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“Without a doubt,” Isaiah said, pinning Dr. Dangerfield with a look, one full of certainty and conviction. “One night—all night. That’s all I’d want.”
Twenty-Two
Enabling . . .
Losing one’s sense of self for the sake of maintaining a relationship. Over the years, Dr. Dangerfield had witnessed, more often than not, exactly that. Men and women losing themselves to the behaviors of others—their partners, family members, and even their children—allowing themselves to become absorbed in the life and behaviors of everyone else, fighting who they were against who they believed they should be in order to coexist in a world as they saw it. A world that was oftentimes full of drama and disorder, replete with a slew of lies and distrust.
And that’s what Dr. Dangerfield saw in LaQuandra. She was an enabler in the worst way, and in being so, she engendered a shitload of resentment and a loss of personal joy.
No human being, Dr. Dangerfield believed, should have that level of control over someone else’s thoughts, feelings, or actions. Accepting behaviors or not, was merely a choice. And LaQuandra Lewis chose to linger in misery, Dr. Dangerfield decided, because she didn’t truly believe she deserved anything more.
LaQuandra scoffed. Who the hell did this uppity, self-righteous bitch think she was to tell her that she was an enabler, trying to insinuate, once again, that she was the problem?
No. The problem was Cassandra-goddamn-Simms.
Not her.
She was a lot of things, but an enabler was not one of them. And she resented Dr. Dangerfield for making such a ridiculous judgment call.
LaQuandra crossed her legs, then shifted in her seat. “Do you know me?” she asked Dr. Dangerfield snottily.
Dr. Dangerfield regarded her for a moment, before finally saying, “I only know what you’ve allowed me to know.”
LaQuandra twisted her lips. “Exactly.” She straightened her back and placed a hand up on her hip. “And have we met before?”
Okay. So she wanted confrontation, Dr. Dangerfield resolved, taking in LaQuandra’s posturing. Combative. Nothing new. She was used to men and women becoming defensive when confronted with things they didn’t want to hear. The truth. It hurt like hell, sometimes. Hell, most times. But the truth could also set you free from self-justifying and self-destructing behaviors, if one was willing to listen.
“Mrs. Lewis,” Dr. Dangerfield said calmly. “I’m not your enemy. I’m here to help you rediscover the passion in your marriage—or within yourself.”
“Mmph. I can’t tell,” LaQuandra muttered. “Seems like all you’ve done thus far is point fingers at me. You haven’t said shit to Isaiah about his goddamn disregard for me and my feelings or his disrespect toward me as his wife.”
Krista wanted to roll her eyes up in her head, but instead she kept her face expressionless. She’d only come to today’s group session for the entertainment, because—well, quite frankly—she didn’t have that problem. She wasn’t an enabler. And chasing behind some cheating-ass husband wasn’t her life story. So the front-row view was just fine with her. All she needed was a bag of buttered popcorn and a large Pepsi.
“Your husband will have his time in the hot seat—if you will, soon enough,” Dr. Dangerfield promised. “But right now. This is about you.”
LaQuandra huffed. She was frustrated. And this bitch was pissing her off. “And there lies the problem, ma’am . . .”
Brenda nearly died. Ooh, no she didn’t give her the ma’am. Girl, I’m dead!
LaQuandra kept her stare locked on Dr. Dangerfield as she continued, “The fact that you think this is about me is a real problem for me. No, sweetie. This is about Isaiah.”
Dr. Dangerfield smiled. “Yes. It is. And it’s also about you. Because, believe it or not, Mrs. Lewis, you play a very big role in your marriage and in what you allow to happen to you while in it.”
LaQuandra frowned. “So you’re telling me that it’s my fault that Isaiah runs off and fucks his baby mother? Are you blaming me for his ass allowing that bitch to constantly disrespect me?”
“The same way you disrespect her?” Dr. Dangerfield inquired. “Because from where I sit, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing from the moment we met. You’ve done nothing but call your husband’s child’s mother out her name. And, quite frankly—”
LaQuandra cut her off. “I treat that bitch the way she’s treated me. She’s shown me no respect. Ever. So why the hell should I show her any? That whore knew Isaiah was a married man, and yet she kept fucking him, while grinning in my face.”
“And you blame her for sleeping with your husband?”
LaQuandra scoffed, her pupils flashing fire at Dr. Dangerfield.
“No. I blame her for being a whore.”
Yes. That’s right. When all else failed, blame the other woman. Always. It never failed. Most women would rather place all the responsibility of her relationship discord on the other woman, while there was hardly ever any real culpability for the men who cheated.
Dr. Dangerfield considered her words thoughtfully.
