Kat
“Katarina. Come in.” Dr. Wane pokes her head out from her office door. The building she practices from is ancient. A converted mansion, complete with maid’s quarters and a dumbwaiter. While it’s been rezoned as office space, the old architecture remains intact and fully restored. Thick planks of wood outline each window and door. The balusters on the grand staircase are meticulously carved into intricate patterns. If these old plaster walls could talk, I bet they would tell stories of socialites and giant banquets, old money families with skeletons piled up to the vast, ornate ceilings. The energy it holds is magnificent. It’s a beautiful building, but what I fell in love with was its soul.
“You gave everyone a fright last week.”
“I know,” I reply quietly, hanging my head in shame.
“Let’s talk.” Her god-awful African-print skirt ripples as she crosses her legs and settles in with her legal pad. After a decade of sessions with her, she must have enough dirt in that notebook to write a novel. It’s a little creepy if you think about it. Somewhere in this office is a file containing my deepest, darkest secrets for anyone to read if they were so inclined. It sort of makes me want to torch this entire office just to rid the world of the disturbed inner workings of my fucked-up brain.
“I don’t wanna discuss that.”
“Okay. What do you feel like discussing today?”
I shrug, feeling completely defeated. I let everyone down, and I’ve yet to even hear from my mom. “Saw my dad today.”
“And?”
“It was okay.” Under Dr. Wane’s scrutiny, I feel the heat rise up my cheeks and settle in my ears. She would never come right out and say it, but I know what she’s thinking. Whenever I talk about him, he always comes off as an abusive asshole, but people don’t see what I see. Even with all his faults, I know there’s good inside him.
She sighs and adjusts the glasses perched at the tip of her nose. “Lying isn’t going to help you, Katarina. You keep too much inside. Which leads to, well, what happened last week.”
“Nikos told him. I asked him not to, but he did anyway.”
“And?”
“He rolled his eyes and said, my little koúkla couldn’t even do that right.”
She cocks her head, her bright eyes softening around the edges. She has this look down pat. This empathetic, I’m-picking-up-what-you’re-putting-down look of intense compassion that makes me wonder if it’s part of her therapist training. Facial Expressions 101.
“But whatever. He was already headed toward the glass bottom of a bottle of Dewar’s when I got there, so what did I expect, right? I’m sure if he were sober, he would have been more upset.”
“You let him off the hook too easy. Drinking is not an excuse for bad behavior. We’re still—”
“Responsible for our actions once the alcohol wears off,” I say along with her in unison. I’ve heard this speech so many times I know it by heart at this point. “I get it. I only went over there because the air at Chase’s house was stifling me to death. I probably should have gone to Athena’s instead—”
“Wait.” She raises her hand; the pen weaved between her forefinger and pinky. “Let’s go back to that for a moment. You’re still staying at Chase’s house?”
An unstoppable smile lifts the corners of my mouth when she says his name. “Uh-huh.”
“Can we discuss that?”
“His grandma’s real cool. Doesn’t say too much but seems to love the company while watching the Game Show Network. Her caretaker’s a cunt on wheels, but whatever. I just hide in my room whenever Haggie shows up and come out again when she’s gone. Pretty sure the old lady agrees with me, too.”
“Haggie?”
“Well, her name’s Maggie, but she sucks at life. The other day she talked on her phone for two hours on the patio. When I came out of the shower, Grandma had spilled her tea on her lap and was just sitting in it. It’s not right.”
“You seem to have strong feelings for this woman.”
Goose bumps climb up my arms. “I know what it’s like to be unwanted.”
Dr. Wane’s natural pink lips press into a thin line. If anyone is screaming for a makeover, she is. She isn’t that old. Forty-five, maybe? But the short gray bob and hideous wardrobe do nothing for her. I could take ten years off that plain-Jane face with a little concealer and some well-placed highlights. “Do you feel unwanted, Katarina?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is that why you did what you did?”
A rogue tear escapes my right eye. How the fuck does she do this? I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, but she somehow circled back and dragged it out of me anyway. She knows exactly what to do to get me to share even when I don’t feel like it.
“I know with your mom getting married and selling the house, it may feel that way. It’s hard, huh?”
I nod, blotting at my face with a tissue. Crying is as bad as breaking the seal. Once that initial trickle falls, forget it. More is always sure to follow. “No one understands me. They don’t get what goes on inside my head, my innermost thoughts and feelings, and they don’t care to. And it's like the older I get, the more disregarded I am because I’m not a fully functioning member of society. I’m just a fucking joke or a burden or . . . I don’t know. I just don’t belong.”
The sound of Dr. Wane’s pen scratching the surface of the pad in front of her is the only noise for what seems like an eternity. More notes. Another page from Katarina’s book of self-deprecation. I wonder who would play me in the movie version of that story.
“The weird thing is, though, I don’t feel that way around Chase.”
The pen stops mid-loop as the doctor’s gaze flicks up to mine over the rim of her glasses. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Fuck if I know. I was hoping you could shine some light on that.”
“Are you and he in a romantic relationship?”
“No.”
“Well. Perhaps you feel comfortable around him because he expects nothing from you.”
I allow that thought to sink in for a moment. Since the moment I met him, he’s given me pieces of himself in teeny-tiny increments and asked for nothing in return. He took me home when I was too drunk to stand, tested me when I was too scared to know, and held my hand when I was too sad to continue. He invited me to live in his house, for Christ’s sake, and we’re not even sleeping together. In a lot of ways, Chase is like this building. Strong, sturdy, and nice to look at, but that’s not where his real beauty lies. It’s what he carries within him. The kind, generous nature that I can’t help falling for.
I can’t sleep. The blinds are drawn, and the lights are off. I can’t see my own hands in front of me because it’s so dark yet still no relief. It’s been three nights of this. Three whole nights spent tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position, incapable of slowing down the contorting thoughts twisting around the circus I call my brain.
On tonight’s episode of The Katarina Show, Kat’s mother guest-starred as the crying victim, wailing her apologies for raising Kat wrong. That wasn’t a pleasant conversation. In the deepest shadow of my utter self-loathing, I neglected to think about how my actions would affect my mom. I can’t stand knowing I made her cry, and it’s all I can hear inside my head as I flop onto my back and stare into the bitter sea of blackness ahead.
Regret is a bitch best fucked cold.
She begged me to come home. The offer was tempting, but, as much as I’d love to return to a world where I had no responsibilities and my mother did everything for me, I just can’t do it. She’s right. I need to grow up and act like an adult. I’ve been a noose around the necks of my loved ones for far too long. It ends now. It’s time I take back control of my life.
I kick back the covers and sit up in my bed. My arms and legs just won’t sit still. They’ve developed a mind of their own. The other day, a random foot twitch catapulted Aphrodite right off the bed. Thankfully, it was only once. Now, she’s soundly sleeping, curled up tight in a cute little ball. Lucky bitch. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the soft sounds of her snores; the house is so quiet. One might say eerily so, but I find the lack of noise comforting.
With shaking hands, I pull open the bedroom door and step out into the hall en route to the kitchen. Eating Chase’s weird healthy food is the real adjustment. How many fucking almonds can one guy eat? The one time he offered me some, I told him unless they’re wrapped inside chocolate and nougat, I’ll pass. He laughed. I polished off a pint of ice cream.
Ice cream sounds amazing right now.
The refrigerator light smacks me in the face. Why am I even looking? My stomach’s been twisted in knots for days. The only thing I want is junk.
Strawberries . . .
Baby carrots . . .
Avocados . . .
I’d kill for a snack cake or two. My sweet tooth is screaming to be nourished. This sugar jones is killing me. I’d probably start mainlining Domino packets right about now—if Chase kept any in the house. I’m going to get so fat.
Pushing aside jars adorned with more Trader Joe’s labels than should be in one house, I dig up a jar of honey. “Raw honey?” I whisper out loud, reading off the label. What the hell is this crap? With a begrudging scowl, I grab a spoon and lift myself onto the countertop. The amber goo flows out as slow as, well, as slow as honey. I raise it to my mouth and nip the sweet syrup with my lips, moaning in pure candied bliss.
“What are you doing in here?”
Chase’s hushed whisper startles my disturbingly orgasmic moment. The spoon slips from my hand, bounces off my thigh, and clangs onto the tile below me. “Having a snack,” I mutter, fruitlessly wiping away the thick glob clinging to my thigh. All I managed to do was spread the sticky substance all over me.
“Here.” Chase knocks the handle on the faucet. Water rushes into the basin on my right. I follow the sound, but my eyes trail away from the bubbling spray to a shirtless Chase standing before me.
Lord have mercy.
The waistband on his pants sits low on his hips. There’s not a roll, an ounce of fat, or the faintest hint of a love handle on his entire body. Exactly the opposite. Nestled under the kaleidoscope of grayed out ink is nothing but chiseled manliness that has me tongue-tied. I’m salivating. Drinking him in from the smooth hills of his pectorals to the rippling sea of abs, and down to V-shaped muscles disappearing beneath his Walmart pjs.
He reaches behind me and tears a paper towel off the roll near my shoulders. The hairs on my neck stand on edge as his bare skin brushes against mine, and I fight the urge to giggle like a fan girl. Christ on a cracker, he’s done a stellar job of hiding that bod under his dime-store duds. Every breath I take is laced with the spicy scent of masculinity that makes my nostrils as well as my lady bits tingle with glee.
Then he starts wiping my leg. “You’re a sticky mess,” he mumbles.
Oh, I’m sticky all right. But it’s about six inches higher than where he’s touching me at this very moment and getting more so with each gentle rub. If he moved up my thigh just a tad, he’d probably feel the heat radiating against his knuckles.
He’s not into you like that, Kat. Don’t even speculate. Think unsexy thoughts.
Bugs.
Snot.
Your dad . . .
“Thanks.” I drop my hand onto his to end the torture. “I got it.”
He backs off and opens the fridge. The sudden blast of arctic air is a welcomed change from the fire burning its way up my neck. He removes a bottle of water; the door closes with a wisp, blanketing us both in darkness again.
“What are you doing up?” I ask, keeping my concentration glued to the task of cleaning myself.
“I don’t sleep that great.” He pauses to take a sip from the bottle in his hand. I keep my head down, trying not to make it obvious that I’m watching the way his lips press against the mouth of the bottle or how his throat moves as he tilts his head back. “You?”
“I used to sleep awesome. Now the voices won't stop. All night, it’s yip-yip-yip-yip chatting in my ear on a relentless loop,” I tell him, mimicking a moving mouth with my hand. “Guess that’s the difference between sleeping and passing out.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“You haven’t.”
He leans against the counter, turning his head away. “Never liked sleeping alone.”
“Co-sleeping is for people who do relationships. I’m more of a hit it and quit it kinda gal.”
“What do you have against monogamy?”
“It’s unnatural. Everything’s great in the beginning, but inevitably falls to shit. It’s not worth the effort or the heartbreak.” He nods, still looking away. “I guess you and Desiree were in a monogamous relationship.”
“No, but our situation was a little different.”
Something about the quiet of night pulls confessions from the hidden corners of people’s minds. At eleven fifty-nine, it’s all “I love vanilla ice cream”, but the second the clock ticks to twelve—bam!—“I once killed a man in Reno just to watch him die.” Shit gets real serious after the stroke of midnight. Why is that?
“I was in love once, but it was built on a bullshit lie. He never loved me.” When Chase’s gaze snaps to mine, the silvery moonlight gives his eyes a spectral glow. “I was a pawn in his game of lies.”
“Tell me about it.”
A knot forms in my throat from just opening the door to a past I’ve locked away inside my heart. I don’t want to waste another minute on Costas—not another second—but as Chase leans in, his breath fluttering against my cheek and the warmth from his bare skin emanating onto mine, I find myself willing to admit Costas was the reason for my decline. His betrayal was the catalyst that set the wheels in motion. I couldn’t drink him away. I have to face him head on. It’s the only way I’ll break down the barrier I’ve built in front of me and allow another person inside.
“Costas was my first and only love. We knew each other as kids, grew up together, and planned to end up together. I wore his ring, I made a pledge, but he broke that vow, and I can’t overcome what happened next.”
A lone tear spills down my cheek. Just one. The only one I have left to cry for Costas Perealis. “It was graduation. My parents were planning this huge party at the house. All my friends, all my relatives, everyone I ever knew would be there, but I didn’t care. I wanted to spend it with him.” Phantom images of naked skin and boorish grunts wreak havoc in my brain. I shut my eyes and shake them away, but the look on his face will never leave me. “I snuck into his apartment to wait for him there, but he wasn’t alone.”
“He cheated on you.”
A second tear falls then another. Fuck you, Costas! Fuck you for making me cry! For making me feel, for destroying my life and stealing my future. For wrecking my family and ruining the past decade of my life.
“I heard the moaning, but I needed to see for myself. I had to see her face, to know what she looked like, but it wasn’t a her. Costas was with another man. He was face down on the bed—the same one he took me on for the first time a day or so prior. I screamed. Both of them looked up and saw me standing there. When he jumped off the bed and ran to me, I started backing away. I didn’t want him near me. Didn’t want him touching me. I couldn’t erase the image from my head.
“The way our culture is . . . his family would have never understood. He wouldn’t have been accepted. It was bullshit. An illusion. He was marrying me for show so he could hide the fact that he’d rather fuck men than me.”
I pause for a moment to wipe my nose with the paper towel still balled in my hand.
“He begged me not tell and told me he’d do anything, but fuck that. I said no; that I would go home and tell everyone at the party what I saw so everyone would know then I turned to leave. I was halfway to the door when it happened.”
The breath catches in my throat as I relive the nightmare in my mind. The memory of that day falls around me like shattered shards of glass tearing apart everything I’ve been holding together every moment since that day.
“The first stab got me here,” —I curl my arm behind my back— “right next to my shoulder blade. The second, right below it. The third just missed my spine. A millimeter closer and I would never have walked again. Everything after that, I have no memory of.”
“Holy shit.”
The sound of Chase’s voice brings me back. I’m not on Costas’s floor bleeding to death. I’m safe. Alive. I was given another chance at life, and all I’ve done up until now was mock it. “You asked about the tree? That’s how I ended up with it. It’s my constant reminder to hold strong even when I think I can’t. To be resilient like tree limbs.”
Chase grasps my knees and turns me to the left just enough to see behind me. His fingers roam the bare skin on my back showing above my tank, fingering the twisty twigs until he finds the first scar. I feel his thumb caress the uneven skin under the thick black lines of ink concealing my shame. I wasn’t strong enough. I blindly trusted Costas with my heart, my body, and everything I had. And that weakness almost killed me.
His lips graze the uneven flesh. He tugs the top of my shirt down just enough to show the second scar, and drops his mouth against it, too. To find the third, he lifts the hem and runs his fingers up my spine until he feels it, and then graces it with the same attention. When he’s done, both hands land on my shoulders, his forehead resting between them. “Good as new.”
A fresh batch of tears form in my eyes; only these aren’t for what I’ve lost—they’re for what I’ve found. A person who sees and still cares. I don’t deserve this compassion, this acceptance. I’m not a good person. I’ve done nothing but take, yet Chase continues to give with no question.
I’m not good enough for him.