Double-Crossed (19 page)

“Hello, Peter. It isn't a good time. I thought we were going to talk later?”

“My God. Are you crying?”

“Um, yes, but it is okay. I've just been talking through my past with a neighbor.”

“Really? Is that whom you were with?”

“Yes.” Instinctively she didn't tell him any more. “I've been considering going into therapy, and…well…I thought now might be a good time.”

“I think it'll be wonderful for our relationship.”

Without warning, Marianne's heart warmed to hearing him say “our relationship.” The words were wonderful. However, she remained so confused. The doctor had awakened her up to so much, and she felt that she couldn't really trust her feelings any more.

“Peter, sharing is hard. I feel sleepy and like I need a good cry. Do you mind if I go right now?”

“Not at all.” Peter sounded hurt, but Marianne couldn't talk to him now; she needed to take care of herself.

“The preliminary hearing is tomorrow. I won't be seeing you there, but I hoped to see you tomorrow night.”

Because she didn't know what else to say, Marianne said, “Fine. Tomorrow night it is. Good-bye.”

Chapter Ten

The events of the day made the night difficult for Marianne. Bitterness told her she'd cried enough for her family and her upbringing.

In the clarity of being on her own, she could see therapy as a good idea, but she still felt that she'd already been brave about confronting the issues there. Leaving Joe had been hard. She'd taken that step with the full knowledge that it had to be done, and of that she felt proud.

Confusion and horror filled her dreams that night. She could see herself with a large boat, trying to get it into the water, Peter by her side working with her. The doctor worked on the boat as well, but he was her enemy, and he tried to stop Peter from helping her. The homeless people Marianne saw on the streets of the Cross huddled together inside, broken and needing to be rescued. Even the colors and the smells of the dream were vivid; Marianne felt confronted to the core.

She woke in the middle of the night and wrote the dream detail down in a journal, by her bed. Reading back over it, her belly crawled with the same fear that visited her during the dream. Could Peter be trusted? They shared a powerful connection, to be sure, but she'd already had cause to doubt his word.

And what of the BDSM thing?

It'd felt so healthy. At no point had she felt compromised by it. The last few days had been wonderful and seemed like home to her. It felt so natural, so right. It couldn't be a bad choice. Could she self-deceive so comprehensively?

What of the statement Bill made? That Joe was simply an unhealthy choice for a girl who clearly liked BDSM. He'd said he could tell her tastes ran toward that fetish. The activities she undertook in their shop were evidence. Were Bill and Jen unhealthy too? Were all people who appeared sexually free actually unhealthy?

None of it made sense, and she decided she'd go and talk to Bill and Jen in the morning.

Marianne fell back into a fitful, disturbed sleep that lasted the rest of the night.

The next morning, she woke rather early, feeling like shit. Her head throbbed, and her eyes were red and swollen from all the crying that she'd done.

Sending Peter a text became terribly important. In the morning light, she didn't care if he was unhealthy for her or not, she just wanted to connect. She sent a text:
Good luck with the hearing. I miss you. Can't wait to see you tonight
.

Over the top, perhaps, but true to her feelings. In about three minutes, she got a text back:
REALLY good to hear from you. Can't wait to see you also. XXX

That felt good. She thrilled at her little message and read it over three more times.

Just at that point, someone knocked at her door. She put her robe on and quickly peeked through the peephole. She opened the door for the doctor standing in the hallway.

“Good morning. Come in,” she said with a strong attempt at a cheery voice.

“How are you this morning?” he said as he stepped through her threshold. “I was concerned about you last night and worried that you might have had a very bad evening.”

He wore pale blue, and the effect made him look a little like a cloud. His white skin and his pale blue eyes seemed to blend in with his clothes. His shirt and his trousers were exactly the same color.

“Well, I did, rather, but I feel better today. I think you're right. I will get some therapy and get this sorted out for myself. It might make all the difference with my relationship with Peter.”

The silence that followed indicated his disapproval and added to a discomfort between them.

“Or my non-relationship with Peter, however that plays itself out.” She didn't know why she felt that she had to justify her relationship to this man.

“Well,” he conceded. “You'll know better than anyone else the way for all of that to go, and you will sort it out. I'm glad that you're feeling better today, anyway.”

“I am.” She smiled a determined smile. “How are you?”

“I'm not feeling one hundred percent today. We did a lot of physical exercise yesterday, and the stress on my body took its toll. However, I want to go to the courthouse today. I'm going to get a cab.”

“Are you sure that you can do it? You don't have to, you know.”

“No, I want to. At this point in our friendship, I would like to put some faces to these names anyway.”

“Okay. I trust you to do what is best for your own health. Do you want a cup of tea?”

“There's no time.” Was it her imagination, or was he being short with her? “I really need to get going now. It is nine, and the hearing starts at eleven. I'd like to be sure to get there and make the connections from your description.”

“That's fine.” Marianne tried to sound upbeat. She attempted to make a positive impact on this strange conversation.

“I'll come back with news for you as soon as I am able,” he said. He sounded a little warmer now, although with that flat, strange voice it was so hard to tell. “You never know. It may be good news, and this Joe will be out of your life forever.”

With that, he left and closed the door behind him.

Marianne ran to the shower.

* * *

Peter looked composed, but felt. He rarely got nervous before a hearing these days, but the nerves didn't frighten him. He took it as a good sign. The more nervous, the more he would pay attention to his work, and the better would be his chance of success.

He knew the books back to front and felt well briefed by the team. By rights, this should be a very easy piece of legal work. If they were successful, it would be because of all the tap-dancing they'd done to prepare for this, not the work itself. They planned for, and intended to have, an uneventful day.

Peter wore the dark suit that he took out for important cases. He dressed with care, ensuring he didn't look too frazzled.

Thank God, he had gotten that text from Marianne. Something very strange had happened in the last forty-eight hours; the sooner this hearing finished the better. He felt that to get the relationship, he had to fight all kinds of enemies, and at the end of the hearing, he would have one more of those battles over. But her mood since yesterday unsettled him.

Was I too cold? Surely, she understood. When this is over
, Peter promised himself,
great sex or no great sex, I'm going to take her out for the most beautiful meal she's ever had. I'll show her she's the most important thing in my life now
.

Peter knew about Marianne's history. Joe, in his crude way, had revealed it to Peter. Even before Peter knew her, he'd cringed with horror at the tale, and now that he knew Marianne, it took everything inside him not to just beat the guy up. He'd started to hate Joe, and he hated everything that this world had done to Marianne.

Thank God, she's going to get the therap
y
! He had no reservations about that. It could only bring them closer, and if she needed him to attend, he'd be happy to do it. They could also discuss their new sex life and get the therapist's feedback on that one.

At that point, Peter remembered he had an important date to book for Marianne and himself tomorrow. He picked up the phone and made the call.

* * *

Marianne hadn't taken long to dress, and she grabbed her bag and headed out the door. This had the urgency of a mission. Something didn't feel right, and she couldn't put her finger on it. She needed help from her friends.

Walking at a brisk pace down the street, she wanted the warmth and familiarity of The Pleasure Chest. When she burst in, she saw that both Bill and Jen were working in the shop.

“Hey, it's the lovely Marianne!” Bill saw her first and came bounding up with a kiss. He had so many muscles that Marianne wondered if he were going to explode. Suddenly he stopped and clasped his hands to his mouth!

“Fuck! What happened to you?”

Concerned, Jen moved in closer, and immediately, her eyes ran to the bruise on Marianne's forehead. She reached out to touch Marianne, then pulled her hand back.

“Jesus!”

“Boy, I'm glad to see you guys! What a sight for sore eyes.”

Jen and Bill exchanged swift glances, and Jen asked, “What's wrong, sweetheart? Who the fuck did that to you?”

Marianne took a few moments, informing them of her safety, and that she'd had a run in with an unsavory character. Neither Jen nor Bill were satisfied, but Marianne told them firmly that she wasn't going to discuss it, but that she was in good hands and had been to a hospital. Marianne could see that they were making brave attempts to honor what she'd asked of them, but found it hard. At this point, her explanations moved to what brought her to the shop that day.

Bill interrupted her with an attempt to lighten the talk. “Why don't we have this discussion over coffee at the back of the shop? Even with a shiner, you're way too hot to stand here talking like this.”

“Staff will be here any second,” said Jen trying to sound unconcerned.

At that moment, a cute girl walked through the door with a guy on her heels. They were both about twenty-five years old, and Marianne knew them to be the staff of The Pleasure Chest.

“Both your staff is here? Together? Are you guys going out?” Marianne didn't want to take up their time if they had plans.

“Come to the back. We want to talk to you.” Jen gently grabbed her arm, nudging her toward the back of the shop.

Marianne followed them both out the back to their small storeroom. The couple turned to face Marianne.

“What's going on, love? He hasn't hurt you, has he?” Bill looked serious. Jen's face held the same concerned expression.

“What? Peter? Not at all—No way! He's been great to me. I really don't want to tell you who did this to me. I will eventually, but at the moment, it may make things difficult for me.”

“Okay.” Jen hadn't lost the concerned look. “But we'll worry till you do. Do you feel any pain?”

“None at all,” Marianne reassured them. “It looks far worse than it is. I am in the hands of a good doctor. Actually, I came here to talk with you about something else.”

“Shoot.” Jen smiled, and Marianne felt relieved to see them both loosening up a little.

“It's just that I had a brief talk to a therapist and…”

“Oh, shit no!” said Bill. “Let me guess. They think that this relationship is part of some repressed memory crap, that at its base it's unhealthy. Would that be correct?”

“Um, virtually word for word.”

Bill and Jen exchanged knowing looks.

“Sweetheart, baby.” Jen had no overtones, being a good friend as always. “You need a therapist who approves of BDSM. BDSM is therapy. Done properly, it's an exciting, wild kind of therapy. This is for the people who are not 'normal' or 'vanilla.' Can I tell you”—and here she looked at Bill, and he nodded his approval—“We were so happy to hear that you'd come out. We thought it's the best thing. We can tell that you are BDSM babe. It's written all over you.”

“Are you sure? Because I want so much to believe that,” said Marianne.

“Don't take our word for it, hon.” Bill affirmed what his wife had said earlier. “Go to a therapist. Most BDSM-ers do at some point anyway, and get their advice. However, make sure they are BDSM-friendly. If you are doing this to escape some shit in your past, a good therapist will hound that one out of you eventually. They won't let you stay if it's bad for you. And they won't let you get yourself into any trouble physically.” Bill stared at her bruise as he made the last statement.

Jen stepped forward and grabbed her hand.

“Listen, Bill and I are off to a play optional social.” She glanced at the bruise on Marianne's head. “Do you want to come? I think you need a good dose of the lifestyle to get your head straight, darling. But that's only if you feel up to it.”

Marianne wasn't sure about this. She and Peter hadn't discussed rules. Who knew if she could interact in BDSM play with others? “Well, I don't want to do anything that interferes with my new relationship. And I don't want to be a third wheel.”

Bill put his arm protectively around his wife. “She didn't say you were invited to our little games back home, but you can come to the POS. You only have to watch. You don't have to do anything else.”

“It might make you feel a little better, babe.” Jen had her arm around her husband's shoulder, and suddenly, Marianne missed Peter.

She looked down at her watch. Nine-thirty in the morning. The hearing didn't start for an hour and a half. This might be a good way to kill time and to see if she liked BDSM when Peter wasn't around. A bit of study to see what her reaction might be. This visit, however, she would stay strictly as an observer.

“Okay. I'll be there. Just for a look. What do I wear?”

Jen's eyes lit up. “I'll handle that one!”

Bill went out and spoke to the staff to set them up for the afternoon, and Jen took Marianne into the storeroom.

“Let's see. Let me get a good look at your body. Mmmm…hot…just the way I like them. I think halter and leather shorts, fishnet stay-ups, and fuck-me boots.”