Page 91
Doreen looks at me steadily. “Exactly. The fantasy isn’t your problem; it’s the extremity of your fixation on it. Who is it who won’t let you find sexual satisfaction any other way?”
Me. She means me.
And only at this moment do I realize Doreen has been building to this moment for a very long time.
I grab my purse. “This is over. ”
“This session, or our counseling relationship?”
She said this knowing I might break from her permanently. Right now I want to. But I’ve found too much solace here in the past to let Doreen go that easily.
“For now,” I say. “But I’ll be back. ”
I go out the door without waiting to hear her reply.
As I walk to my car, trembling, I think of what I meant to talk with Doreen about. We weren’t supposed to unearth the roots of my fantasy today. We were supposed to talk about this weekend. What Jonah wants from me. How much further we’re going than ever before.
It doesn’t matter. No matter what Doreen said today, it wouldn’t have stopped me.
What Jonah asks of me, I’m going to give.
Preparations:
I set up an automatic e-mail response at both my school and personal accounts, letting everyone know I won’t be able to reach them until Monday morning at the earliest.
I tell Carmen that Jonah is “taking me away for a weekend,” just to a cabin in the state park, nothing major. She thinks it’s something romantic and sweet; more to the point, she won’t worry about me. Won’t look for me.
Kip hears that we might go hiking, Jonah and I. Although he raises an eyebrow at my choice of recreational activities, he believes me. Why wouldn’t he? That way, when I come back to the office next week, Kip won’t think anything if I’m scratched or bruised.
Water the plants. Pack an overnight bag.
And on Friday, I drive to the place where I’ll be held captive.
• • •
I want to kidnap you, Jonah said.
I want to keep you tied up, away from the rest of the world, for days. I want to use your body in every way it can be used, over and over, until you can’t take it anymore. But you’ll still have to take it. And I want you to know there’s no place you can run to, no one who will hear you.
You will be completely mine.
When we could think straight again after that, we worked out the logistics. As aroused as I am by the thought of Jonah actually grabbing me and dragging me into his car, we can’t risk it. We might easily be seen, which means someone could either call the police—or worse, play vigilante, which could get Jonah arrested, badly hurt, or even killed. The places where we live offer some privacy, but I’m too familiar with them. Too comfortable. Both of us want the illusion of ultimate control to be as complete as possible.
So Jonah found a place, a rental cabin near the edge of the state park. He’s given me an address and a time to show up there Friday afternoon. By another hour on Sunday, he’ll set me free.
The rest is completely unknown to me. I’ll be in Jonah’s hands.
I wear the clothes I bought at the thrift store specifically to be destroyed—a faded cotton skirt, a T-shirt too thin for November weather. While I can’t saunter in carrying my suitcase without destroying the illusion, I’ve packed a duffel bag Jonah will bring inside from my car at some point. It contains a change of clothing for Sunday and my cell phone. Anything else I need, or want, I’ll have to earn.
This late in the season, we’re probably the only ones who’ve rented a cabin for the weekend. Even if we weren’t, none of the other cabins are within three miles. Every minute I drive reminds me of how remote our location is. How all-encompassing this fantasy will be. My palms are sweaty against the wheel of my car. Songs play on the radio but I don’t hear them. There’s only my pulse, my nervousness, and my desire.
Sunset stripes the sky violet and orange as I reach the cabin. Gravel crunches beneath my tires while I take the long, narrow road away from the highway and the rest of civilization. Finally I see the cabin—a small, rustic place with bare-wood walls and a low ceiling—and Jonah’s sedan parked in front.
He will have heard me pull up. That’s his cue.
I get out of my car. My legs feel weak and wobbly beneath me. I drop my keys on the hood of my car, turn away from the cabin, and listen. Every rustle of leaves in the trees makes my ears prick, and—not for the first time—I think, This is crazier than anything else you’ve done. You’re crossing a line. Are you ready for that?
Then I hear the cabin door open, and I run.