A Wicked Beginning (27 page)

She cupped her hand around the cigarette and lit it like she had seen him do. It gave her a thrill to imagine that she was lighting her cigarette the same way he did. This was her little ritual, one of the ways she stayed connected to the man. She inhaled deeply and settled back in her chair.

Today, she was wearing a slim black skirt, black heels, and a loose pink silk shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned enough so that her cleavage was evident, but not too suggestive. Again, she had to maintain a proper decorum for the clients. But here, in the privacy of her patio, she could do as she pleased. Since the patio backed up to the back of a park, no one could hear her or see her unless they had wandered into this part of the park and people seldom did. She unbuttoned a few more buttons on her shirt and let her free hand stray to her breasts, encased in a stunning French bra by Luxxa. She loved her fine French lingerie. It made her feel sexy and wild. Then, she took another drag and placed the burning cigarette in the ashtray.

Imagining him, she stood up and unzipped the side of her skirt. She let it fall to the ground, then picked it up, carefully folded it and set it on top of the table, next to the ashtray. Now she was clad only in her Luxxa bra and panties and her fine silk shirt. She tossed her head back and forth, letting the silky strands of her long hair caress her face, imagining it was his hair. How she loved him. She was obsessed by him, intoxicated by him. She wanted him, oh, God how she wanted him. She sat back down on the cushioned chair, spread her legs, and touched the place reserved for him. Soon it would be her menses, and she would perform the ritual and fulfill her dreams. But for now…now she only wanted to connect with him using sex magic, the way Mrs. Primcott had instructed. She fingered herself and brought him to mind, careful to not say his name, even in thought. Her arousal intensified, and she quickly came to climax with a small shudder of release. At the height of the tiny release, she beseeched the goddess Bast, the Cat Goddess of sensual pleasure, and asked her to safely deliver him to her doorstep. Mrs. Primcott had instructed her to use the moment of climax to ask this ancient Goddess, who was said to have the body of a woman and the head of a cat, for favors. Mrs. P. had said that the Goddess would most likely grant a request asked at the time of greatest pleasure. As Angela did this, her elbow hit the edge of the table and she briefly acknowledged a stab of pain coupled with her pleasured release.
Nice
, she thought.
Pain and pleasure
.

With eyes closed, she luxuriated in thoughts of him, continuing to bring to mind the Goddess Bast, imagining that she was a part of the lineage of this Egyptian Goddess. Angela fancied herself to be a goddess in her own right. Goodness, maybe she, Angela Myers,
was
the Goddess Bast, sent to Earth to claim the man whom she loved. This thought gave her chills. Then she smelled something. Opening her eyes, she saw her skirt smoldering, the cigarette having fallen off the ashtray when she bumped it with her arm. “Oh, my heavens,” she exclaimed. “Oh, my skirt!”

She ran into the office, pantie clad, and searched around for something to put out the burning fabric. Pulling open drawers of her desk, she spied a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
This is liquid
, she thought absentmindedly, grabbing the bottle. She ran outside, twisted open the top and doused the skirt. The alcohol ignited and flames shot from the fine linen. “Oh!” Angela cried. She grabbed the edges of the burning material with her polished pink fingernails and pulled it off the table onto the concrete. There was nothing to do but watch her beautiful, expensive skirt burn. She sat down, picked up the cigarette that had done the damage, re-lit it, and watched the skirt burn to charred fibers while she smoked. She felt like a distant observer, detached, removed from the scene. Then, she stubbed out the cigarette, got up, and went back into her office. How could she get out of here? Her car was outside, across the parking lot. She hadn’t found one closer this morning.

Think, Angela, thing. What would he do in this situation?
She could call him and ask him to go pick up a skirt for her. She kept a safety key under the planter outside of her front door. But then no, she didn’t have access to his phone anymore. Well, shoot
.
This was a little mess.

She walked over to her desk and flipped through her appointment book. She still had two more clients today. She called each one and left a message that she had an emergency to attend to and would need to reschedule. Then, an idea came to her. Mrs. Primcott had urged her to call if she ever needed anything. She said that since Angela was doing a favor for her, she would be willing to do one in return.

Angela scrolled through her phone contacts to find the unlisted number for Jill Primcott. When Mrs. Primcott answered, she said, “Mrs. Primcott? It’s Angela. I’ve had a mishap and need to ask a favor. I need someone to bring over a skirt for me.” She listened to Mrs. Primcott’s reply. “I realize you are much larger than I am, but that does not matter. I can wrap your skirt around a few times. I just need to get to my car without being seen in my underwear. What’s that? Long story. Okay. So, you’ll send Mr. Dallas over? I’ll be waiting.”

There – she’d come up with a solution. Pleased with herself, she hung up the phone and walked outside, baggies and moist towelette in hand, to clean up her mess. Why did it seem she was always cleaning up messes when it came to him and her? Nevermind, he’d be her docile little pet soon. With a smug smile, she wiped the ashtray, sealed the baggy, and lit another cigarette while she waited for Mr. Dallas.

Chapter 27 – Cam

A brisk wind was picking up when Cam stepped out of his car in front of the High Road Recovery building. He looked up at the fluttering spring-green leaves of the trees and then glanced at the streaky clouds in the sky. Weather was changing, sure enough. That was life in Seattle. You’d walk out of the house in the morning wearing shorts, glad you brought your rain coat when the rains fell at the end of the day. He walked up the sidewalk and entered the building. When he arrived in James’ office, James was standing in the doorway.

“I’m all ready for you, Cameron. Come right in.”

Cam settled into his usual chair. “So, where do you want to start?”

“Where do you want to start, Cameron?”

“Not sure.” Cam rubbed his cheek and crossed one leg over the other, propping the ankle of his right leg on his other knee. “I’m in a great mood right now and not too keen on dredging up old stuff.”

“Well, then, let’s start with your great mood. Is it Chérie?” James smiled.

“You got that right. I’m in love.” A flood of sensation filled his heart. He diverted his gaze to one of James’ certificates hanging on the wall. “But also, I dropped the paperwork over at Mark’s. He’s a good man.”

“Yes, Mark Myers is a fine man. He’s gone through a lot, but I really admire him. Hard knocks have shaped him into a man of integrity.”

“Yeah,” Cam agreed. Then he fell silent.

“So tell me how it feels to be in love,” James prompted.

Cam smiled. “It’s great. A little scary maybe…but great.”

“Tell me about the ‘little scary’.”

“Oh, you know…” Cam’s foot started moving back and forth. He uncrossed his legs and put both feet on the ground. “It’s scary to be vulnerable.” He scrutinized the floor. “Might get hurt again.”

“It could happen,” James agreed. “That’s the risk we take when we open our hearts to another.”

“Yeah,” said Cam, scowling. “But I don’t want to f…to screw this up this time. I’ve never experienced this before. I want to protect her. I feel really possessive of her. That shit scares me.”
Never mind the fact that she could kick my butt when she’s in her enhanced state,
and she doesn’t really need protection
, he added to himself.

“Those are normal feelings, Cameron. Mating with another brings up primal feelings, as well as enlightened ones.”

Cam furrowed his brow, remembering something Chérie had said to him back in the autumn after they’d split up – she’d told him she wanted him to mate with the right person. “Mating, huh,” he said to James. “I thought it was called ‘hooking up’.” He smiled.

“I believe that’s a casual term used for having sex. What you seem to be experiencing goes a bit deeper, don’t you think, Cameron?”

Cam looked over at the certificate on the wall again. “Yeah, you got that right, Doc.” He thought about the mind-blowing connection with Chérie. “Anyway…” He paused, trying to think of something to say.

“Anyway, so how about if you share with me the experience you had about your father? The one you mentioned in the coffee shop?”

Cam blew out his breath. “It’s pretty twisted. My father was such an ass. I caught him humping my mother when we were on a camping trip. Humping her like a dog. Then he said something to me about letting me watch any time. That that’s how men did it…and then he pulled down my britches and told me to have a go at her…”

James frowned deeply. “Such a wicked beginning, Cameron! I’m sorry. What did you do?”

Cam did not say anything. He looked up at the corner of the room, his face furrowed. His leg started working up and down again. Then he said, “After he hit me with the tackle box, I pulled my pants up and got the hell out of there. I ran to the river and floated downstream. I don’t know what happened after that. Probably our little camping excursion came to an end, and we went back home to same old, same old.”

“So how did that experience make you feel?”

Cam glared at James. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Cameron, I’m interested in hearing how that made you feel…to remember that experience.”

Cam exploded from the chair. “How did it make me feel? How did it make me feel? It fucking made me furious all over again at my asshole dad.” He paced around the room. “I experienced so much shit as a child…so much fucking shit…I don’t want to remember it, don’t want to re-live it, don’t want anything to do with it, that’s what.” He stormed back over to his chair and dropped back into it. “All this shit…this rummaging through the past…it just keeps me pinned to a state of rage. How is that useful, James?”

James paused for a moment before continuing. “You have to move through it, Cameron. I’m sorry, but that’s the process of healing. It’s like a musical note trying to come out. The note wants to be expressed, wants to find its way to the musical phrase, wants to be expressed as a piece of music, and then, only then, can it and you be released.”

“This is hardly music, James,” Cam said, his face furrowed with grief and rage. “If it were, it would sound like chain saws and hammering metal.”

“That’s a good image, Cameron.”

“Huh,” was all that Cam replied. The wave of rage was starting to subside. “So now what? Do I get a gold star or something?” James remained quiet. Cam sat with his lips in a tight line. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. Then, he saw his dad in his mind again, pumping away at his mother. For fuck sake, why did his mother just take it? Why didn’t she stand up for herself? Goddamn it. Cam started to get mad all over again, the rage was building in him like a thunder cloud. He felt it pushing at his skin from the inside out…felt his blood start to boil…felt like he was going to blow apart and shoot blood and bones all over the room. In a weird detached way, he wondered how hard it would be for James to clean up the room if that happened. He hoped he would not leave any stains. Then, a tiny tear formed in the corner of his eye. Shit. He sure didn’t want to cry right now. He clasped the chair even harder.

“You’re safe here Cameron,” James uttered softly.

Safe, huh
? Cam thought. He sure didn’t feel safe, not with all this rage pressing against his skin and that damn tear trying to get out. He was clutching the chair so hard he thought he was going to crush the wood. His teeth were clenched so tightly his jaw ached.

“You’re safe,” James repeated.

And then, Cam just stopped fighting. He released the chair, released his breath, and stopped trying to control what was happening. If he was on the river right now…if he was on the rapids and he clenched like that, he’d be dead. As he let go, the tear leaked from his eye and traced down his cheek. And then another one came out…and then another. And then soon a stream of silent tears was coursing down his cheeks. “I just wanted to protect my mother,” he stated. “I mean, she was my mom…she cooked for me, took care of me the best she could…” His voice trailed off and he looked at the wall. “She was my mom,” he said again. “And I couldn’t do anything to help her.”

“It wasn’t your job,” James softly replied.

“Well, no one else was doing the job,” Cam growled, angry again. “She sure as hell wasn’t. And that bastard of a father?” Now the tears started flooding out, pushed with the force of his rage. The floodgates opened and tears and anger competed for his attention. Cam felt just like an erupting volcano in a thunderstorm, all fire and rain. He leaned forward in his chair and put his head in his hands. “I don’t want any woman to experience what my mom experienced.”

“Nor should any man experience what you experienced, Cameron…”

“Huh,” uttered Cam, looking upwards, his eyes wet with tears. He couldn’t stop crying. Tears were flowing and flowing and flowing, flowing like a waterfall. Another weird thought came to him:
I always liked waterfalls.
He remembered climbing one once, slipping and sliding on the wet rocks, the cold spray soaking his face, his body. But when he’d made it to the top the feeling was sweet. He’d looked down over the edge and felt like he’d really accomplished something.
Shit happens
, he thought.
It’s not what happens to you; it’s how you deal with it that matters.
That thought made him feel a little better about what was happening right now.
Maybe James was right. Maybe he needed to get this shit out.
He wiped his tear streaked face with his hand. “Got any Kleenex?” he asked.