TUESDAY MORNING CATFIGHT WITH JESSICA
I wake up Tuesday morning in a jealous rage, knowing that Wednesday evening is Jessica's weekly appointment with our therapist. I know their appointment thirty hours from now won't be a clinical session, but will be a 50-minute sex session.
I know I can't stand another week of sharing my therapist with Jessica. Not with anyone ..... but especially not with Jessica.
I know that so far, my therapist has enjoyed being in the middle of a triangle, Jessica and I competing with her, and fighting over her. I know that has made the career-jeopardizing sex happen, and has made it hotter than it would have been. I know the sex has been the best I've had in my relatively inexperienced, sheltered, rural Kentucky-bred life.
But I can't stand sharing with, of all people, that bitch Jessica. I've already beaten her in a fight.
I text her.
<> Cancel tomorrow's appointment.
<> And disappoint the horny doctor?
<> I'll get her off. Like I did last night.
<> I think I do it better.
<> I have more of a connection with her.
<> She's capable of telling me that. If she wants to. Which she doesn't.
<> She gets turned on being fought over. Let's do that today. But if I win, you cancel.
<> But what if I win? You saw her last night.
<> Too bad for you. I won our first fight.
<> I can't fight today. I have to work tonight.
<> Liar. The restaurant you hostess at is closed Tuesday's.
<> Stalker.
<> Chickenshit. I would never lie out of a fight with YOU, Jess.
<> Fine. Come over. We fight today, Meg.
<> You cancel if I win.
<> We'll see.
<> Yes. You will.
<> Why aren't you in your car yet?
I throw on some jeans, but regret it while sitting in the car. My crotch is stll sensitive from getting fingered as hard by my therapist as I was last night. Four fingers seemed so enticing in the moment, but I realize I didn't sleep right last night and my appetite hasn't returned, my stomach still feeling queasy.
I realize how inexperienced I am in relationships, that I've never had nightly sex in my first 25 years. How pathetic is that? Will I ever have that with my therapist? How is it going to be possible for her to keep her license and live with a former patient? How would I trust her with other patients, knowing the lines she crossed with me? Are Jess and I even the first patients she's done this with?
I show up at Jessica's door a taut ball of jealousy and self-doubt. I'm the 18 year old uncertain high school senior who got bullied by my teammate all over again. Jessica opens her door, and must read my uncertainty in my body language. She pulls me into the foyer, grabs my hair at the crown of my head, and pushes my face as hard as she can into her bare knees, her mini-skirt much more amenable to kneeing and kicking than my too-tight jeans.
This is the first fight of my life where I didn't get in the first blow, and I immediately feel the weight of the consequences of that stautus in my limbs. I feel Jessica throwing my body around like a ragdoll in her foyer, unable to sense left from right or, eventually, up from down. I flail and grab with my fists, torturing my knuckles and thumbs with direct blows on walls, closets, door handles, and, increasingly frighteningly, throw carpets and floor tiles. I sense that Jess has thrown me to the floor, and that my nose has split open. I taste iron in my mouth, and realize I'm tasting blood from the back of my own nose. I take solace that I don't feel Jess mounting me, but only briefly, as I then realize she is standing and kicking my mid-section at her pleasure with hard-bottomed boots. She goes for my sore crotch, and I sense myself screeching and the crying, but only by the dryness and scratchiness in my throat. My ears are ringing like they do when I play music with headphones to loud and too long.
Jessica is too far away from me for my hands to get a grip on any part of her. The bitterest pill of all is that I've done hardly anything at all to her this entire fight.
Jess is still kicking me when she dials her cellphone.
<> 9-1-1
<> I need police right away. An intruder is in my home.
<> What address?
<> 907 Falstaff.
<> Are you safe now?
<> I have her subdued. But please hurry. Pleeeeeease....
<> Stay on the line, ma'am.
<> I'll try ...... <<<<<beeeeeeeeeeeeep>>>>>
Jessica continues kicking me. Then stops. I can barely blurt out to her:
<> You dumb ass, Jess. You invited me over. We texted this morning.
<> But you won't tell the cops that, NOW WILL YOU, MEG?
?
<> Why the hell not??
<> Because ..... then the doctor loses her license.
<<<<<We both think for a minute.>>>>
<> ....and neither of us wants that. RIGHT?
??
When I come to, I'm in the village holding cell, sore everywhere.
I'm allowed one phone call.
<> Cara?
Please ..... <<<weeping uncontrollably>>>> ..... I need your help. I got beat up.
<> I'll be right over. THIS .... I've gotta see.
To be continued.....
