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“Marcella, I’m totally exhausted!”It wasn’t so much exhaustion as it was stress. I’d been discussing my sex life with her for hours and still hadn’t gotten to the really deep part. Not that I was looking forward to revealing that situation at all.
“Zoe, that’s fine. I understand.” I glanced up from the chaise longue at her. She was sitting in the leather wing chair beside it, scribbling away on her notepad. “We’ve covered quite a bit of ground today. We made a lot of progress.”
“Did we?” I asked, perplexed.
“Did we what?”
“Make a lot of progress?”
“Of course! The mere fact that you were able to discuss your problems is a significant breakthrough.” She smiled at me timidly, probably wondering if I was buying into her bullshit. “Like I said, we covered a lot of ground.”
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. They were sore from shedding so many tears. Half of the time I was talking, I kept my eyes shut so I wouldn’t even have to look at her. I didn’t want to see the disgust on her face. As I readjusted my eyes to the dim lighting in her office, Dr. Marcella Spencer didn’t appear disgusted at all. I knew she had to be hiding it below the surface. She didn’t want me to pick up on her loathing. How could anyone not hate a despicable, cheating, lying, manipulative tramp like me? Even those getting paid to pretend otherwise?
“Yes, we covered a lot of ground, but—”
“But what, Zoe?”
“Do you think you can help me? Honestly? How do I stop this madness when it has taken total control of me?”
“Well, the first thing I should ask is, How do you feel about Quinton and Tyson? Are you in love with either one of them?”
I pondered her question. “I can’t be in love with Quinton or Tyson because I’m in love with Jason.”
“So you don’t feel it’s possible to love more than one man at a time?”
“I care about them both—Quinton more so than Tyson—but it’s not love. They give me things I need. I’ll admit that I’ve become accustomed to being with both of them. I never intended to be with Tyson more than a couple of times, but at this point, I’m with all of them every week. This shit has got to stop. That’s the bottom line.”
“I see.”
Damn, not that “I see” again! “Marcella, can you just answer my previous question? Do you feel as though you can help me get out of this mess?”
She sat up on the edge of her chair, moving in closer to me. “I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. Sexual addiction isn’t exactly my area of expertise.” I wondered how far not exactly. “However, there are certain things that apply to all types of addictions.”
She hesitated. The last thing I needed was to be held in suspense. “Such as?”
“Well, are you aware that both alcohol and drug abuse rehabilitation programs work on a multi-step matrix?”
“Excuse me?” I inquired, realizing all hope for a speedy recovery was fading fast. “Are you telling me I need to stop on a gradual basis?”
“Something of that nature, but listen!” She raised her voice an octave, sensing my irritation. She was damn right too. I was mad irritated. “Just like any addiction, it’s extremely hard to go cold turkey on—”
“Umm, hold up a second! Are you telling me I should keep fucking these other people and lying to my husband?”
“Zoe, calm down.” She headed to her desk to get a cigarette. “You just have to relax and hear me out.”
“Calm down, my ass!” I jumped up and started putting on my overcoat. “I can’t freakin’ believe this shit! I finally get the nerve to tell someone about all the fuckedup, backass, conniving shit I’ve been doing! I finally spill my guts about everything, and not to mention pay your ass to let me do it, and this is what I get for my trouble? You telling me to keep doing it? What do you suggest? To maybe cut back to two sexual trysts a week instead of four? Let Quinton hit it on Mondays and Tyson on Wednesdays, and everybody’s happy?”
Her hand started trembling while she attempted to light the cigarette with her silver-plated lighter. Her ass was just as nervous as I was, and she was supposed to be the expert . “No, not at all Zoe! I am going to help you! Just hear me out!”
I calmed down a little, plopped back down on the chaise, and stared at her.
She retook her seat across from me, inhaling like a mofo. “I have a friend who specializes in sexual addiction. He has a practice down in Florida, and I think he might be able to help you.”
“He? Oh, hell no, this shit just gets thicker and thicker. I can’t discuss this with a man. Men are the cause of all my fuckin’ problems.”
“I understand, but—”
I cut her ass off. “The main reason I came to you is because you’re a female, and I thought, at the very least, you would be able to relate to my situation a little better. But a man can’t begin to relate to the confusion going on in my mind.”
