Perfectly Broken (24 page)

He softened his approach. “Look, I thought about telling you lots of times.” He reached out to her bloody lip. “What the hell happened?”

“That doesn’t matter, either,” she said, pulling away from him. “You didn’t tell me. I can’t trust you. I never could.”

“Of course you can,” he said, reaching out again. “Let me look at that cut.”

She pulled back again, sobbing. “I actually thought you loved me — that we could make a life together!”

“We can,” Reed promised. “We will.”

“No!” she snapped, an angry fire in her eyes. “Not after this! Not after keeping this from me!”

He reached out his hand. “Baby, please, just let me explain.”

“How can I ever believe another word out of your mouth? You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I just couldn’t tell you. And with your past, I didn’t really know how to tell you.”

Peyton’s entire body tightened, every muscle tense. “I’m so stupid. I told you
everything
.”

“I know you did,” Reed said, “and that means a lot to me.”

“Just get out,” she said, her eyes drawn and sad. “We’re through.”

“No, we’re not!” Reed fired back, panic setting into his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he was afraid — not walking the dark streets of New Orleans, not picking up Jeremiah in the projects, not riding out hurricanes. But he was afraid now. He felt his knees buckle. He closed his eyes, praying for a way to make this right, to fix it, that he somehow wouldn’t lose her. “Let me talk to you. Tell you everything. Give me a chance.”

“You had your chance,” she said, looking back down at the iPad, “and you blew it.”

“I didn’t blow anything!” he cried. “Why won’t you listen? You are not going to push me away. Not over this. I will
not
lose you over this.”
Gram warned me you’d push me away.

“You already did,” Peyton said coldly, glaring up at him. “Now get out.”

“No!” Reed yelled.

She threw her hands in the air. “What do you want from me? I gave you everything.”

“Not
everything
,” Reed snapped.

Peyton stormed off her bed towards him, stopping a mere inch from his face. “And thank God for that because then you would’ve fucked me twice.”

Reed swallowed hard, her bloody lip in plain view, her sharp words like a dagger aimed at his heart. He saw her clenched fists and cold eyes, too. His eyes watered, and he turned away, damned if he’d cry in front of the only woman he ever loved — not like this, not now.
It’s hopeless
.

He hustled down the stairs and found Quinn waiting in the foyer. He wondered whether he should’ve listened to her — to let Peyton cool down. But it was too late for second-guessing. It wouldn’t do any good now. The game was over.

“Just give her some time,” Quinn said.

Reed shook his head. “Take care of her for me.”

PEYTON SWITCHED TO
autopilot. It was easier that way, and also less embarrassing. She refused to talk to Quinn or anyone else about what happened. She had no energy left to get into it all, to relive it again in words – that Reed hadn’t been fully honest; his father was garbage; his mother was a doormat; and perhaps, once again, she’d overreacted to a man who seemed to care for her, even love her.

So she tried not to think about any of it, and talking about it wasn’t going to make it any better. She’d done so much talking with Quinn and Dr. Lorraine about her problems for so many years — exploring the reasons why she was broken, trying to come to terms with herself, and hoping to get better — and yet after all that talking, all that work, she now found herself alone again and even more broken than before — and broken-hearted, too.

Her lip healed over the next few days, but she was still busted up, worn out, tired of fighting a losing battle, realizing at last she was never going to heal inside. It was like her scar had spread over her entire body. So she welcomed back her oversized shirts and baggy sweatpants and kept to herself, making sure to keep each day exactly the same — running in Audubon Park, working long hours at her shop, deleting Reed’s messages without listening to them, then returning home to her cotton pajamas. There was a certain comfort in that. She resolved she was done with talking, opening up, exploring, trusting, and all that other bullshit. There was no comfort in any of that. With a heavy heart, Peyton went to her usual Monday appointment, intent on making it her last.

“It’s been a few weeks since we last met,” Dr. Lorraine said, noticing the frumpy clothes right away. “What’s been going on?”

“I didn’t come to talk about any of that,” Peyton said, her eyes cast down. “I just came to thank you for trying so hard, fighting for me for so long.” Her voice cracked. “But I can’t fight anymore. I just wanted to say ‘bye.’”

“OK,” Dr. Lorraine said flatly.

Peyton looked up, surprised. “That’s it? You’re not going to try to convince me to stay?”

“Nope.” Dr. Lorraine leaned back in her chair. “That’s not my job. It’s not my job to convince you to do anything.”

“I guess I didn’t use the right words. You’re not going to tell me you
want
me to stay?”

“What I want is for you to get better. I don’t want you coming here if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t see the point in it anymore,” Peyton said softly. “I don’t think I can get better.”

“OK.” Dr. Lorraine closed Peyton’s chart and leaned forward. “It’s been a long, hard road, and you’ve fought a good fight.”

Peyton paused for a moment, knowing she had fought hard, that she gave it her best shot. “I’m just so tired,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I’ve lost my parents, my grandfather, my body, Gram, and now Reed.” She pulled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. “I just can’t do this anymore.” She suddenly felt a soft hand on her shoulder and looked up to see her therapist on her knees with open arms.

“Come here, child.”

Peyton fell into her arms, and Dr. Lorraine hugged her tightly, like Gram would have weeks ago, through the dark muck of pain and grief. And Dr. Lorraine did so without offering any cheap assurances or meaningless advice. “It will be OK” was not part of her vocabulary; she was too honest, too blunt, for that. Many of her patients had turned the corner and went on to lead rich, successful lives, but some others – those for whom life was just too much – were simply not able to and gave in to their grief. And at this moment, holding Peyton in her large hands, letting them speak for her, Dr. Lorraine frankly wasn’t sure which way Peyton would go. After so many years of work, she’d never seen Peyton so sad, her whole body sobbing.

When the tears finally slowed, Peyton pulled back, more than a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry I’m having a pity party.”

“Nonsense.” Dr. Lorraine smiled and handed her a tissue. “I’m just happy I was invited.”

Peyton gave a slight laugh then wiped her face. “God, I went full force into the ugly cry.”

“Crying is a beautiful thing. It releases pain and makes room for something new.”

“I guess I’ve got lots of room now.”

“You do.” Dr. Lorraine patted her patient’s knee then returned to her chair. “Do you still want to end our sessions?”

Peyton bit her lip, considering. “Not really.”

“Good, because we’re not finished yet. Plus, I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you, too.” Peyton dabbed her eyes. “You’ve always been with me.”

“
That’s
my job.” Dr. Lorraine winked at her. “Let’s stop all this messing around and carrying on here.” She re-opened the chart. “You want to tell me what happened with Reed?”

Peyton didn’t want to but knew she needed to. So she went through the funeral, beach trip, fight with Heather, and break-up with Reed. And all the while, Dr. Lorraine just listened intently, her hands perfectly folded on the chart.

“Let’s just get this out of the way first,” Dr. Lorraine said. “This Heather person is a cunt. A big, fat cunt.” Peyton burst out laughing. “So if it’s OK with you, I don’t want to spend time talking about her. There’s nothing you can do about a cunt.”

“That’s fine,” Peyton said, biting her tongue not to laugh again. “We don’t have to talk about her.”

“Good, because I don’t have time for cunts. And sadly, child, they’re everywhere.” Dr. Lorraine waved her hands around. “Just all over the damn place.” Dr. Lorraine took a few deep breaths to settle herself. “Anyway, it’s Reed’s job to deal with Heather, not yours. We’ve got no time for her. I want to talk about Reed.”

“He wasn’t honest with me,” Peyton said quickly. “I told him so many things, and he didn’t do the same. He even admitted he didn’t tell me because of my past. Obviously he thinks I’m damaged in some way — that I couldn’t handle it.”

“How would you have handled it?” Dr. Lorraine asked. “If he’d told you himself?” Peyton looked away, having not thought about that. “And why didn’t you give him a chance to tell you his side? To explain?”

“Because it wouldn’t have mattered,” she said simply. “I can’t trust him.”

“Do you think he might’ve been scared to tell you?”

“Yes, but I was scared to tell him about my rape,” Peyton said, nodding her head to make the point, “and I did it anyway.”

“Do you think he might’ve been scared you would’ve judged him?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Peyton insisted. “Never.”

“But you’re punishing him for something his father did?”

“No, I’m punishing him for not being honest with me.”

“Do you think Reed has made that distinction?” Dr. Lorraine sat up in her chair and looked directly at Peyton. “Or do you think he’s used to people making judgments about him because of his father?”

Peyton shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son,” Dr. Lorraine muttered to herself. “I think that’s in the Bible somewhere.”

Peyton gave a confused look. “Huh?”

“Honey, what was your first impression of Reed?”

“A player.”

“Right, he was what people expected him to be. And all the time protecting himself, never letting any woman get too close, hiding himself.”

“No, I think he just liked a lot of women.”

“He hides just like you hide.” Dr. Lorraine eyed her baggy clothes. “Peyton, are you scared of Reed? Do you think he’s like his father?”

“Not at all. He’s patient and gentle and ....” She stopped, not wanting to focus on all she’d lost.

“Do you think he’s keeping other secrets? Or lying to you about anything else?” Peyton opened her mouth quickly to answer, but Dr. Lorraine interrupted. “Now be honest with yourself.”

“No, he’s a terrible liar. I’d know if he was.” Peyton thought for a moment. “So you think I was wrong?”

“I think you should’ve listened to him, then decided. But you got scared and ran. Pushed him away.”

Peyton stiffened her spine. “But he
still
wasn’t honest. How can I ever trust him?”

Dr. Lorraine closed the chart again. “Listen up!” she barked, startling her young patient. “I know the game you play. Reed doesn’t, so he left not realizing this is what you do. Someone gets close to you, or you open up a little bit, and then you get scared, hide, look for a reason to push them away.” Peyton’s eyes began to tear, and Dr. Lorraine handed her another tissue. “The scared girl laying on the dirty ground helpless after losing her innocence.”

“Sometimes it’s better to push people away, so you don’t hurt them,” Peyton said, “and they don’t hurt you.”

“Bullshit!”

Peyton shook her head. “I’m never going to be whole again.”

“That’s bullshit, too. I won’t have talk like that, Miss Peyton. I just won’t have it.” Dr. Lorraine cocked her head to the side. “It’s time for a change in direction — a serious change of direction. This is what we are going to do. You made a lot of progress with Reed – lots of good oral and other stuff. But now you’ve cut him off, and I see you backsliding. I don’t like to see it. I won’t allow it.” She stroked her chin then cracked her knuckles in preparation for some great declaration. “I’m prescribing a little retail therapy.”

“What?” Peyton cried.

“Yes, that’s what I’m prescribing. You get that friend of yours, Quinn, and hit the shops – Canal Place, Magazine Street, St. Charles Avenue, wherever,” Dr. Lorraine ordered, her whole body bouncing. “I don’t want to see you in those sad, baggy ass clothes anymore. Just looking at them, they mess with my head, and they screw up my whole day. You ever think about how they make me feel?”

“No,” Peyton said with a laugh.

“Makes me sad. I hate them. So I want new shoes, clothes, athletic wear, undergarments! Everything new. Got it?”

“How is this therapy?”

“Honey, you’re hiding again. You’ve flipped your sex switch back to off, and I’m not about to let it hibernate in some frozen tundra again for years. We’ve worked too damn hard. You need to get in touch with your sexuality without a man helping you do it.
You
have to do it. And clothes are the perfect place to start.”

Peyton shrugged. “I don’t feel like it.”

“You don’t feel like it? Tough shit! I didn’t feel like getting my pap smear last week, but I did.”

Peyton smiled. “It just seems like a waste of time and money.”

“Well, if you don’t want to do it through clothes, I can prescribe something else. Maybe a pole dancing class?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Or daily masturbation?”

Peyton rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll get the clothes.”

“Good,” Dr. Lorraine said, writing in Peyton’s chart, as if filling out a prescription to take to the drugstore. “Among other things, I want you to get some power panties.”

“Power panties?”
Has she been talking to Bret?

“Sexy underwear,” Dr. Lorraine said, still writing. “They can make a woman feel very powerful.” She put down her pen and looked at Peyton. “When a man wants to be taken seriously, he usually wears a red tie. Ever notice that in presidential debates? Lots of red ties. Red is the color of power.” Dr. Lorraine waved her hand and snapped her fingers. “So get yourself some red panties, girl! Take back your power! Do it for yourself!” She handed Peyton her prescription.

“I didn’t realize my power was in my underwear.”