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Tom assures me Blake won’t come near the clinic again. He also fired him as his assistant coach. I start to protest, because Tom needs the help, but I drop it at his murderous expression. Tom’s as furious with Blake as Mark is. Apparently, he knows about Blake’s voicemail.
Being surrounded by people is a temporary balm. Lila and I cook a ton of Mexican food for dinner. Maya joins us and catches me up on everything happening in her and Skyler’s lives. Skyler’s mom is seeing a new guy, but Skyler isn’t a fan because, as Maya puts it, “he’s all her mom talks about. Dave this, Dave that, Dave, Dave, Dave.” I learn that Maya loves her new art teacher at summer camp, but dislikes the nature guide because he smells like “the weird people that lurk at the back of the health food store”. I also notice she seems rather fond of a boy named Ben, a fact which makes Tom frown every time she mentions his name – which is often.
It’s only after everyone clears out that my dark mood settles back in. I sit beside Mark on the sofa, staring at the television screen, but I’m a million miles away.
Blake’s voicemail blasting my response to his apology has led to a couple of insights. For starters, I’m not upset with him for finding my scars appalling. After all, I sprung them on him without warning. Theoretically, his honesty was a good thing. Truth beats lies every day of the week, even if it’s painful to hear. How horrible would it have been to keep seeing him if I’d never known how sickened he secretly was by my body? Yes, the way he screamed slurs into my phone was cruel and inappropriate, and it proves he’s an asshole. Still, it doesn’t change the bottom line: he couldn’t cope with my scars, so things couldn’t have worked out between us. His reaction simply accelerated the timeline and saved me from getting in any deeper.
My second related-but-not-entirely-Blake’s-fault epiphany is that I’m done with dating. No more constantly revolving doors of single guys. I’m uncomfortable being alone with men, and aside from a few butterflies with Blake, I’ve not felt anything even remotely close to sexual interest since before my assault. I’ve accepted that in all likelihood, the sexual chapter of my life is over. Without dating, I’m unlikely to build a connection with a man I can trust. Without trust, I can’t engage in a physical relationship without having a panic attack.
The whole point of dating is to develop something deeper with the right person, but for me, an intimate relationship is impossible. I have too many scars, both physical and psychological, for most guys to handle. Frankly, my issues are too much for me to deal with, let alone saddle an innocent bystander with. For all his bullshit, Blake got one thing right.
I’m meant to be alone.
Having said that, I still intend to work toward becoming more comfortable around men, but it won’t be through dating. Tucker hosts a meet-and-greet after-hours at his gym every other month. He sets up a bar, hires a DJ, and people come in to mingle, dance, and network. Tara hosts huge dinner parties most weekends with regional authors, actors, artists, and musicians. Her ridiculously wealthy ex-husband wrote big checks and called himself a patron of the arts, but Tara was the one who got to know them as people, not tax deductions. There are other outlets available to me, too. I might join a local book club or a hiking group or… something. Anything. As long as it’s in a group setting, I’ll be fine. I’ll browse Cedar Ridge’s town website for some local groups and activities.
Days pass, and my internal mood sinks. Abandoning my dream of a happily-ever-after chips away at my spirit, piece by piece. On the outside, though, I plaster on my smile and embrace my role. I’ve had years of practice at pretending I’m fine. I enroll in a kickboxing class at Tucker’s gym and join a book club. I’m cheerful with my clients at work. I chat about mundane things with Tom, Tara, and Lila, join them for lunches outside the office, and bring home-baked goodies to share. I even manage to get caught up with the neverending paperwork.
Outside of work, with Lila, Tucker, Tom, and Maya, I’m able to keep up the façade. When they ask how I’m doing, I give a noncommittal but positive answer and shift the conversation. But when it’s just Mark and me, I don’t pretend. I’ve stopped wearing a fake smile at home because he sees right through it. Depression engulfs me like a heavy San Francisco fog, reminding me of my secret pain at every opportunity.
Happily-ever-after isn’t in the cards for me.
MARK
Charlie gradually slips into a darkening mood. She keeps her disposition light and cheery at the clinic, so only Lila and Tom notice. When it’s just us, though, she’s quiet. I let it slide for a while, trying to give her time and space to work through things on her own, but after a couple of weeks, I start to worry.
“Have you seen Willow lately?” I ask one night while we’re doing dishes.
Charlie chuckles sadly. “Why would I? She’s a sex therapist. I’m clearly not in need of one.”
“She’s a relationship specialist. Maybe she could help.”
Charlie intently scrubs a pot. “I’m not in a relationship, nor am I looking for one.”
I stop loading the dishwasher and look over. “So you’re just giving up?”
She sighs heavily. “I’m done with the revolving door of lousy dates with sketchy strangers. I don’t know any decent single guys. And I’m not up to spending weeks getting to trust a new guy just to see if –” she hesitates, blushing “– if I’m able to feel passion.” She stares down at the pot in her hands. “Which, I’m pretty sure, I’m not.”
I ignore her red face, focusing solely on her words. “So you don’t really want a relationship. Not right now, anyway. What you want is a test.”
“What?”
“A test. You want to see if you can both create and experience passion, right?”
She glances over. “I guess that’s one way to look at it. But I can’t fool around with someone I don’t trust, and I’m not interested enough to invest my energy into finding a trustworthy guy.”
She hands me the pot, and I load it in the dishwasher, considering her words.
It all comes down to insecurity.
Charlie’s scars, both psychological and physical, have left her feeling like no man could find her desirable, a belief Blake cemented with his parting shot. Not only that, but the damage those bastards inflicted by using sex as a weapon has left her afraid to trust a man.
Afraid to be vulnerable.
Afraid to let go.
That’s the crux of the issue. Charlie can’t trust a man enough to let go of her fear because she subconsciously believes her fear keeps her safe. What she needs is to experiment with someone she truly trusts.
She trusts me.
