“Hey!” I say sweetly to Laura, who is tormenting me by continuing to write to me, even when I’ve tried to back away from her. It didn’t take much goading. Just the mere suggestion that we ought to meet and talk, was enough to bring me down here to this coffee shop in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think I’ve ever even sat foot in a coffee shop outside of the downtown area. But it’s certainly a quaint little place.

As if knowing my thoughts, Laura smiles and teases me. “Have you ever been in a quiet little shop like this before, not filled with waiters, VIPs, and photographers?”

“Well…a few times, yes! Definitely.”

“This is where I come all the time. I like the quiet.”

“I’m happy to see you, Laura. I am. But I just want you to know that my letter was written only with the purpose of protecting you, not…”

“I know, Byron. I know. There’s no need to say it. I get it.”

“Well, that’s good! I do like being friends. Sometimes…”

“Sometimes friendship is better than just some good nooky,” she says. “Way ahead of you, buttercup. Don’t mind if I call you, buttercup, do you? Since I’m the one rocking the cradle this time?”

“Not at all. I know you won’t believe me, but when I saw you I didn’t really see the age difference. I just saw you as this nearly perfect, unattainable woman.”

“I have no objections to that. Most women would like to hear that. That we’re beautiful, nearly perfect.”

“Well if I had said ‘perfect’ you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Right. It would have been a narcissist thing to say.”

“Yeah…” I say, a frown developing on my face.

“Look Byron, I don’t think you’re a narcissist. Okay? In fact, I don’t know who the hell put that idea into your head. I don’t think my ex-husband was a narcissist either. I think…a lot of people just throw the word around too much, you know?”

“Well, it’s true what they say, though. That I can never seem to be happy, never seem to feel love.”

“A lot of us tough, independent, single people are that way,” she says with a tired grin. “We don’t know how to be happy with ‘love’ because it requires changing our lifestyle. Trusting someone is a major life change. And we do become set in our ways, even stubborn sometimes, that breaking the wall seems challenging.”

“Well…for me too,” I reply, not sure of what I feel anymore. “I mean, just the other day my father…”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

“I get the impression, Byron, that you think our lifestyles are not compatible. And I’m inclined to agree. You have your own life to live, and I have mine. I help people come to terms with themselves, their issues, help them find happiness. You manage billions of dollars, you help the economy. We have two different but important jobs.”

“True.”

I flinch. All I can feel in my heart is the need to be near her, involved in some part of her life. Even if it’s just as a “friend”, whatever that means. I have to admit, I don’t really understand the concept of best-friends, more like categories of friends, shelves of friends that go in groups together to accomplish certain tasks.

“So if our sexual relationship is over, then take me on as a patient or client or whatever you call it.”

She has a long, drawn-out affected laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“Why? If our relationship is over…”

“Because. I can’t promise that I won’t…that we won’t…” She rolls her head, emphasizing the point that she can’t resist me. That she’s not done with me. And the thought in my head turns into a wave of anticipation. I don’t want it to be over. I’m not bored with her even after all that we’ve done together.

“Are you saying you don’t trust yourself with me?” I raise my eyebrow.

“I think you know the answer to that. So, let’s talk about something other than sex. That is, after all what friends do.”

“Ah, right.”

“Let’s make it a game. I’ll ask a question and you give me an answer. And if the answer makes you uncomfortable, well…answer it anyway. Because you certainly made me uncomfortable. And yet it turned out to be the best sex of my life, wasn’t it? So maybe a little mental exercise will do you some good.”

“You’re right. You deserve to know. Almost everything.”

“Why are you always reluctant to talk about your parents?”

“Hmm. Good question. Pass.”

“No pass,” she says, backing away and folding her arms. “Or maybe let’s make a deal. You tell me the truth, I remove one article of clothing.”

“Hmm, Truth or Strip. I like it. You’ll strip right here?”

“NO, at home, later.”

“Hmm, I think you should strip right now.”

“Fine, so answer the question.”

“Umm…okay.” I lean back, nostrils flaring, sighing. Even my heart seems to be beating louder than usual. “I think there’s an emotional attachment there. I love my father. And yet…we don’t always get along. I don’t like certain things about him. But I also don’t like what the media says about him.”

“What about your mother?”

“First strip,” I say with a moody glance.

“Double or nothing. Tell me what you remember about your mother.”

“Ahhhh,” I say, just about as nervous and self-conscious as she must have been when I ate her out. Mmmm it was so good too. Okay, I’ll tell her everything. Just because I can’t resist her mind games.

“Okay. Like I once said, I remember the Christmas holidays.”

“What else?”

“What else?”

“Like schooling, family moments, recitals, church, billionaire bingo, anything! Something I haven’t heard before Byron. Anything not to do with Christmas.”

“Well…she was a good mom. She always, you know, sort of refereed in fights with my dad.”

“What did you fight about?”

I suddenly bite my lip and give her a fuck-you stare. “How many strips do you owe me now?”

“Tell me what you fought about.”

“No. You haven’t stripped even once. You’re not playing by the rules.”

She laughs wickedly. “Byron Gallows! You keep saying you want therapy with me, but you can’t even answer one goddamn question about who you really are.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re not a narcissist. You’re a fucking façade. You’ve built this fake identity of who you are, so strong, so untouchable, you don’t even know who you are, do you?”

My heart races and my body shakes with rage. She’s pissing me off, probably on purpose. “You know what? Forget it. Let’s just go back to being friends.”

I start to push back the chair and storm out…

“WAIT,” she commands. “I’m not finished.”

“Yes, you are. You know what? Fuck it. I don’t need friends. I don’t care. I’ve got plenty of other things I’d rather be doing.”

“Here,” she says, giving me a sassy look.

Then, suddenly, all my anger and hatred vanishes. She plops her pink panties right on the table, prudency be damned.

“Only one piece. But I still win, don’t I?”

I stare at her panties, then back to her, then glance at other people in the shop who have also noticed. A few guys are laughing, and a few old ladies are huffing and puffing in anger.

All I can do is smile, even turning a little red as I meet Laura’s eyes. She is so good at making me feel everything. Every emotion. Making me feel real.

“So?” she says. “Are you turned on? Is fighting what gets you all excited?”

“No,” I answer back coyly. “I still like to be romanced. I say the night is still young, let’s go out for a night in the town. After all, there are other things to talk about, besides sex and painful memories of the past.”

I’ve decided to take Laura somewhere really nice this time. We’ve spent a lot of time seeing big houses, going to fancy dinners and seeing the luxurious side of life. But she hasn’t yet seen how the “elite” really live.

“Welcome!” a woman in an orange opera mask says, as she welcomes us inside the Aleister Grand Theater, a very big mansion located in Beverly Hills that is only used about four times a year. No one ever speaks of it publicly, but everyone in the “know” has heard about it.

Laura is alarmed at what she sees. Everyone here wears a mask, including the two of us. It’s the only way you’re allowed entry. This is a very special club, a special elite event that is strictly by invitation only.

Laura sticks closely by my side as we walk through the corridor, making our way to the theater room. Everywhere she looks, she sees men in suits and women in dresses, all characterized by their scary and unusual masks. Opera masks, of course, like a Cosplay for billionaire adults. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that everyone here is worth pure gold. Some of them are studio executives, politicians, independently wealthy landowners, movie stars in disguise. In other words, the “elite” that everyone always references but no one can prove actually exists.

The only outsider here is my dear Laura, who’s worth gold to me, but who everyone else here would chase away if they knew who she really was. I snuck her in here, under the guise of her being a prominent movie star that I’m dating.

Laura’s body language, self-conscious and humble, is almost giving her away. A few attendants are giving her a suspicious look but they fall back when I hold her hand and guide her through the area.

“Where are we?” she whispers in a strained voice.

“We’re in my world,” I whisper back.

As we enter the main auditorium, we are met with the most harrowing sight.

Dozens of figures shadowed, covered in robes, and performing an ancient ritual.

Laura watches silently, undoubtedly scared to death but poker-facing her way through it. In front of us is a naked woman writhing in ecstasy, clothed in tiny lingerie, and sprinkled with what appears to be animal blood.

Her opera mask turns my way and looks at me. I nod solemnly, wanting to reassure her but not wanting to cause a scene.

I grip her hand firmly, as if to say, “It’s okay…keep calm.”

Laura watches as more than a dozen masked men approach the “sacrifice”, each one with a bigger cock than the last, ready to fuck. They wear nothing else but masks, belts, and leather.

Everyone stays quiet, respectful, wickedly complicit, as the men proceed to fuck the shit out of this masked woman, one right after another.

A soundtrack of strange chants and monotone music notes plays in the background. Everyone here, a roomful of hundreds of people, watch in silence as the woman orgasms repeatedly, crying out for dear life, even while all her holes are penetrated.

It’s unholy, disturbing and speaks as to the perversity of “my type of people”, the elite, miscreants of society. Of course, I know this is too much for Laura to handle. It’s the precise reason I’ve decided to bring her here.

I want to scare her away for good this time. Not because I’m bored with her. But because I don’t know how to live without her, OR with her. She rattles my soul, no matter what she says or does. We keep riding this crazy roller-coaster, not having a clue how to survive each other.

I turn to Laura again, smiling sincerely…lovingly…worshiping her grace and compassion. But of course, to Laura, it just looks like a creepy opera mask staring at her. Maybe this will be enough to scare her away for good. For her sake, not for mine. Maybe she needs a nice, normal and decent man like Bill Whatever. Not the evil man that I am.

I guide Laura by the arm outside the main theater and into an empty library, figuring she needs a moment to recover.

We remove our masks and look at each other in curiosity.

“What the hell is all this?” she says, shaking her head.

“Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

“It’s just a party. Maybe not the type of party you’re used to attending.”

“And you do this kind of thing all the time?”

“Sometimes…or more to the point, the people I know do.”

“Does it turn you on?”

“What am I supposed to say? No? The idea of a dozen hung guys plowing into a girl doesn’t turn you on?”

“You’re a very sick man,” she says, slowly putting her mask back on.

I nod…in confusion as she walks over to the couch, lifting her skirt so that she can drop her panties.

“What…what…”

“Come on,” she says through the mask, giving me a creepy sexy chill. “With our masks on.”

I don’t understand. But damn, if I’m not going to do exactly what she says and have a masquerade fuck in public!

Like crazy people, like mad billionaire creeps, we start fucking like crazy, right there in the library! I pull her panties down and spread her legs, taking her right on the couch, hard fucking her furiously like I’m trying to put out a fire.

“Urghh!” I groan loudly, loving how soaking wet she is. We’re oblivious to the world, to REALITY, but mostly she’s insatiable for my cock at the moment. Insatiable for my dirty mind. Always wanting me, always needing my validation.

The fact that we keep our masks on and I literally fuck her as Creepy Opera Man, only makes the whole image, the whole experience, more surreal and illusory.

She whispers at me to cum inside her…yeah. Even though she’s not on birth-control. Jesus, she is a crazy bitch sometimes, and I love that shit!

She refuses to feel love for me and yet, me knocking her up seems like the kinkiest erotic shit I’ve ever conjured in my head.

She whispers, telling me to hurry up before we’re spotted.

And I ignore her. I can’t even fake a quickie. I’m just fucking her, right here on the library chair, in our masks, and she doesn’t give a damn who notices.

She looks over past my evil looking mask…only to see more masks! Ohh sweet holy Jesus! There are other men in masks watching us fuck!

Three other men stand by the doorway looking inside, their masks extra spooky, their body language stoic. But no doubt, very enthralled at what they see. Laura’s legs in the air, her panties right on the floor below me, and me plowing into her wet pussy like this is a porn set.

What am I supposed to do? I look over at them and our masks meet. They stare at me. Laura looks over at them. They stare at her too. Actually, they stare at her longer. They’re quite intent in watching and letting us know that they’re not going to stop watching. They want to see us fuck.

All I can do is just continue onward, fucking Laura in front of other men. And periodically gazing back at the masked strangers, then to Laura, then staring down at her hiked dress just to watch my huge cock get wet.

She stares back at them too and I get even more achingly hard! This is going to be a huge cumshot, I can feel it.

Finally, after minutes on end of being a reluctant exhibitionist, I FINALLY cum and shoot a load of hot cum all over her hips and legs, which I then wipe up with her dress!

A weird tingle crackles in my head. I liked the feeling of being watched, even though I look out and see the men are gone by now.

“How am I going to walk around like this now?” she says, taking off the mask and fixing her hair. “You ruined my dress.”

“Would you believe me if I said I did that to save your life? Those men discovered who you were. They’re dangerous. And they were out to get you?”

Her heart sinks and her face melts away into horror. “WHAT? How do you know?”

“…Nah, I’m just fucking with you. The truth is, it was more to do with my huge boner. My boner was dangerous and out to get you.”

She slaps me on the arm but can’t help cracking up with me.

We’re driving home, thoroughly exhausted from the mad voyeuristic fucking, in front of some major creeps!

“I can’t believe I knowingly jacked some guys off. Then again, it was kind of a perverted Illuminati thing, wasn’t it? When in Rome…”

“So hot. I loved seeing that side of you.”

All we can really do now is laugh, surprised that we actually went through with it, fucking in front of complete strangers wearing masks!

It was the kind of taboo fantasy I might explore with a whore or with some bar girl I just picked up. Trying it with someone I really care about feels so weird, exciting, confusing and invigorating!

“So…” I say with a grin. “Did you just do that because you thought I liked it? Or because you wanted me to answer more questions about my past?”

“I did it because I was really turned on, silly,” she says. “You shouldn’t question. You should just whip it out and give me what I want when that happens.”

“Good point.”

A beat passes. A psychotic, uncontrollable urge comes over me. Not sexual, for once, but just as intimate and disgusting.

“I don’t remember anything about my mother,” I say with a frown.

Laura looks over at me in concern. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” I look back at her, taking my eyes off the road for just a moment. “Literally nothing. Except for those Christmas mornings.”

“That’s not normal, Byron.”

“I know,” I say, feeling a pang of grief consumes me. I almost feel scared, or like panic, or tears. But it’s all I can do to hold myself together and drive her home.

“I don’t think anything is wrong with you, honey,” she says, her voice so warm and reassuring to my ears. “From what I can tell, from what you’ve told me, you’ve never treated anyone abusively or unfairly. But you still think you’re this evil, awful person. Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I corrupted you.”

“You didn’t corrupt me,” she says with a chuckle. “God, Byron. I’m far from innocent. Once you get to know a girl you might be surprised by how much ‘filth’ you discover in her.”

“Why do you put up with me? You’re so wonderful.”

“Because lovemaking, sex, fucking…all of it is the same. Because communication, want, need, the desire to be happy and to connect emotionally with someone else. That’s what I want. I hope it’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“I know that you do. And yet…you can’t, can you? Something is blocking you.”

“Yes.” I nod shamefully, realizing it’s true.

“I think whoever told you all that stuff about narcissism, they were very wrong. They were fucking with your mind. Who recommended that therapist?”

“My mother.”

“Hmm. And let me take a wild guess. Your mom doesn’t like me. Your dad doesn’t like me.”

She studies my face. She smiles snidely. “No, your dad hates me, doesn’t he? Getting hotter or colder?”

“You’re very hot,” I mumble.

“And that’s why you’re trying to break up with me. Not because it’s what you want but it’s because HE wants it.”

“I don’t want to break up with you. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“Give me some credit, Byron. I’m not some high-school-aged schoolgirl that’s going to go to pieces just because my boyfriend takes a hike. I can handle it.”

“I know you’re strong. You have good moral character. And yet you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. No matter how many times we’re together, it’s never enough. You’re the good things I want in life and the bad things I crave in shame, all wrapped up into one gorgeous package.”

“And how does it feel? To be honest? To confide in me, all of your dark thoughts and fantasies?”

“It feels amazing. Almost sexual. Almost like…just this huge weight lifted off my shoulders, this lump in my throat, my heart exploding.”

“Good. That’s what you need, Byron. Someone that you can confide in, be real with.”

“I want you. To be real with you. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“I want you too…”

A moment of silence passes, and I look at her, wondering what she’s thinking.

“Would you be willing to try something?”

“Always.”

“Mmmm you might want to let me explain first before committing yourself to it.”

“What is it?”

“You’re not afraid of taking risks. You also keep talking about becoming my patient, which of course, is not an option.”

“You don’t fuck all your patients?”

“No, bad boy, I don’t.”

“Then what?”

“I want to know if you have any suppressed memories. I would like to recommend you to a friend, one who specializes in hypnosis.”

“Ohh…” I say, gripping the steering wheel and sighing in discomfort. I’m scared to death at the idea…but why?

“You don’t have to. It’s your choice. But I really do feel that you might have suppressed something that happened in your past. Coming to terms with who you really are, might help you find the peace of mind you so desperately want but can’t seem to find.”

“I want you. That’s the only peace of mind I need.”

“Byron…” she says before a long and scary pause.

“What?”

“I don’t think I want to seriously date you unless you go through this process.”

“That seems like a strange request.”

“It is. And I understand if it’s not totally fair to you. But it’s what I want. I don’t think we can be honest with each other until you face facts about yourself and your life. The fact that you’re so emotionally suppressed makes me think you’ve experienced some trauma that you NEED to address.”

I feel wrath building. I see red. I feel a flare of fire and distrust. But I know it’s not at her. She’s right. “I don’t know if I can.”

“I understand. But just keep it in mind, that I cannot commit myself to you unless I’m sure that you’re a healthy, well-adjusted man, in-control of his emotions.”

“Oh, come on. You’re just picking on me because of the age difference…”

“NO, I’m not. It has nothing to do with age.”

“So, if you were dating Bill or whoever he is, you’d give him the same ultimatum?”

“I would never have sex with Bill. Nor would I ever emotionally confide in him. There’s no attraction there.”

“What about with me? Are you attracted to me? You know all those times we fucked? Did that mean nothing?”

“Yes,” she says, meeting my eyes in heated debate.

“And if I pulled this car over right now and fucked you right on the hood, what about that?”

“Byron…” she says, losing patience.

“Or what if you broke up with me and I came to your office and fucked you anyway? How about that?”

“If you want a relationship built on nothing but meaningless sex, fine. I will occasionally submit to your kinky fantasies. But eventually, we will get bored of each other. Sex is not enough. Is that what you want?”

My face goes back and forth, involuntarily spasming and wanting to argue and yell. But I quickly realize I’m only fighting myself.

“I don’t want it to be just about sex,” I mutter, finally being honest.

“Good. I don’t either. And you’re not doing this for me. Please understand this is about you. For your own healing and understanding.”

“You are getting very sleepy. Your eyes are starting to feel heavy. You’re feeling muscles in your body starting to tense…and then relax. You love the feeling of relaxing…”

“This isn’t working,” I say, not to Laura, but to Amanda Hunter, a hypnotherapist recommended by Laura. Of course, I only submitted to this strange mental mindfuck on the condition that Laura would accompany me into the session. I don’t trust anyone going under and tinkering with my memories, unless it’s Laura.

Call me nuts but I either trust her entirely or I’m completely fine with her fucking me up and turning me into her man-slut-slave. Either way, only with her would I allow this to happen.

“You’re feeling very relaxed, at peace. Serene. Byron, I want you to think about a place. A safe place that you have in your mind. It can be the past or even pulled from your imagination. But this place is where you feel comfortable. In control. Completely at ease, no worries. You feel so safe, so contained. Nothing can hurt you here. You’re surrounded only by positive energy.”

“This isn’t working…” I say before yawning.

“One hundred. You are now in a deep sleep. You are completely at ease and consciously sleeping. But your mind is still awake and very aware of your thoughts, feelings and memories. How do you feel Byron?”

“Mmmmmmmmm…mmkay.”

“You have a safe vest that you’re wearing that is keeping you warm and safe. This vest is keeping you relaxed, safe from all the things that make you tense. Let go of that tension and relax. Let this warm vest neutralize all the “I can't” out of your mind. This will allow you to have total recall whenever you want.”

“Mmmmmmm yeah…”

“I want you to reach inside and take away any block that exists between you and your earlier memory. Whenever you sense tension or that block, just take a deep breath and un-tense your muscles. Let it go. Let it melt away. Relax and remember everything because that’s safe and comforting. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s so easy to remember. It’s natural to remember. You’re not tense. You’re relaxed. You have no reason to strain or think back. The past is right in front of you. All you have to do is look around you. Now you can see all of your memories tucked away inside your mind. As you receive this new information, my questions, you are going to have instant recall of all those memories. Everything, Byron, everything you have ever seen or experienced is freely available to you. All of these experiences are right there, in your subconscious mind. That knowledge has always been there and now you can see it in real time.”

“Yes…”

“Tell me about when you were a little boy, Byron. You can see things happening in front of you. You’re eight years old. It’s a very good and relaxing day. Maybe a holiday. Christmas time, your favorite. It’s Christmas morning, Byron. Aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah. I love Christmas.”

“What do you see? Look around the room and tell me what you see and who is there.”

“My father. My mother. Presents.”

“Is your father happy?”

“Yes.”

“And your mother, are they all happy there with you?”

“Yes. Mom’s always happy.”

“What is she saying?”

“Talking to dad. Calling him Alfred, instead of daddy.”

“What else is she saying?”

“She’s mad at him. She says Alfred why something-something. I don’t understand those words.”

“What is he saying?”

“Calling her names. Bad words. Words I’m not supposed to say.”

“What’s happening now, Byron?”

“Dad’s getting upset. He says Barbara stop it. Barbara, I hate you.”

“…Who is Barbara? Your mom?”

“Yes. My mom.”

“…Byron, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Byron, who is Caitlyn?”

“I don’t know.”

“But your mother is named Barbara, not Caitlyn?”

“Yes.”

“STOP! STOP!”

“Byron, what’s happening? Byron calm down! Why are you shaking? Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

“Ungghhhh…no no no no”

“Byron, listen to me. You’re not in any danger. You’re okay. Calm down, it’s not going to hurt you, whatever is happening.”

“Unnnghhhhhh…mmmmm nooo…”

“Why are you crying? What’s happening?”

“Mommy’s dead. He hit her so hard, she’s not moving around. He pushes me away. Away from mommy, He tells me to walk away. To go and walk outside.”

“Byron, listen to me. This is not happening right now. You’re safe. You’re in your vest. This happened a long time ago. Nothing is going to hurt you now. It’s okay. Do you hear me?”

“No.”

“LISTEN. It’s okay. This was a long, long time ago. You’re not in any danger. I want you to listen to me. You’re wearing your vest and you’re feeling good. You’re calming down. You’re slowly, very slowly, remembering who you are now. That was so long ago, when you were just a boy. You’re not a boy anymore. You’re grown up. Now I want you to listen closely. I’m going to count backward to twenty. When I do, I want you to gradually wake up. With each number counting backward, you slowly start to become aware. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

“Mmmm…”

“Byron, open your eyes. You’re awake.”

I blink my eyes. I laugh hard and shake my head. “Told you it wouldn’t work.”

Laura and Amanda stare at me in shock and terror. Like they’ve seen a ghost! I start to feel uneasy. Like I’ve done something terrible. Oh God…what did I do? What did I do?

It was too much to take in at the moment, so Laura took me out to the park and we sat under the night sky. An old-fashioned picnic under moonlight, something to make me feel comfortable and “relaxed”. Admittedly, the hypnosis treatment worked like a charm, I didn’t even believe Laura when she told me what I confessed.

“Barbara Kalvan. That was my mother’s name. I remember now. Just saying her name feels like my childhood. A strange, soothing warm feeling in my head.”

“And Caitlynn? Well, I guess he remarried?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember a single thing about Caitlynn. Except that I always thought of her as my mother.”

“Didn’t you have Christmas mornings with her too?”

“No. I don’t remember anything with her. I mean, all the memories I had were with my mother, my real mother. And my father. Alfred and Barbara. When I think of Caitlynn, it’s the strangest feeling, like someone just photoshopped a memory in my head. I feel everything and I see her face over my real mother’s face. What the fuck is that?”

“You’re positive that’s what you saw?”

“Yeah. My father killing my real mother. I remember seeing her dead body. Her eyes looking at me even though she was bloody and beaten. Then he took her away from me, pushed me away. Told me to wait outside. I remember waiting outside for hours. I cried all day, thinking I did something terrible.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. I mean, I know that now. But that explains why I could never think back, never feel anything. Besides just those fake memories of Christmas. Well, the memories were real. But they were fucking warped and edited by that psychopath.”

“It’s just a theory…but what might have happened was that after your father killed your real mother, he took you to one of his ‘recommended therapists’ and they implanted memories in you. Like false memories. You do remember bits and pieces of Christmas mornings with your father and mother. But the original perception has been altered. They brainwashed all the bloody details away.”

“So that I would forget and learn to look the other way, whenever my father did something against the law. He made me forget it. He made me bury the memory.”

“I’m not promising that’s what happened,” she says cautiously. “It’s just a theory. It would explain why you feel the way you do. Why memories seem to be vanishing.”

“I think that’s what happened, Laura.” I shake my head and look into her eyes, as vulnerable now as I’ve ever been, and always with her, from the first time I met her.

“What do you want to do? Go to the police? You know if you confronted him, he might deny it.”

“Then let him try,” I say with a glare. “He owes me a response. Even if it’s fake, even if it’s ridiculous. I have to hear the words from his mouth.”

I arranged to meet my father under the guise of a formal apology to him, for daring to threaten the family name. Not surprisingly, he agreed to a meeting. Imagine his surprise when he entered his office and saw, not just his son but his son’s reprehensible girlfriend right next to him.

Laura suggested I go alone since she didn’t want to cause unnecessary conflict. But I insisted she come with me this time. Not only am I proud to be associated with her but I’m also just itching for dad to comment about her, to my face.

As soon as dad sees me, all suited up and smiling ear to ear, he frowns. He knows this isn’t going to be the apology he wanted. Especially not with his nightmare of a daughter-in-law sitting in his chair, without his permission.

But it had to be this way. I still love the man. But right now, right here, he is going to show me his true character. In front of us both.

“Well, well,” he said in a condescending voice. “I see you brought your friend. Your therapist. Your therapist slash friends with benefits.”

“There’s no need to pretend anymore, dad. I know you don’t approve of her. I suspect you probably even hate her. Just like you hate me.”

“Now why in the world would you think I hate you? And if we’re all bringing things out in the open…well sure, I’ll admit it. I don’t approve of you marrying your therapist.”

“She’s not my therapist.”

“Ah, I see,” he says with a forced smile. “So, it’s just a coincidence that you’re having all these emotional catharses. Wake up, kid. She’s playing you. Why do you think I’m opposed to you marrying her?”

I look over and see Laura giving me a, What The Fuck face. Oh Jesus, dad actually talked about marriage twice! I never brought it up. Shit, but Laura’s probably freaking out right about now, thinking I’m moving too fast.

“I’m not…I’m not…” Laura tries to reply but I interrupt her. This is not her fight. It’s mine.

“It doesn’t matter, dad. And no, I’m not here to ask your blessings for marriage. Honestly, we haven’t even talked about that. But I am here to ask you one question.”

“The answer is NO.”

“You know, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you’re going to say is going to hurt me or surprise me. But for my own curiosity, I just have to see your face. I want to record your reaction in my mind forever.”

My father crinkles his face, looking confused. “What?”

“Did you murder my real mother?”

“Oh, Good Christ,” he says, laughing and looking away.

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re serious? You’re asking me…”

“Funny thing, dad. I don’t remember anything about Caitlynn. Damnest thing, right? I remember my mother. My real mother. Her name was Barbara. And I have this vague, very vague recollection of seeing you hit my mother. And her falling to the ground unconscious. DEAD. Bleeding on the floor. Is any of this ringing a bell?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Where was Caitlynn when all this happened? Why don’t I remember anything about her, childhood memories? Nothing. I just always remember her at parties with you. Billionaire events, in front of cameras. But where was my real mother in all this? She was dead, wasn’t she? You sent me to that quack therapist and he put all this shit into my head.”

“False memories!” he screams, looking and pointing at Laura. “She did this to you! You are getting played, boy.”

“So that memory of my mother being beaten up, that was Caitlynn?”

“You’re experiencing a false memory, Byron. She has put all these crazy fantasies into your head.”

“So, you’re saying I hallucinated Barbara? She’s not real?”

“YES. I promise you. Why would I lie about that? I married your mother.”

“So…” I pull out the death certificate of Barbara Kalvan-Gallows and throw it onto his desk. “Were you hallucinating when you married Barbara and then forgot about her? Did you forgett you ever knew her? Did a therapist brainwash you into forgetting her? Or wait…here’s an easier explanation. You’re lying. You’ve always lied to me.”

He hesitates. Looks heartbroken, as if I’ve got it all wrong. But I stare him down. And eventually, his frown melts away into an angry, violent expression, gazing right at me.

“Some things are private, Byron. Some stones are better left unturned.”

“So you admit it?”

“You’re cut off from this family. For good. All the money, Byron, it’s mine. It stays with my legacy. You’ll never see a dime of my empire. Are you happy now?”

“You know what? I am happy.”

“And is your slut of a girlfriend happy? Will she be happy when she realizes you’re worth about fifty bucks and a boff in a hotel room? The rest is mine?”

Laura shakes her head but I speak up. She doesn’t have to dignify any of this.

“It doesn’t matter. You killed my mother. You won’t even admit it. You’ve probably paid top dollar to cover that up.”

“NO,” he responds in venom. “I have something better than money, Byron. Power. Fear. Respect. Men who will die for me rather than see my empire, their wealth fall. I have no need to answer you about my private business. But your disloyalty is on clear display. Take your trailer trash girlfriend and get the fuck out of my life.”

“I was so loyal to you,” I say, shaking my head back and forth. “I never believed any of the media stories. I believed in you. I believed they didn’t know the real you. But I was the stupid one. I didn’t know the real you.”

“Get out. Don’t you ever come back.”

“Oh! I’ll be back.”

“NO, YOU WON’T!” he screams as I take Laura by the hand and we storm out of his office. “Or I’ll have you thrown in jail. I’ll turn your little whore out and send her to a brothel in Mexico!”

“You ever touch a hair on her head, I’ll kill you myself,” I respond, just loud enough for him to hear. I feel weak, dizzy…ashamed. I can’t even look into his eyes. It hurts too much. But he has to hear it again.

“I’ll kill you, old man. And the world won’t miss you. Not worth a shit. Because God knows we don’t need another rich, old, white misogynistic asshole running the world.”

“GET OUT!” his voice grows smaller as we hurry out of his house. Not because of him, that weak piece of shit, but because I’m so jacked up I’m afraid I’m going to rip through his chest and pull his heart out right now, if I don’t get the fuck out of here.

“Let’s go, let’s get the fuck out of this country,” I say, roaring my car engine and speeding down the old road like a race car driver. No, more like a maniac.

Laura is reeling all over the car and breathing hard. She’s scared to death.

“Byron, it’s okay.”

“NO, it’s not. Fucker can keel over and die. I had to leave…not because I was afraid but I was going to punch him in the face.”

“I’m glad you left. Violence accomplishes nothing, but honey – WATCH THE ROAD!”

She screams, right as I slam into a curb and send us both rocking back and forth.

“Sorry. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“NO, you’re not. Honey, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for what happened. But you can’t drive right now. You’re in no condition.”

“No, I’m fine. Promise.”

I turn hard and send the car skidding onto the country road. “As soon as I’m on the freeway I’ll be all right. It’s just a straight shot.”

She panics. Trying to figure out a secret word, a code, anything to snap me out of this angry trance.

“Byron Gallows, stop the car!”

“I told you I’m fine!” The fucking car is shifting all over the place, must be slippery roads or something.

“Please stop the car. Don’t lose your mother and your girlfriend, who loves you in the same day. Please.”

I blink fast, ready to argue, ready to scream and shout. But then, gradually or not so gradually, I slam on the brakes, sending the car into a hard but definite stop right on an empty country road. We stall. I hold onto the brake, still shaking.

“What?” I say, looking over at her, unable to stare into her eyes.

“Thank you. I love you,” she says, her eyelids red from grief.

“I love you too,” I mumble back. “You’re the only person I love anymore”, I say with my voice cracking.

I can’t hold back the fire anymore. Tears roll down my cheeks and it takes everything inside me to stop from choking.

She reaches over and hugs me. She grabs me tight, her warmth, her aura, it calms me. She’s the only thing I believe in, the only one I’ve loved or ever loved. I have nothing left to my name but I still have her. And I’m still rich.