***
I have no idea how to help Jessica. Not a fucking clue. But I banged this therapist a few times some months back and she would go on and on about the people she was treating before we fucked. I even gagged her at one time to shut her up. Maybe she can give me some insight into what I am dealing with and how to go about it.
I dial Hilary’s number, hoping it’s not too late for her to answer.
“Bobby, ready for another therapeutic session, baby?” she coos, her voice smooth and seductive. I smirk; this girl could use some therapy herself.
“I need some advice on how to go about something,” I reply, ignoring her advances.
“Like what, hun?” she asks sweetly, her sultry tone gone.
“There’s this girl. She has been through an abusive relationship; just an overall shitty past. She was married to a man who sounds like a sadistic fucker. He made her a sex slave basically, abusing her if she disobeyed. She’s haunted by it and can’t escape the memories of what she had been through,” I explain.
“Sounds like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” she answers quickly. I lower my head, running my hands through my hair. Shit, I am out of my league here.
“Okay, how do I help her?” I question. I have heard of the term but know nothing about it.
“Therapy is an option. Medication can help,” she rambles as if she is in therapist mode. I know Jessica and she either has already tried those, or is too stubborn to ask for help.
“What else ya got?”
“Hmm. You could try exposure therapy. I have had a bit of luck with that one. Plus, you would love the benefits of it,” she giggles, her tone back to slutty.
“What the fuck is it?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“You will expose her to what she is fearing. Replace her bad memories with good memories. For example, if you’re scared of the dark, you send the patient into the dark. In a safe setting of course. You wouldn’t throw them in the middle of an alley at night and tell them good luck. You would start in a bedroom with you guiding them, comforting them along the way,” she explains further. “So in your circumstance, you will introduce her to a sexual setting outside of her comfort, teaching her how to make it comfortable and pleasurable again. But I’m warning you, I have seen patients become very agitated, and physically violent with this type of therapy,” she warns.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“If she rejects the treatment, it could do more harm than good, and if this woman means anything to you, you could lose her permanently,” she mutters, her tone stern and professional.
“Thanks for the information, Hilary,” I reply.
“Good luck, babe. If you need me give me a shout,” she adds before hanging up.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself. I’m scared shitless. I’m not going to lie. There is a big possibility that I will do more damage than good, and become the Devil Jessica thinks I am.
Jessica
I wake up feeling a little lighter than usual this morning. Maybe it’s because I told Bobby some of my past; things I have tried to forget about but don’t seem to be vanishing. Like they say, the truth will set you free. I smirk, and roll out of bed. Shit, today I meet my mother for lunch. Despite the things that have happened with my father and Travis in my past, I still speak to my mother. When I would show up at my parents’ house years ago wearing long sleeves in the summer, or sunglasses in the dimly lit house, my father always acted as if it was normal behavior and turned a blind eye. My mother always looked at me warily, but never said anything.
I had thought she was just as cruel and greedy as my father, until the night I returned home from coming to the Devil’s Dust for help. My mother was at my house when I returned in the wee hours of the morning, concerned about where I had gone. I didn’t tell her of course. After ignoring her and tucking Addie into bed, she insisted she stay the night to make sure Addie and I were okay. The police showed up on my doorstep hours later, not giving me the chance to report my husband not returning home from work.
They asked me a million questions, but the person who saved my ass was my mother. She gave me an alibi. Said I was with her scrapbooking. She even got the housekeeper to confirm it. How? I don’t know. I never told her what happened with the club and Travis, but I think she knows I had something to do with Travis’s disappearance. I see her twice a month here in California for lunch, catching up on a few things and giving her time to see Addie.
I walk into the living room and find Addie watching cartoons on TV. Her hair is a blonde mess and she is still wearing pajamas, a bowl containing some leftover cereal and milk sitting on the coffee table.