Chapter 48 - Ending

   Well, you're near the ending. Of my story. The story of my fucked up, crazy and insane life I've led. I can't call it a happy ending. Not really. Its not a bad ending, either. Its just... the end of the whole deal. From before karma first entered my life, to now. When, it seems to finally be done with me. Not done, done. Yet, back to regular karma. For regular people.

   Its funny. As a little kid, you're siting there. Daydreaming, as kids are prone to do. A lot of boys will fantasize about being some hero. Girls? A princess, I suppose. Then we get a little older. Adults inject things into our fantasies. Try to dissuade us from ones we come up with ourselves.

   The boy that dreams about being a hero? Gets inoculated with the idea that's childish and silly. How about being rich and powerful, instead. Maybe you mix that with your own hero thing. I mean, hey. Comic books provide you with cookie cutters for those more advanced daydreams. How many super duper heroes, have a real life rich and powerful life. They just sort of do the super hero thing as a kind of a hobby? Because they want to.

   Girls, too. Honey, you're never going to marry a prince, and become the next queen married to the king. But? Rich guys. Even one that's handsome and rich. That? Is more possible. Then another couple years go by, and now you're doing it to yourself. Hero? Well, maybe a police officer. A fireman. A soldier. That? Is more realistic. Maybe.

   And the girls? Well. Most of them don't seem to back off much. From the handsome prince, turned into the handsome rich guy. And while you're hunting him down? There's always the practical reality. Got those rough and rugged woodcutters all around. You can just slum it with a few of those, until you maybe find that ridiculous ideal that fairy tales and now adult books and movies keep spoon feeding you.

     When I was young, in college. I knew I found the perfect guy, just for me. Like any girl convinced its perfect? I was just naming the children and looking forward to it. My adult, quite practical fairy tale ending. Wiz? Was teaching computer science classes as an undergraduate, in all but name. He was being groomed to become a grad student, that actually taught the undergraduate computer science classes. Most likely ending up recruited to finish his doctorate, then get on as a professor there.

   More than handsome enough for me. Plenty of rugged woodcutter in him, too. More than enough to satisfy that natural bad boy craving all women have deep inside. That desire mother nature gave to us. And, enough money and prestige as a Dr. Wizzy, too. To satisfy that toned down desire to have your husband really be somebody, and have a good station in life.

   I was trying to get a national title, and wanted to become a big university girls soccer coach. My backup? Was to have a doctorate in psychology. A very practical adult fantasy, coming true. We all eventually settle on something. That was going to be my personal fairy tale ending for me.

   But? That was selfish. That would have made my life, about as perfect as I could possibly have envisioned it. But it would have left a lot of people out in the cold. While I sat all warm and toasty. In front of a farmhouse fireplace. Under a comforter, watching a movie with what to me was my perfect husband. A big mug of hot chocolate. Made with milk instead of water, like grandma did it for me as a toddler. A psychology PhD, married to a computer science PhD. You can just see these things coming. We're both wearing those god awful Christmas sweaters, and teasing each other about them. Honey, what should we do today. We're both off for the holidays. Should we ride the dirt bikes in the snow? Or do you want to take the horse and put it on that little sled. We'll park it out front of the neighbors house, and stand on the front porch, singing Christmas songs. I figured that would be funny. Yeah, lets do that.

   The universe took one look at the lay of the land, though. Hate to break it to you girl, but... you need to get beaten and heated red hot, to see if you shatter and break in the crucible of huge adversity. And if you make it? Its just been to harden and temper you. So you can take an edge, and become dangerous and useful. Because you were made to do all these things. Things, that need done.

   And, like a little kid that rolls their eyes and marches dutifully out to feed the animals. I did them. But its like you're never done. You fed the animals? Great. Now, you need to learn how to do... this. Its bigger, its harder. And, there's always another thing. Its like there's no end to it, and you'll never get done.

   Each thing the universe had me do? That I did. I thought, well? Now, its all done. Nope. Just more fashioning me, to be able to handle the next bigger chore. No real reward, either. Not the traditional kind. More like... when the older male farmhands smiled and touched my shoulder with their fist. Because I set fence posts up and ran barbed wire and electric fence all day? With the men. Kept up, never complained once. Used to it.

   Where was I headed. Grandpa was on the littler original farm, we called it the retirement farm. The idyllic sort of thing. Couple animals, a few chores. Busy work. Free time to do a few things instead of just work all day every day. He had scars and a limp that came and went.

   Christ almighty. I remember the day I'd had enough. I'm 18. I got three big dairy cows, over a thousand pounds each. I gotta put this big glove on, up to my shoulder. And... unblock them. Yeah. Hugging a cow's ass, like its my boyfriend. Up to my shoulder, trying to unblock the cow's ass. From inside its ass, in case you don't get it.

   Dad had bought the cheap Chinese gloves, and they're every one of them breaking. I'm gonna have to dig cow shit out from under my fingernails and out of my pores all night. But that's later. Right now? Cow ain't enjoying this any more than I am, believe it. I know how to watch out for getting kicked, which can kill me. I'm comfortable wrestling this situation, to manhandle something that outweighs me by over a thousand pounds.

   Cow broke a buckboard complaining, and I can't blame the cow. Hell. You go up to your shoulder in my ass, I'll probably kick and break stuff too. Now I got more work to do, when I'm done with this shit job. I'm standing there, starting the second cow. Another broken glove. By god, I'm going to wring my dad's neck, trying to save money on cheap gloves for this. I mean, the hell's the point of the gloves that break. Might as well save all the money, and I just go in with my bare hands and arm.

   More broken buckboards, two more in fact. More work. Cow went through the pen wall and its dragging me along, up its ass before I can get out, trying to kick to get me out of its ass as it moves where it wants to go. Which is over to get some hay and water. Which, again, I can't blame the cow one damn bit.

   Decided, before the third cow was done. Gonna finish this. Then, replace all these broken buckboards. Then? Naturally, spend an hour getting all the shit off me and out from under my fingernails, so I can eat my lunch sitting there just teasing me. But then? I'm done. I got a soccer scholarship, to a really big school. Free top of the line education waiting. And? My parents are sending me to an agricultural college instead.

   Great, so I can major in what. Cow's asses? Uh uh. I can go to a better school, on my own dime. No more shit chores. Literally, I might add. Cleaning up shit. Putting shavings down? For the animals to shit on. Going up cows asses, so they can shit more. No. This, just can't be my goddamn life. The ranch farm is successful, mom and dad have farmhands, they'll get by without me.

   Fuck this. I'm getting a degree in what I want. And, soccer practice is less work than what I do every day now. As soon as I get all the shit off of me and out of my nails? I'm calling that number. I'm over 18. They'll send me a bus ticket. Dad ain't gonna like it. I'm going to major in psychology. Be a therapist. Maybe even get my masters or my doctorate. I just feel like I was cut out for something different.

   Then. What did the universe really have in store for me. It used me wanting out of here, to get to the university. And that? Was just so I turned into something completely different. And, in the end? Here I am.

   Panic's right. You just get tired. The kind of tired, sleep just can't fix. I traded shit all over me? For my fiance's blood and guts in my eyes and mouth. My angst about a life of farm chores? For being made into a healthy sociopath. Took risking a broken leg and a lifelong limp from that? For risking getting killed how often, and getting shot a couple times.

   My one shoulder, looks like it went to start through a meat grinder before someone hit the emergency stop button. I got a scar for the hole in my throat, and a bullfrog voice to match it. I'd about need a paper and a pencil, to keep score. Of how many people I either killed, or someone else did and I helped, or? I watched.

   I guess I'm about burned out, on being an undercover agent for the FBI. Been a while now. Every night? Same thing. NTR, and that's the whole body of the text I file. Nothing, To, Report. When Uncle Mike gets tired of that, I guess I just quit getting my six figure paychecks, and I can enjoy retirement. Early.

   Happy ending? No. Like I said, that was out the door and down the street 20 years ago. For as much as I wanted something different? I just ended up with more work, and it was dangerous on top of it.

   But, its an ending. And, while not the happy ending I would have wished for? Its a good ending, none the less. I just hit my earliest 40's. I avoided the whole, older women in my family thing. Dad's side, the tall big tan women? Turn into cute Italian cows. My life kept me athletic. I still got it.

   When my parents want to quit the farm life, and go up to the little grandpa retirement farm? Its no big thing. Parents don't know it, but... when the time comes for that, we'll just hand them a couple million for the place, and say have fun. I can't have kids, but I got the next best thing. They can bounce a little kid on their knee, and... whatever the hell grandparents do with little kids. Just, no laxative chocolate for breakfast. I draw the line there. Kid? You can take a shit whenever your ass feels like it.

   Panic doesn't even wanna deal with my dad, and jokes we have to wait until he dies to move there, or give him another million if he promises to keep his crotchety ass up on his own little retirement farm and out of his hair. Honestly, we don't have any plans. We like the range and the bank gun shop, just fine.

   I honestly think I'm just going to keep my name. Merry. We asked Mike. If I don't want to go back to my own name and ID? Its my business. Weird, to think I'll probably have some other name than my own on my tombstone one day, but what does that matter. There's no ticker tape parades, for the things I've done and accomplished. And I'm just fine with that. I just want things to, finally... go to something resembling normal.

   Well, normal for me. Which ain't. I can't believe I'm getting back into being a therapist, if only under the table helping a close and dear friend out. It feels good, to be doing the helping. Being a therapist, was what I was supposed to be doing after I got out of college.

   Tell you this much, though. Don't you dare ever call me a hero. There just ain't no such thing. And what you call a hero, which really isn't. They're not born. They're made. Its not a fun process, and its a thankless job to be one. You don't do it, or keep doing it? For any real reward.

   "Okay, Elise. How you doing today."

   "As good as ever. I guess."

   "Can we go over, some rough sketches of a plan of some kind."

   "Sure."

   "All right. One major idea, is desensitization."

   Elise chuckled.

   "Desensitize, to what."

   "A number of things. One of the major goals, of initial rape therapy? Is... you gain the ability to talk about it. So. We start, with as much of a rough description as you can. If you have a little breakdown? That's fine. But, each time we begin a session, by going over it. Adding more detail, each time. Until... in the end. You can talk about it? Any part of it. With no ill effects. It happens gradually."

   "Do we have to do that today?"

   "No. But one start? I want to start calling it what it is. It was, rape. It wasn't... the incident. You think you can do that?"

   "Well. It gets me out of the retelling today, so, guess I have to."

   "Well?"

   She shrugged.

   "Elise? Why are you here. What happened."

   "Because. I was, you know. I got... raped."

   "Feel okay."

   "Not good. But..."

   "Can we try it again? Like this. You ask me. What happened to my shoulder."

   "Merry. What happened to your shoulder."

   "I got shot."

   I paused.

   "See? No euphemism. No, buildup. Just... hey. Got shot. Try it again?"

   "Okay."

   "Elise. Why are you here. What happened."

   She shrugged.

   "I got.. raped."

   "You all right still?"

   She nodded.

   "One last time. No pause. Just, like saying its raining out."

   "If I have to."

   "Baby steps. Elise. Why are you here. What happened."

   "I got raped."

   I nodded.

   "That's the earliest desensitization we work on. You can just say it, no big deal. When that's down pat? We'll start with describing it. That's some other session."

   "Okay."

   "And. Let's start easy. What are you sexually."

   "I like girls."

   "Hmm. The incident. I like girls. All euphemisms. Can we try that again?"

   She nodded.

   "Elise? What are you. Sexually."

   "I'm a lesbian."

   "Were you always a lesbian. Or, do you think you were born, a lesbian."

   "No. I wasn't."

   "You were raped. That's when you feel you changed into a lesbian."

   "Yes."

   "You feel okay? Saying it."

   "Sure. Been a lesbian, what. Lots of years now."

   "Can I ask you a question? About your lesbian relationships. Since the rape."

   "Yes."

   "How long do they last?"

   "Oh. That, really can vary. Quite a lot."

   "Well, what's the shortest."

   She laughed.

   "Honest? Uh, there was a sales lady, once. Really cute, too. I get the eye. I pick up on it. There's some... stuff straight people don't notice. Special eye contact. Little innuendos no one would pick up on. Ways... I can touch something. With a smile."

   "Sounds like flirting."

   "It is."

   "Elise? Maybe you didn't notice. I asked about the shortest relationship. You, go off on a tangent. Was this sales lady. The flirting. Was she the shortest one?"

   "She, was... helping me try on clothes. For work. The, feminine clothes I wear. When I'm working. And, after the secret flirting? Well. Little something in the dressing room. No one else in there."

   "That was... it. Encounter in a dressing room. With the flirting sales lady."

   "Well. For lunch? We... went in the back."

   "Okay. You enjoyed it?"

   "She was really young and very cute. And yes. It was a lot of fun."

   "You, ever see her again?"

   "Uh, no. Just one of those randoms."

   "So. The, length of this relationship. Describe it."

   "Gee. Minutes, of flirting. Maybe... ten minutes, in the dressing room? We don't want caught. She whispered in my ear. Come back for lunch. We're closed for an hour."

   "Okay. So. Several minutes of flirting. Ten minutes in the dressing room. Then, the whole lunch hour. Then, relationship's over."

   "Wow. You make it seem, so..."

   "So, what. Its what it was. Couple minutes of the flirting. Then, seventy minutes total. I mean, to me? Its fair to say. You began, conducted, then finished? A relationship, with that girl. In seventy five minutes, flat."

   "What are you saying, though."

   "Nothing. A therapist isn't a judge. I do, however. Get facts. Here, the facts are. Seventy-five minutes. Start to finish. Never saw her again."

   "Wow. I remember that one, a whole lot better. Than the way you, just put it."

   "I'm addressing quantity. Not quality. If, you say that was the best ever? That's your call."

   "Okay."

   "Now. That would be the shortest one."

   "Well..."

   "You can beat seventy-five minutes?"

   Elise laughed.

   "Oh yeah."

   "Well. What would the record shortest relationship ever be, then. You tell me."

   "Hmm. Barmaid. Not, a gay bar. Regular nice place. Same thing. Flirting. She... asked me, did I want to see her, make the food she was making. I smiled. Said, sure. We... storage closet."

   "How long. Did it last."

   "Couple minutes of flirting. Got in the back? She took me by the hand, into the storage closet, and. She was a quick little thing."

   Elise wiggled her fingers and smiled.

   "Not my first rodeo. Couple minutes, tops. And... I gave her a round two. Couldn't have been more than... less than fifteen minutes, I'd say."

   "And, that might be the record. For, shortest relationship ever."

   "Hey. You said. Quality, not quantity."

   "Elise?"

   "Yes."

   "Let's go the other direction. What would your longest relationship be, then. That record."

   "Oh. Months."

   "Live in, then."

   "Every weekend. Her... husband worked away on weekends. He left Friday morning? Came back Monday morning."

   "So. Every weekend. For months."

   She nodded.

   "So, every Friday, Saturday, Sunday. For several months."

   "Yeah. A little over six, maybe eight months. I didn't mark it on the calendar."

   "And, that's the longest relationship, you think you ever had."

   "Eight or nine months, is that so short?"

   "You never made a year."

   "Oh. Francois's wife. Forgot about her. I think that's, almost getting to a year now."

   "Well, that's ongoing. I want to go back, to the... nine months, being generous. All weekends. Say, three days every weekend. That's, what. Twelve days a month. Times nine months. That's, what. Say, a hundred days total. If there was never a missed weekend."

   "Well, she missed a few here and there. Husband didn't go away for work, or... her work. But, most three day weekends, yeah."

   "So. Your shortest relationship, is measured in minutes. Maybe fifteen minutes. And, until now? The record, probably isn't even one hundred days."

   "What are you getting at?"

   "Nothing. I'm putting numbers on things. Analyzing things."

   "Well. You can't very well use a straight person's yardstick, to measure something in the community."

   "Okay. If you say so. So, its us and them. I thought, gay people, were normal people. They just like the same sex, and other than that? They were the same. That was my understanding. What I hear, anyways."

   "Okay. You're describing a lifestyle. Not.... my part of the community."

   "Oh, okay. I'll come back to that statement. But right now. Don't you ever... live with your girlfriend? She moves into your trailer. You, maybe stay there all week, working. Anything like that."

   "I have. A few times. You have to remember. I work in a different city, every time. Has a nice girl come and spent a few months in my trailer? Yeah. It happened."

   "You ever, stay at her apartment, or house? While you were in that city."

   "Not, full time. I was the... weekender, coming in. Maybe some nights during the week."

   "So. Now, back to your statement. You're not, you said... lifestyle. You're the other kind. What do we call that kind."

   "Oh. Don't think there's a word, for that. There's... lifestyle? And..."

   "And what. What would you call it."

   "Merry. Are you trying to make me feel like a piece of shit? You sound like the... parade marchers. I wanna just be a normal person. Am I a lesbian? Sure am. But, I'm not marching and carrying on at work. Fuck all that noise. I'm a private person. I'm not shy about it. I don't hide it, either."

   "Can, I make an observation?"

   "Can't stop you, I guess."

   "Elise? You simply tell me. Merry, I'd prefer you didn't make this observation. And? I won't, simple as that. No pressure."

   "Well, for no pressure? I feel some. You're, like... pumping me. Like, a suspect. Christ."

   I sighed.

   "Let's stop for a minute. All I'm doing? Asking questions. Gathering information. No judging. If you feel pressured? That's you, feeling your own pressure. I'm not trying to judge. Make you feel, inferior. Or, like a piece of shit. That's all from you, on you. These... are all things coming out of you. I'm just asking questions. Observing."

   She got quiet for a minute or two.

   "All right. Make the observation you were going to make."

   "Well. I'm failing to see any, love. I'm seeing... sexual encounters. Girl at the store. Girl at the bar. Sneak off, quick fun. Like... high school kids, touching each other in a janitor's closet. Let me guess. Back seat of a car, even at your age. Hmm?"

   She got quiet.

   "I guess."

   "That's fast food. You can live on it, but... best it seems you come up with? Someone invites you over now and then. Hey. Stay the weekends, or... a couple nights a week. I'll give you a home cooked meal."

   She shrugged.

   "Kind of like a homeless person. Hoping someone takes a shine to you, and gives you some quality food. A nice place to sleep, when you can get it."

   "You're a therapist. This is, what. Supposed to make me feel better? Not working."

   "Elise. I told you up front. If I just tell you what you want to hear? No real point. And, once again. I'm just asking questions. Gathering information. I ask you, if these observations seem correct. You? Are the one getting tense. Or, a little angry. Or, feeling pressure. Its not coming from me. Its coming? From..."

   I pointed at her. She sat there, and twiddled her thumbs a bit.

   "I guess you might be right."

   "Do, you want to quit for now?"

   "No. Might as well see where this goes."

   "If you're sure."

   "Go on."

   "All right. I'm by no means, done. But... I'm starting to come to some initial conclusions."

   Elise smiled.

   "Oh. By all means, I can't wait. And? I'm teasing."

   "Okay. Now. Up front. I am by no means? Any kind of homosexuality expert. But, I've had more human sexuality training, than I can shake a stick at. That's practical, as well as the biochemical side of the human body. And, like I said. You want to hear where I'm at? And, I want you to feel free to correct me, or, tell me I'm off. Anything. We're just, throwing things out there, at this point."

   "Go on."

   "First off? Self identification. That's always important. How do you, see yourself. What do you, think you are. And? You freely, and consistently self identify, as a lesbian."

   Elise laughed.

   "What."

   "Nothing. Just, not very professional, as your client? Just a joke."

   "Go on."

   "Well? I might be able to eat pussy, better than your husband? Pretty sure, that makes me a lesbian. So yeah. I self identify as one."

   "That... is funny."

   "Thought so."

   "Now. Be that as it may. You consistently self identify, as a lesbian. But? All I'm getting, all I'm seeing. Quickies, wherever and whenever, you can get them. From, as cute of a little girl as you can locate. And, the occasional short term, longer quickie. When you can locate that, as long as it can last. Is that, a fair assessment."

   "Yeah. Guess it is."

   "Now. Though you self identify, readily, as a lesbian? You also, freely admit. You were born straight, and if you were never raped? You're almost certain, you'd have stayed straight. Is that fair and accurate, to the best you can see it."

   "Yes."

   "Now. Here's where I have trouble nailing you down. You seem to be born straight. But, I can't very well comfortably call you straight. Because, well... for obvious reasons. Yet. You don't seem to be entirely comfortable, being a lesbian. I say that, because all I'm seeing? Is a pattern. Flirting. Found one. Quickie. Flirting, found one, oh. Weekends. All sex. Not a shred of love."

   "Yeah. Like I'm in therapy, because I'm not some kind of fucked up. Brilliant observation. Again? Teasing."

   "I, can't even call you bisexual. In fact? I'm not a hundred percent comfortable, with anything. Can't call you straight. Not anymore. Don't really seem to be all that comfortable, trying to live a lesbian life. Clearly, not bisexual. So? I'm going to ask you. What the hell, do you think. You... really are. You? Tell me."

   She took a couple minutes to think.

   "And? Before you answer. You presented me, with a persistent fantasy. That, there was a way. A way... back. A way back? To normal. And? That was you saying it. Not me. In your own words, your fantasy, was to get back. To? Normal. And... normal? Was to live as a straight woman. With, a husband. And, a best friend that you were married to. That? Would be what people would call... true love. Real love. Now. Is this, somewhat accurate."

   "Could be. Yeah."

   "So. If... your fondest fantasy. Is, to experience... real love. What then, does that make what you have now. Fake love? You, tell me."

   She said nothing.

   "Can I ask you some sexual questions."

   "Okay."

   "All animals, feel an urge. To have sex. People are no different. You go without, does the urge build up."

   "Well, yeah. That's normal, right?"

   "I think it is. Do you."

   "Yeah. I do."

   "Well? There. See? No pressure. No tense feeling. No euphemisms. You? Just self identified as normal, about some aspect of sexual activity."

   "Great. Keep it up."

   "I don't think we're crawling out on much of a limb. If we agree, that... the rape? Took your normal sexual life from you."

   "Amen."

   "Do... you feel as if... your sexual identity? Is mixed up. Maybe, I don't know. You know you're a straight person. But, circumstances forced you into identifying as a lesbian."

   "Lesser of two evils. Think I told you that? When I met you all those years go. Its either nothing? Or this."

   "I remember. Now. Back to sexual urges. Completely normal, to feel them. I'm going to compare you? To... say, a person in prison a long time. Otherwise straight people? Will, some of them. Take what they can get. In that situation. Do... you feel. Maybe. That, the rape? Has, put you into a lifelong position, where... you feel this is all you can do."

   She sighed.

   "Some shit like that. I guess."

   "We can quit, if y---"

   "No. Keep going."

   "I think everyone by now knows. Urges. Its normal, to masturbate. Relieves the urge."

   She nodded.

   "Its okay. Everyone does. But? Question."

   "Yeah."

   "Hand? Or... toys."

   "Just me and my hand."

   "Normal. Do, you like inspirational material? Or... just you and your imagination."

   She pointed at her temple, and grinned.

   "Again? Perfectly normal. Question, though."

   "Yeah?"

   "Without material, to guide it? Masturbation with no material, no toy. Requires a fantasy. An image."

   "Duh."

   "What's that image."

   I caught her off guard. Her face flashed emotions. Anger. Shame. Fear. It ended with her face in her own hands. Not crying audibly, but clearly with little if slow tear streams.

   I spoke softly.

   "Its okay. Take your time."

   Couple minutes, for control's sake.

   "Elise."

   Practically a whisper.

   "Yeah."

   "I think you know what I'm going to ask you next. Don't you."

   Hands on the face. Nodding, while hiding little tear streams.

   "Elise? We can quit, but... we're right here. This? Is the big prize. Everything else, will be easy, once this is over. Couple words, all over. And the rest? Nothing, but just like working out. Predictable results. You ready?"

   She's making a little noise crying now, into her hands. Nodding through it.

   "Here we go. When you touch yourself. Is your self generated image... is it, maybe that cute sales girl, going into the back with her for that hour? You said that was quality, if not quantity."

   No words, just head movements. But, that was a no.

   "Was, it a girl that stayed with you when she could? In your trailer. More like love that way. One of those girls."

   No.

   "When you stayed at her apartment. When you could. Her?"

   No.

   "So its a boy, then?"

   Yes.

   "Before the rape. You were in your teens, when you got raped. Were you a virgin?"

   No.

   "Had intercourse with boys yet?"

   Yes.

   "When you touch yourself, is it sometimes one of those teen boyfriends? Wondering what that could have turned into."

   Yes.

   "Anything else you'd like to say?"

   Yes.

   "Well?"

   I got a toddlers bawling and snorting, and had to decipher the secret crying code. But, it was discernible. Monosyllables translate best when speaking in the secret crying language.

   Wiz.

   "All right. We're done. Take your time."

   She got control back quicker than I thought. Because she has a lifetime of suppressing emotions. Because this is the Black Widow herself. Not, some little pansy girl, playing girl power super soldier, all make believe. She's killed more men than I'll ever fuck in my lifetime. I've seen her operating before, and I'm here to tell you, its downright terrifying. Cold, and dispassionate. Professional. She wasn't done though.

   "Not just Wiz."

   "You don't have to tell me."

   "Sometimes?"

   "Yeah..."

   She couldn't say. She just pointed. We're alone, but I knew what the point meant. Towards the gun store part of the bank building. She meant Panic. He reminded her of Wizzy, too. Me and Light aren't alone in that.

   She took ten minutes. To get back to baseline. Five had it in the bag. She just took the next five for insurance purposes, I guess. The next surprise, was I didn't have to initiate. I was going to once again suggest we're done, or at least a break. She just came right at me, if only metaphorically.

   "So. You have good news, or bad news. Or? Both. Or no news. What's kicking."

   "Well? Lets just call it news. Nothing's good or bad."

   "So..."

   "You want it straight out? As I guess. Or, you want me to..."

   "Oh, no. By all means. Stretch it out, Merry. This? Its a lot of fun. I'm a big girl. Kick me in the cunt with it."

   "Well. Now, this is my guess. This is as much art as it is science. But? I'm going to go with... you? Are straight. Normal. And? You think, straight, is normal. The rape? Debilitated you. You never had anything even remotely resembling proper rape therapy for it? And, at that age... that was bad. You were just forming your sexual identity, and firming it up. Bad time for it, not that there's a good time for that."

   I inhaled and exhaled.

   "What therapy you had? Was probably worse, than no therapy. But you already knew that."

   "Oh yeah."

   "All you really needed, was standard rape therapy. And, desensitization exercises. Would it have been perfect? No. But, you'd have had the tools you needed, to search for just the right guy, and had a shot at things. But. Way things turned out. A girlfriend, who had been raped herself. You got... into that, and. You were left with a bad phobia about being with a guy. This? Was an outlet for your urges, which are normal."

   I paused.

   "I'm gonna guess. Standard trauma type stuff. Self blame. Shame. Guilt. Anger, which you channeled into being constructive."

   She nodded.

   "So. You got a pill? That will let me take a dick. Or what."

   We both cracked up. Christ. I forgot, about the MP's and their morbid sense of gallows humor. They all shared that.

   "Elise? You're one tough cookie."

   She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

   "Elise. You remember that night. Me, you, and..."

   She finished it for me.

   "And Wizzy."

   "Yeah. We would share motels. Going into the little town of Swellsville. Getting ready."

   "Yeah."

   "Remember the night, we were all in bed, talking? You made a joke."

   "And the joke was..."

   "Out of nowhere. Hey guys. We all going to fuck now, or what."

   We both cracked up. A little. She smiled, bittersweet.

   "Yeah."

   "Was, that entirely a joke. I now wonder."

   She got quiet.

   "I guess not. The funniest jokes? Have a base, that really isn't all that funny."

   I nodded.

   "So. What can you do now."

   I smiled.

   "Like I said. Every session? You describe the rape. In more and more detail. Until Its like breathing, and it doesn't affect you."

   "Yeah. That can be done."

   "Like I said. Like exercising. Gets easier."

   "And?"

   "Desensitization."

   "Which will look like?"

   "I, actually got Little Lightning's permission? To, mention some of her therapy. Nothing specific, just broad strokes."

   "And?"

   "Elise. Light didn't... it was going to be for fun? But, before out first fun time, she... admitted to her own, bad rape. Then? It wasn't just for fun anymore, we were going to... show her our relationship. From the inside out. So she could see what one looked like. She had literally no idea, what love was. It was just sex."

   "Really."

   "Yeah. Would you say, you're getting... love out of what you get?"

   "I guess, not real love. Not true love. And yeah. Most of it, was just urges getting fulfilled. Like, taking a piss. Gets rid of the urge."

   "Well. Light, has moved onto her own, adult, true love relationship. Looks permanent. Me and Panic? We both... we both feel like, I don't know. The kid moved out and went to college. A little bit."

   "What are you saying, Merry."

   "Elise. Based on what you described. You could be with a guy. In, a laboratory setting, so to speak. Imagine this. We, could act out that scenario you described. Hey. You. Its winter. Get up here, its fine. And? If it was planned. What if, you could... just happen to flop over him in bed, and see what it was like. To sleep like that. Knowing? Its okay."

   "Really?"

   "We could try it. Its, it got called, sexual surrogacy. And yeah, I'm pretty sure. Its, just an excuse for people to have pile up fun, in most cases. But? In Light's case? It worked wonders. And, we could start... real slow."

   "How slow."

   "Just, sitting on the couch. Your legs touch. Or, you learn to not cringe, holding his hand. Maybe, you guys take turns making breakfast. Maybe, that mom kiss on the cheek, when he leaves in the morning."

   "Honest."

   "Your own pace. It wouldn't matter, how long it took."

   "Sex?"

   "Elise. I hardly thought, you wanted grabbed by the hair, thrown over the table and railed for your life... first weekend. More harm than good, I think. That would be as retarded as those people that throw kids into the deep water, and tell them to learn to swim? Or die. I was talking more like, you walk into the kiddie end of the pool. Ankles wet. Take steps as you feel like it. And if you ever felt like swimming in the deep end? I'll tell you a secret."

   "What."

   "We teased Panic. Me and Light. All in good fun. He admits he likes you."

   "Really?"

   "Elise. Remember the jokes, about the rough sex? Any time you want to get rough, baby. Let me know."

   "It was funny."

   "I'm mostly rough in bed, Elise. Although, I go the other way sometimes. Not like you wouldn't find that out, pretty quick just staying over. In the pursuit of... seeing if you could get gradually closer, with no pressure of anything needing to happen. No, timetable."

   "Oh. I also meant? Sex. With you, dummy."

   "Ah!"

   I blushed super dark red.

   "Elise? You already knew, for a long time. Me and Light? Shared Wiz. We... shared Panic. The exact same way."

   Elise gave me the eye.

   "Oh. Tag team deal. Gotcha."

   I looked around. Embarrassed. Damn emotions. This would have been so much easier, before I got them back.

   "I guess I'd have to talk about that."

   "So? Talk. I have a phobia, about being with a guy. But... this? Isn't a phobia for me, you know."

   I cleared my throat.

   "We all slept in the same bed. You know this. We all used to come out of my bedroom, every morning. It was that way this time. Until... she got her own relationship recently."

   "So. Its a tag team deal."

   "Elise? I'm straight. That said. Me and Light? We definitely... had contact. But? Only with Wiz. Then? Only with Panic. Never... alone."

   "That's not straight, Merry. You're bisexual."

   "I self identify, as straight."

   "You and Little Lightning. Used to dyke out, and let Wiz and now Panic. Watch, then join right in. But, you think you're straight? Oh. Okay."

   "Look. First time, we had contact. I was freaked out the next morning. Light? Was making jokes. She said, we were just putting on a show, sharing the guy. Playing porn star. Not a big deal."

   "Merry?"

   "Yeah."

   "I thought, we get information. We, don't make up euphemisms."

   Christ almighty.

   "Light always said. Porn stars? No one accuses them of being gay. No one says they're bisexual. They're just... putting on a show, for the guy. Its somehow just bad girl fun."

   "Well. Okay. You tell yourself, whatever you gotta tell yourself, sister. And by the way. You, clear this with Panic yet?"

   "Yeah. Like I said. We both kind of miss Little Lightning. Like an empty spot in the bed."

   "I bet. Question."

   "Shoot."

   "Am, I still allowed to... be with my girlfriend?"

   "Yeah. That's your business. That's your present... what. Baseline, I guess."

   "What do you think about what I have now. With Francois's wife."

   "I wouldn't know enough, but. I think you're getting your urge fulfilled. I also think, the upside there? Is, you get to see a husband and a wife. Maybe not in the bedroom, but still. How they are in every other way, except when they're in private. I don't think its bad, for you to be around that."

   "I guess. Just makes me jealous, though. When she's... off with him. Like that."

   "Elise?"

   "Yeah."

   "An observation. On my part. You? Admit from your own mouth. You get jealous, when she can be with her husband. I wonder how much is your lover is ignoring you, for her other interest. And how much? Is, you're jealous, that she can be with a man. Have a husband."

   "Not sure I know. But. Maybe some mix of that."

   I waited a bit.

   "Elise? You know how bad Lightning's case was. You of all people."

   "Definitely."

   "She got better. And yours? Not making light of what happened to you, but... in a lot of ways, hers was way worse."

   "And, you're using similar techniques?"

   "Very similar. And look where she's at today. Practically married, having a baby."

   "Merry?"

   "Yeah."

   "Did, you really just, discover this? Or, did you already know."

   "Lets just say? I strongly suspected."

   Elise just nodded.

   I guess this would be the third time I've done this. The first, was with Little Lightning and Wizzy. The second? Little Lightning again, and with Panic. Now? I'm about to do it for the third time. Trying it with Elise and Panic.

   And hey.

   The third time? Is the charm.

   I winked at Wizzy, on my way out. Following Elise. He was smiling and shrugging. What can you even do, you know.