I want to deny it. I want to say that he’s wrong and that I hated my father. But I didn’t, at least not growing up. I think I do now. I think the hate has choked out all the love. Because how could I love a man who did the things he did…?
“It’s not wrong for you to have grown up being confused about sex. The way your sexual education developed may have been unhealthy, or fucked up, as you say. The things that happened in that house were seriously fucked up.”
Hearing the words fucked up come out of Dr. Laghari’s clipped and slightly accented voice sounds wrong and oddly hilarious.
But I don’t laugh, if only because in all the years I’ve been coming to him, the doc has never gotten up and spoken to me so frankly. It feels like it goes against some shrink code and I go still.
“But none of that means you’re doomed to be just like your father. The kinks you like as far as your sexual appetite don’t mean you want to hurt or control women the way he did. We’ve talked extensively about how abuse is about control much more than sexual gratification. From everything you’ve told me, that sort of control and abuse is abhorrent to you. Inflicting pain without consent is one of your greatest fears. It’s all but a primal fear for you, you hate it so much.”
“But what if…” I trail off. Dr. Laghari is being so frank with me, fuck, it breaks something down and I finally ask the question that truly terrifies me. “But what if I secretly want it?” And after that all the other questions come pouring out. “What if I want to hurt them without their consent? What if I give in to it and find I like it too much? And I become a monster just like him?”
I expect Dr. Laghari to pull back. At the very least, I expect his features to became wary at this admission of my deepest fears. Because he’ll finally see me for what I am:
A monster lurking in a man’s skin.
But instead he laughs and shakes his head, clapping me on the back.
Fucking laughs.
“What the fuck, doc?” I jerk back from him.
But he’s still just shaking his head, a fond smile on his face. “Oh Dylan, Dylan. Shh, I will tell you something, but it’ll just be between us, all right?”
I nod, feeling bewildered.
He leans in and raises his hand to his mouth like he’s really going to tell me a secret. “You are not a sociopath. I’m old and I’ve met a few in my time. You aren’t one. You have the capacity to empathize with others. You worry about whether you’re hurting the people around you. By definition, that means you aren’t a sociopath.”
“You’ll be just fine.” He claps me on the back again. “See you next week, my friend. See you next week.”
I stumble out of his office, half confused, half more relieved than I’ve ever felt in my life. Is it really that easy? I just needed someone, a professional who knows what he’s talking about, to tell me I’m not a sociopath? And pow, I’m cured?
I’m still frowning as I walk toward my car but I have to admit, I do feel a fuck of a lot lighter than when I walked in.
Is it possible that I’m just… me? That I’m not my father’s creation, doomed from my very DNA? But if I thought that, then I’d have to believe the same of Darren, wouldn’t I? And he came out okay. Better than okay.
Jesus, I don’t know a more carefree person than my little brother. I love that damn kid. He’s not a kid anymore but to me, he’ll always be my little brother. I kept him from the worst of it, and that last, terrible revelation— I shudder. He’ll never know, not if I can keep it from him.
Both Dad and Mom are gone. Maybe the past really can finally be buried.
Easy for you to say. What about Chloe?
I pull out my phone and click ‘Contacts’. There’s Chloe’s number, just where it’s been all these years. Transferred from phone to phone as I upgraded over the years. Never dialed.
My thumb hovers over the call button.
When suddenly the phone buzzes with an incoming text message.
Saved by the text. I breathe out and switch over to look at the text.
It’s from Miranda.
There are three addresses with a short note under each.
The first says: Any night this week after 8pm except Fri. Key under the doormat.
The second reads: Tomorrow, 6-8. My car will be ‘stalled’ on the side of the road.
And the third: Friday. 11pm. Back alley behind Club Chandelier.
Followed by: My safe word is red.
My blood immediately fires red hot. My cock goes stiff and I’m completely fucking pissed. Is this what she would do with those fucking guys off the internet? Give them locations to ‘attack’ her? Did she let them know where the fucking key to her house is?