she let it sink in, “You’re lucky I’m not a stalker, Claire, because I could totally be waiting for him on Wednesdays.” She stopped and thought for a moment, “How rude of me, I just should have invited him to stay for a group session.” Kylie took great pleasure in antagonizing her shrink. She didn’t quite know why, but she got such satisfaction from fucking with her. Which generally was not her style of dealing with people, but with Claire, she had these unresolved antagonistic feelings. Which, even she had to admit, was odd.
Dr. Stoddard was not amused by her patient. “I’m sorry you were disturbed and your anonymity was compromised. Would you like to be rescheduled for an alternate time?”
“No, not necessary. He doesn’t know who the heck I am.” Just another random chick, Kylie thought. He’s certainly not going to be stalking fat chicks who see shrinks. And there’s no way he has any recollection of the one-time our paths actually did cross.
Getting right to business, Claire reviewed her notes.
“You had committed in the last session to engage the service of a trainer.” She looked up from her notepad, waiting for Kylie’s response.
“Didn’t happen.” Kylie clicked the straw in her teeth and secretly took delight from Claire’s slight flinches.
“And why is that?”
Kylie shrugged, “I just didn’t get around to it.”
“What do you think is holding you back?”
Another shrug, “I dunno.”
Claire remained silent.
“Maybe I don’t want to be thin again.”
Claire waited.
“Maybe I’m happy being fat.”
“Are you?” The psychiatrist tipped her head.
“Yes. In some ways, yes, I am.” Kylie sat forward on the couch. “Do you know how hard it is to compete solely on your looks? To constantly be judged on your looks.”
“Everyone is judged on their looks, Kylie. We make snap judgments all the time on everyone we encounter based on visual impressions.”
“But there is not pressure for them in that. Not like what I went through.”
“There are many strategies you can employ to work on the pressure and get your life back.”
“Why do you assume I want it back, Claire? Maybe I don’t equate thin and perfect looking to happiness. I was thin and perfect and I wasn’t remotely happy. Why the hell would I want to go back to that?” Kylie visibly shuddered, memories of starving herself, hours in make-up before pageants and the stress and competitiveness rolling off her mother and the other parents. It was Hell. And it certainly wasn’t her dream.
Claire remained silent for a few moments. “I had you scheduled for a regression today. Is that something you would still like to pursue?”
Kylie shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of her Frappuccino. “Sure. Why not?” She seemed resigned. She wanted the process to work, but up until now, all she’d seen were some hazy images, like viewing an old slide show, and who knew if that was even real. Although she desperately wanted it to be, mainly because lack of a truly successful regression in her first twelve attempts was making her feel like a failure. Yup, add that to the pile.
With the press of a remote, the window shades darkened, giving the Inner Sanctum an insulated, cocoon-like feel.
Immediately relaxing in the darkness, Kylie reached over to the side-table next to the couch, feeling around with her hands as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she picked up a pair of what appeared to be oversized sunglasses. Situating them on her face, she played with a small scroll button that adjusted speed and intensity of colored light flashes. Placing headphones on as she laid back on the couch, soft drumbeats played and the lights before her eyes danced to the music.
And then they started. Just like they had done a dozen times before.
“Are you in a comfortable position?”
“Yes.” She could hear Claire’s soothing voice through her headphones. Her voice is so soothing, so why does she grate on my nerves so much? Kylie wondered, before shooing the thought from her consciousness and finding a comfortable spot lying down on the couch.
“Good. Now, let’s begin. Start with a few deep, cleansing breaths. Each breath is like a gust of wind, blowing all concerns and stresses from your mind. Concentrate on your breathing and where the breath is going. It’s traveling down into your lungs and oxygenating and relaxing your chest and your shoulders. Feel it flow into your arms, relaxing them as it enters your fingers and along the trunk of your body as your lower back melts effortlessly into the couch. Your thighs relax as the oxygen moves down your legs, relaxing your quadriceps and your knees. Let your calves sink into the couch as the arches of your feet become oxygenated and finally allow your toes to relax. That’s right, sink into the couch, concentrate on your breathing. Feel the white light that surrounds your body. Envision it entering through the crown of your head. Feel the warm, calming glow as the light slowly spreads down the pathways opened up by the oxygen. On one of your hands I want you to touch your thumb to your forefinger. This is your anchor. At any time, should you need to stop, or if this gets overwhelming, touch your thumb to your forefinger and it will activate your anchor and take you out of your hypnotic state. Do you understand, Kylie?”
“Yes,” her answer was slow.
Concentrating, Kylie could feel all the tension leave her body, as she listened to the dulcet tones of Claire’s voice.
“I want you to go back and find a happy memory from when you were around five years old. Visualize it. Who was there with you? What can you smell? What are you wearing? I want you to concentrate on what you were feeling.”
Claire remained quiet for a few moments, allowing Kylie to visualize the memory.
Sitting in Grandpa’s lap and playing with my new doll. She’s so pretty. I want to look like her. Her hair is black and shiny and her eyes are so blue. Daddy just mowed the lawn this morning and it’s making my nose itch. It feels like there’s a line of ants walking in there. I’m so tired. I want to nap, but if I do, I might miss the barber Q.
“Now, I want you to go back to just after your birth. Take note of your surroundings. Your feelings. Your needs.”
Again, Claire went silent.
So cold. I’m shivering. I think it’s hunger I feel. I’m so cold. The light hurts. And I’m so cold.
“Focus on a time before your birth. You’ll be able to communicate with me, describing things with your knowledge from today, from current times. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you, Kylie?”
Shaking her head, “I don’t know.”
“Look down at your feet. What are you wearing?”
“Oh, they’re cute,” there was surprise and emotion in her voice. “Lace-up boots. Practical. Not fancy. Pointy toe, low, curvy heel.”
“Do you know what year it is?
“1870.”
“Where are you?”
“Strasbourg.”
“Is that France?” Claire asked, trying to visualize the region on a map.
“It was. We are now under German rule. The city fell a few months ago.”
“What is your name?”
“Noëlle.”
“And you are French, Noëlle?”
“Yes. I am.”
“What is your last name?”
“Regensburg.”
“Hmm, that sounds German,” the doctor mused.
“I am Alsatian.” Noëlle was quick to insert.
“What are you seeing, Noëlle?”
“There are so many wounded. Not enough of us to take care of them. And they are so young. We need more supplies. We’re losing boys we should be able to save. We don’t have enough medicine for the pain or the infections.”
“Are you a nurse?”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“I am twenty-two.”
“Tell me what you are seeing.”
“It is after hours. My shift is long over. But I am still at the hospital. I am with a patient. He is the enemy, but someone special because we are treating him at this hospital and not a field hospital. He was in custody and shot trying to escape. But the commanders want him kept alive. He is very important to them.”
Claire watched as her patient’s demeanor became almost giddy, her shoulders alternately lifting in a flirtatious manner. She made note of the physical manifestation on her iPad.
“What is his name?” the psychiatrist probed.
“Gunther.”
“Do you remember his last name?”
“Wolff.”
“And he is a patient of yours?”
“He was, but now I come to read to him and spend my free time with him. He makes me laugh and tells me that I am the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen and that someday he will marry me. He said that Berlin will become the capital of the German Empire and he will take me there to meet his family and to live and I will have servants and maids.” She stopped speaking, although the twitches in her cheek and jaw muscles indicate that the story was continuing. “He’s so handsome and every day I grow more attached to him. But his fever is still high and we can’t find the source of the infection.”
“What do you see?”
“His eyes. So clear. They are the color of the sky after a rain storm has blown through. I have never seen so much love in eyes. They tell me a story, and if I look deeply enough into them, I can see our future and the smiles of our children. But I am so afraid of what will happen when he recuperates and I know he is scared for me being in a war-torn region if he isn’t with me. He wants to take care of me, protect me.
“He told me that if he leaves, that I should wait for him. He will come back for me or send for me. I don’t know what they are planning to do to him once he is well enough to leave the hospital. I’m scared.”
Kylie falls silent again, her face contorted as tears stream down the sides of her cheeks and drip to their final resting place, buried within her thick, auburn hair.
Claire waits, remaining still.
“What has happened?” she finally asks.
“We could hear the sounds in the dormitory. Gunshots. And when I went in the morning to see him, he was gone. But my heart already knew. I knew the minute I heard the shots.”
“Gone? What happened?”
“He was executed trying to escape. They killed him. He was just trying to get home and they killed him.”
Writing continuous notes as her client spoke, “What happened to you after that?” Claire asked without looking up.
“It took a long time, but I finally married. He was much older. Very stern. But he kept me fed.”
“What was your husband’s name?”
“Christophe.”
“Did Christophe know about Gunther?”
“He did. But I wasn’t permitted to speak of him. Only in my heart. If I spoke of him, even aloud in my sleep, Christophe would get very angry. Feel that I was betraying him and he would make me apologize,” she visibly shivered. “He would hurt me, physically. Sexually, he was rough. He’d lock me in the basement for days.”
Kylie’s chin sank to her chest, her eyes remained closed.
“Are you still here?”
“No. I am gone.”
“What did you learn in that lifetime?” the psychiatrist ended with a question she always asked.
“That love has no borders.”
Patient: Kylie Martin
Session #59
Regression #13
November 4, 2014
Regression Length: 10:25 A.M.–10:48 A.M.
Entity: Noëlle
Location: Strasbourg, Alsace-Lorraine
Year: 1870
••••••
Bundled up in her faux fur jacket and scarf, Kylie rode the elevator down from Claire’s office remaining firmly entrenched inside her own head as she fought to retain her grasp on the fading visuals of a world so foreign, yet so familiar. And the feeling. She couldn’t shake the feeling. Gunther’s eyes. The emotion in them. He didn’t need to speak to her. She knew the depth of his love and devotion, even though their time together had been short, and now she felt empty, positively hollow without him, without someone loving her so deeply, so purely.
As the elevator doors opened in the lobby, Kylie wandered to a trash can, mindlessly tossing in her now empty Starbucks cup. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, the blast of frozen air on her face caused her head to snap back, as if she’d just been slapped by an overbearing stage mother. Although the sky was gray and threatening snow, she scrounged around the bottom of her purse feeling desperately for her sunglasses. Finding herself surprisingly overwhelmed, she needed a barrier, not yet ready for this world.
A man. A man she loved deeply. The thought running through her head was it was us against the world. We didn’t care if they called us French, Germans, Prussians. It didn’t matter as long as we were together, because our love was right.
How do I know this?
None of the other regressions had left her with such a strong, lingering emotional imprint. Claire had warned her that as they continued their work, what were initially snippets of visuals or feelings would become more complex and richer in nature. But this was a feeling she couldn’t shake. It was so real. So emotionally real that it had her yearning.
But for what?
Crossing 63rd Street, Gunther’s eyes, as she saw them in that last vision, were the only thing she could see now. The traffic and noise and smells of New York City evaporated to the far side of a translucent veil, parallel to the space she was currently inhabiting. The overwhelming pull on her heart as she and Gunther were separated forever, felt like a fresh wound.
The rhythmic sound of tapping swiftly catapulted her back to the streets of New York and out of the netherworld she had been caught in while walking the previous block. He was gently rapping on the glass with his knuckles and when she turned toward the sound, there sat Jesse Fucking Winslow, in his full camouflage, on a stool at the counter along the window. With a sexy as-fuck lopsided grin on his face, he held up a frozen drink, and motioned for her to come inside Starbucks.
Entering the warm coffee shop, the heady aroma of the dark roast and rough-hewn brick walls brought immediate comfort and much-needed grounding, although walking toward freaking Jesse Winslow was anything but grounding, she mused. Weaving her way through the tables and overstuffed chairs toward where he sat, Kylie wondered how many people in the coffee shop realized the camouflaged man sitting on a stool by the window was the one and only leader of the iconic rock band, Winslow. The man who’d been the focus of more press, in the past month or so, than any world leader.
Somewhere in a former life, not the kind of former lives Claire brought her to, but one of just eighteen months before, the former Miss New Jersey would have had the balls to stroll up to a man as gorgeous and famous as Jesse Winslow, and know with the utmost confidence, that just the sight of her was causing his testosterone to run amok and feverishly race toward both his heads, obliterating all sound logic and reason in his northern one.
But today, size eighteen Kylie Martin, would have willingly vowed to never, ever again eat another spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream just to possess the super-power to make herself invisible, or at least a size four, as she walked toward one of the most famous, sexiest men ever to have sauntered a rock ’n’ roll stage.
“I think I got it right.” He held up the drink and handed it to her as she slid onto the high stool next to him. With his lopsided grin, he added, “I asked the guy what the cold drink was that the gorgeous redhead had gotten about an hour ago.”
Slipping the straw between her teeth for instant pacification, Kylie took a sip. The Salted Caramel Mocha Frappuccino was perfect. She smiled, straw still in her mouth. “You done good.” Gorgeous redhead? Seriously? This man needs to go back into rehab because he’s on the good stuff.
Jesse laughed and nodded his head, spiky bangs flowing out the edge of his baseball cap and over the shiny rims of his sunglasses. “I’m Jesse.”
Kylie just smiled, but didn’t say anything.
“Okay, so you knew that.” He was off balance. This girl wasn’t gushing. “So, Dr. S would shit right now if she walked by here and saw us together.”
Kylie’s smile broadened as she clicked the straw between her teeth. “I told her I saw you.”
“Did she freak?” Jesse looked amused, his tone suddenly conspiratorial.
“It was awesome,” Kyle confided. “I’m surprised she didn’t excuse herself to change her panty liner.”
Choking on the hot coffee he’d just swallowed, Kylie reached out and patted Jesse on the back. “Take another sip, it will help.”
“You are funny.” He sized her up.
“Yeah, hilarious,” her voice dripped sarcasm in a way only confident girls from the northeast could pull off. Had she taken off her sunglasses, he would’ve seen her rolling her eyes.
But neither Kylie nor Jesse would remove their sunglasses that day and give the other a glimpse into psyches that neither one was prepared to expose. Just knowing the other was one of Claire’s patients was enough exposure for one day.
“So, I have something really personal to ask you.” Jesse’s demeanor had turned serious.
“Okay, shoot.”
“Well, first, what’s your name?” He leaned in close to her.
Kylie could feel the intensity of his gaze from behind the mirrored glasses.
“Kylie.”
“Kylie,” he smiled. “That’s a pretty name.” He reached out and let a long lock of her hair absentmindedly slip through his fingers.
Looking down at his hand, Kylie watched the movement, stunned. He had just invaded her personal space, with a very intimate gesture. She could immediately feel the contraction in her muscles pulling away from his touch.
Realizing his overture was not being well received, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. When I saw you in Dr. S’s office today, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful your hair was and I don’t know why I just reached out and did that. I’m sorry,” He was actually stammering, seemingly almost confused as he apologized to a woman for touching her, something clearly not a staple in his repertoire.
Kylie remained silent. Jesse was in a very public, media-fixated relationship with a supermodel named, Claudine. Claudine. Just Claudine. Nothing else.
The only other time Kylie had ever been near Jesse Winslow was during Fashion Week, nearly three years before, when she modeled at a runway show for a designer friend of hers. Her buddy, Travis, was the “Opening Act” to the mega-popular lingerie company where Claudine held the exalted role of top model. She remembered catching his lopsided smile that day, and returning it with one of her own, as she confidently strolled the catwalk. But she knew she was one of many models catching Jesse’s eye at the show as he waited for the main event to appear. Claudine.
Usually quick with a retort, Kylie was left speechless. Embarrassed that she had backed away from Jesse’s touch, and yet, aching desperately, wanting him to touch her again. Needing another chance, this time not shying away.
Beyond her oversized, dark glasses, she was trying to remember where she had experienced this feeling gripping her, and wondered if maybe it had been in a movie. A woman backed up against a wall. The man, dangerous. A knife to her throat as he slipped his fingers inside her underwear, discovering her wet with desire beyond her control. Turned on. Scared. Helpless. Captive. Captivated. Wanting his fingers to continue their slow, deliberate strokes. Needing him to go even farther. Breathless with fear and desire.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Kylie shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I just had an intense morning and I’m a little spaced out.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I know this is really personal.”
Feeling an immediate pang of fear, Kylie’s radar immediately propelled off the charts. How does he know about the knife to the throat, the man’s fingers stroking me?
Jesse continued, bringing Kylie back to the here and now, “As you know from my little appointment faux pas this morning, I recently got back from Australia. And I’m home now. I’m not going to be out on tour for a while.”
Elation flooded Kylie and she internally smacked herself to stop that, but she couldn’t stop herself and immediately went to the possibility that if he were home, maybe this would not be the only time they’d ever meet. Maybe they would meet again someday.
“I had made a promise to Dr. S that when I got back from this tour that I would commit myself to getting healthy. Body, mind, and spirit.” He played with his coffee cup, lips moving slightly, but no sound emerged as he formulated his thought, “And between you and me, if I’m still going to have a band, I really need to get my shit together.” Looking down, he shook his head, “I can’t believe I just told you that.”
“It’s okay.” Not seeing herself as particularly nurturing, Kylie was surprised to find she was reassuring him. Wanting to reach out and touch him, she didn’t, fearing he’d see her like every other fan tugging at pieces of him until he was fragmented.
“Anyway, now that I’m back, I want to make a commitment to get serious and…” he paused.
“Begin regression analysis via hypnosis,” Kylie finished his sentence.
Jesse looked up from his feet. Stunned. Then slowly nodded his head. “Are you doing it?”
With an almost imperceptible nod, she confirmed.
Kylie could feel pulses of tension radiating off Jesse as his right leg bounced to a beat only he could hear. “Are you concerned about doing it?” she probed his anxiety.
“I am. Lord knows what demons I’ll unleash. Aren’t you afraid of that?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I keep searching for my demons, hoping that maybe they have the answers.”
“Are you finding them?” With his elbows on the wooden bar, he leaned close. “There’s so much I want to know.” He paused. “Are you okay with talking to me about this?”
Clicking the straw between her front teeth, “Yeah, I guess so. I dunno. I’m not really good at sharing stuff with people, sharing feelings. So, I don’t know how helpful I’ll be.” Absentmindedly gnawing at the straw as she thought through it, “I have no one to talk to about this, so that would be good.” And you’re Jesse Fucking Winslow and you want to have deep conversations with me regarding stuff that if I talked to most people about, they would think I’m bat shit crazy.
“Did it happen right away?”
“No. Not really.” Kylie slurped at the bottom of her drink. “I mean initially there was nothing. Then it was like a still picture or a word or a pervasive thought that would just permeate my brain.”
“Let me get you another one of those.” He pointed to her now-empty drink.
“No, I think you should stay right here. I’ll get it. Miraculously, people have not figured out you’re in here. If you get up, someone is bound to notice.”
Jesse nodded. “Well, at least let me pay for you.”
Kylie waved him off, but he insisted until she finally took the twenty dollars he offered. “What can I get you?”
“Venti drip, black, with three sugars.”
Laughing, “That should keep you revved up,” she called over her shoulder, smiling broadly at his lopsided grin. Oh, God, I should have let you get the coffee. Now you’re seeing my ass as I walk away. Kylie went into pageant girl mode, it was as easy as flipping a switch as she tossed her hair and gracefully maneuvered through tables that didn’t seem to be placed so close together when she was thinner.
Pretending she looked like she did the day he saw her on the catwalk–wanting to look like that for the first time in forever–Kylie shook her head. Fool, he lives with one of the most beautiful women on the planet. Do you really think he’s going to give a flying fuck if your ass looks like it’s in a relationship with Colonel Sanders or is starved to near perfection? Umm, no. Just get the coffees. One of the hottest musicians of our time is just here to pick your brain, not pluck your body like a six-string.
“Thanks.” He took the coffee from her and brought it to his lips.
Kylie watched him sip it, his full, sensual mouth on the lid. It was impossible not to imagine what the bow of his beautiful top lip would feel like pressed just under her jawline.
“What?” he asked, smiling.
“This is just really bizarre. Who you are and what we are talking about. It’s totally surreal and,” lowering her voice, “oddly intimate.” As the tail end of the sentence filled the space between them, she could feel the heat emanating from her face.
“I really had no right asking you.” The apology tumbled from his lips.
“No, it’s okay.” Kylie felt the supple smoothness of the leather under her fingers as she reached out and laid a hand on his arm, this time being the trespasser. Looking down, she was appalled that she had entered his space, like a groupie making her play for the night, her soft caress suggesting an intimacy far outside the boundaries of her comfort zone, boundaries she had established when he ran his fingers through her hair. With a jerking motion that made both of them jump, Kylie pulled her hand back, viewing her renegade fingertips with disdain. She felt like she’d cheapened the moment and didn’t know how to get back what she felt was a special and unique connection.
Jesse changed that for her. “I’m really glad I found you,” he started. Then stopped. A scowl forming a twin set of parallel lines between his eyes. “I mean,” he stumbled, “I mean, maybe I won’t have to go through this alone. And you won’t either, if you don’t want to.”
Kylie couldn’t look at him. For some reason she didn’t want him to look at her as a groupie. But, what was shocking was that she wanted him to view her as a partner in this process.
Jesse Winslow’s partner. How could that even be?
“I saw something today,” she confessed. “It was a really long time ago. Like 1870. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “And I can’t shake it. I can’t shake the feeling. I was a nurse and it was during a war and I was in love with one of the patients. He was a wounded enemy soldier and everyone told me I couldn’t love him. But I did. He was my sunshine in a dark and rotting world. And I cared for him for months and we dreamed of our future.”
“Do you know if you ever had that future?” The intensity of needing to know was evident in the way he leaned in when he spoke.
Kylie reached under her sunglasses, not removing them, to swipe away sudden tears. “No. I wasn’t able to save him in the end. He was executed trying to escape. It was so emotional. My pain at losing him. Having to live on without him. The love. How much I loved him. It was overwhelming.” Thoughts shot out in staccato bursts, ripping through her heart.
Jesse raised a hand, covering his own heart, as if trying to quell his own pain. “Wow. That’s intense. And you knew he was an enemy soldier?”
“Yes. I just knew so much. It was like it all downloaded in a nanosecond. His name was Gunther. And, Jesse, I’d give anything to see him for one more second. To feel that overwhelming love. It was intense.” Kylie lifted her frozen drink, pacifying herself with the straw. “Claire said it would get more intense the more we did it and this was how it started.”
Leaning in, his tone low, “How many times have you done it before?”
“Today was the thirteenth. I mean it didn’t last long or anything, but this was the first time I didn’t walk out wondering did something really happen or not? Was I just making it all up?”
His lopsided grin almost made her gasp. “Okay, I’m going to do this.” He nodded. “I’m so fucked up and out of control.” And then, “I guess I’m not so out of control or I wouldn’t know how fucked up I was or give a shit about losing it all. And I do. I give a shit. I just can’t stop myself from fucking up.”
With a smile that she had no inkling was causing emotions he couldn’t grasp and forming stanzas he would one day write, she said, “I hear ya.”
“I’m going to do this,” he muttered again.
“Well, good luck with it. And don’t beat yourself up if nothing comes to you for a while. Like I said, today was my first big breakthrough and it was my thirteenth regression.” Kylie zipped up her faux fur.
“Did it give you any answers to your problems?”
Shrugging, “I don’t know. None of it makes sense yet.”
Taking in her words, he observed, “You don’t seem to be in a bad place.”
Kylie laughed as she turned to walk away. “My name is Kylie Martin. Google me.”
And with that, the former Miss New Jersey left rock ’n’ roll bad boy, Jesse Winslow, seated on a high stool in a Starbucks wondering what overwhelming issues could be so prevalent in her life that she was resorting to regression therapy with a very pricey uptown psychiatrist.