He’d thought about writing to Ben’s fiancée, but Sarah had talked him out of it. She was right of course. In a fit of pique, he’d defied her and sat down to write to Jennie – but he hadn’t managed a single word. All the things he wanted to say – I didn’t want to do it, I wish I could turn back the clock – all sounded so empty and pointless. What he wanted, what he felt didn’t matter to her. What mattered to her was the fact that he’d stabbed her fiancé in the face to save his own skin.
Had it been worth it? Peter wasn’t sure any more. After the adrenalin and shock had worn off, he’d felt nothing but a crushing emptiness, as if he’d lost his sense of taste, smell, touch, and was now merely existing rather than living.
What was he going to do with his life now? Could he go back to work? Would he be accepted? Anything would be better than going slowly crazy at home.
If only Ben had pulled the trigger. He could have done. He’d had the time. Did he hesitate because he was a chicken or because he was moral? If he’d pulled the trigger then it would be him drowning in a sea of guilt, whilst Peter would be safe and sound under the ground.
Selfish bastard.
Everybody has to draw the line some time. And for Jake that time was now. This was not pleasant or fun or even professional any more, it was a nasty situation that was getting out of control. He’d been with a client when she turned up, but she didn’t seem to care. She had sat outside his flat, face turned to the floor, whilst Jake finished his session. But the mood had been well and truly broken and he’d had to promise his disgruntled client a free session just to get him out of the door. This kind of thing wasn’t good for business – the S&M scene on the south coast is a small world and word soon gets around.
She apologized, but she didn’t mean it. She was incoherent and emotional. Jake wondered if she’d been drinking and asked her as much. She didn’t like that, reminding him that he was a dominator not a doctor. He’d let that one go, didn’t want to provoke her, and suggested a short, mild session today as a way of calming things down. Then perhaps they could talk.
But she wasn’t having any of that. She wanted a full one-hour, no-holds-barred session. She wanted as much pain as he could muster. More than that she wanted abuse – she wanted him to tell her that she was evil and ugly, a useless piece of shit, who should be killed or worse. She wanted him to destroy her.
When he refused she got angry, but he had to be honest. Some people he would have happily degraded – whatever floats your boat – but not her. It was not just that he liked her, it was also that he knew instinctively that this wasn’t what she needed. He’d often wondered if she took therapy elsewhere – if she didn’t he was tempted to suggest it. Rather than escalating their sessions to yet another level of extremity, Jake felt it was time to draw a line and suggest some complementary avenues for her to explore.