25. Biology

Biology

M ara

Every day is a test of my will.

Do I have what it takes to go through the motions, hopefully create a bit of happiness for Olivia, be supportive of Zale, find a bit of peace, escape the pain, make it to bedtime. Sex, maybe. My only source of peace. My only path to temporary oblivion. My dependence on Zale to give it to me, but he doesn’t, not nearly often enough. Dig my nails into my thighs. Think about cutting, where could I hide it? I want to take a knife and slice my chubby arms into ribbons.

I get ice instead.

I hate myself.

Over the next few days, I dove into my DBT book, reviewed my notes from my therapy appointments, wrote out lists of soothing activities and distracting activities, things that might help with distress intolerance.

What a great phrase. No words ever invented better described a state of mind.

I color-coded my cue cards, cooked breakfast, fed the cat, homeschooled Olivia, called my mother, (thankfully, she’d been friendly lately), checked in with Bex and Willa, made lunch, stripped the beds, finished the laundry, sat in front of my blank computer screen waiting for innovation to strike, cooked dinner, fed the cat, cleaned the kitty litter, made it through to the next day. Repeat.

It was Wednesday, this time a week and three days had passed since we’d last made love. Okay, I’d had my period in there, but still, it was a long time. I felt numb. No sex at all might be better. This numbness was more comfortable than the hunger, but I was aware I was doing the zombie thing Rebecca had done when she lost her husband.

I practiced my progressive body relaxation meditation morning and night for the past several days. It helped, but I found it hard to pay attention to the words instead of the thoughts in my head. I brought my attention back to the meditation time and again, but I couldn’t attend to it. Variety would help, I thought. I downloaded an app on my phone so I could have choices.

Radical Acceptance was the key idea in my workbook that I kept coming back to over and over again. Radical Acceptance, an acknowledgement of reality as it is, not fighting it, complaining about it, or resisting it, just stating how things are, and realizing they are like that because of the million different events that came before, making it impossible for things to be any other way. That didn’t mean change couldn’t happen. It could. But it helped to acknowledge what was, to determine your starting point, before you could move forward to what could be.

I wrote my radical acceptance statement on a cue card,

I have BPD because of certain childhood events and issues in my family of origin. Due to a lack of resources to healing and processing, combined with my genetic vulnerability, this could not be any other way.

I took another cue card and wrote,

My relationship with my mother is what it is today because of a million reasons and events that have happened up until this point.

This statement was particularly liberating, it freed me from the feeling of responsibility and weakened the guilt-induced drive to mend any rifts in our relationship. Rifts she caused with her criticism and constant trampling of my boundaries. I put the cards away in my desk drawer and went looking for Olivia .

“Livvy? Little bird, you want to go swimming with Mommy and Auntie Bex?”

“Now?” her voice came from the direction of her bedroom.

“Leaving in an hour. What do you think?”

“Can I bring my mermaid tail?”

Bex bought her and Amelie ridiculously sparkly lycra tails with giant flippers. Olivia swam like a little fish in it. Wearing it, she was impossibly charming.

“Yes, you can bring your tail.”

“Okay, then.”

I let Bex know we’d meet her at the pool and went about the hour-long procedure of extracting Olivia from the house.

At the pool, the warm water soothed us both. I took pictures and videos of Olivia swimming in her tail and sent them to Zale at work. He missed her during his long days, and he loved to see her out and about. Bex and I put in our laps early and were now treading water in the deep end, our laughter making it more difficult than it needed to be.

“Anyway, then Cole walks in and now they’re both standing there in our bedroom doorway asking Rhys why he’s lying on top of me. Rhys is trying desperately to cover our sides with the blankets and keep his bare ass covered at the same time. He can’t get up because he’s got a massive erection, which was still inside me by the way, but believe me when I tell you, he was losing it fast, and Amelie takes a step toward us. He starts yelling like we’ve got some sort of plague and startles her so bad she starts to cry.”

Bex choked with laughter to the point it was hard to make out all her words, and I could barely breathe. All the old biddies in the pool were glancing at us, half looking scandalized, half smiling, probably reliving similar situations in their memories, and Bex was too loud by half.

She continued. “So, the dogs hear the racket and run in, barking their high-pitched barks, and Rhys just drops his head on my shoulder and we both start shaking with laughter.” She took a breath. “Then Cole, God bless him, says, ‘Are you guys having private fun?’ Rhys meets his eyes with such relief and says, ‘Yes, son.” Cole gets this mini-Rhys smirk on his face, takes his sister’s hand, and leaves the room.” She wiped her eyes. “I don’t even know what he knows but he knows something.”

“He’s Rhys’s son. He was born with the knowledge. I’m sure of it.”

It felt so good to laugh, happiness bubbled and popped inside me. Bex’s face was red from embarrassment and laughter.

“So, what happened with Amelie?”

Bex smiled big again. “Rhys and I went to her afterwards and he started to say something to her. She holds up her little hand in a stop sign and says, ‘No, Dad, just no. This is Mom’s job.’ I nearly swallowed my tongue, and the look of joy, I mean, pure joy, on Rhys’ face when he turned to look at me was comical.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“I started to, but she just says, ‘Cole told me. It’s all good.’ I still don’t know what they know but I imagine we’re going to have to explain a few things, age appropriate of course, and set up some boundaries, like, don’t pick the lock on mommy and daddy’s bedroom door!”

I smiled at her happiness. “I’m happy for you, Bex.”

“I’m happy for me, too.” She studied me suddenly. “Now, how about you? How are you doing?”

I locked my feelings down as best I could. “I’m doing okay. Working hard at my therapy, you know…”

“How are things with Zale?”

“Well, there’s not much chance of anyone walking in on us.” I winced. I hadn’t meant to say anything.

“You guys are having problems?”

Shame barreled in. I wanted Zale to want me the way Rhys wanted Rebecca, but that wasn’t for the likes of me. I didn’t think I was the type to elicit those feelings in a man. I was missing that fundamental something, that elusive element that women like Bex had. I told myself I should be grateful for what I had, but my failures shamed me .

“I can’t talk about this,” I muttered, not wanting anyone to overhear my shame, not wanting Rebecca to know my husband didn’t want me. The bubbles of happiness popped and the morning star in my chest grew heavy and wicked sharp.

She squeezed my hand, and her sympathy pierced my heart. I didn’t want it. Not for that. I so desperately wanted to be beautiful. Wanted. Pursued. Treasured.

She changed the subject, and we were soon laughing again, exchanging silly stories, remembering things from our shared past, and then we played with Olivia.

When the pool emptied, I peeled the tail off of Olivia under the water, leaving her in just her swimsuit. I gathered Olivia’s towels to be ready for her as soon as she got out. I wrapped her up and settled her on the bench to dry off and stay warm. Once the towels absorbed most of the excess water, she could handle the changing room. We’d both shower at home. I preferred to shower the chlorine off right away, but she couldn’t tolerate the echoing of the changeroom.

She was wrung out when we got home, especially after her warm bath. I made her macaroni and cheese and put on her movie while I took a long, hot shower. I didn’t allow my thoughts to go to Zale and his rejection of me. I scrubbed my skin with my loofah until it stung, quickly dried and dressed, threw my long hair up in a ponytail, and snuggled into the blanket nest with Olivia until the end of her movie. Then we finished her schoolwork for the day .

That night, Zale slipped into bed beside me, leaned over and snatched the book out of my hands.

“Hey!” I snapped. “I’m reading that!”

He pushed his arm under my lower back and pulled me down the bed, covering me with his big, warm body, his elbows on either side of my head, his hands gentle in my hair. I turned my face to the side and closed my eyes, not wanting him to see my broken heart.

“Mara, look at me, baby.”

I shook my head. He squeezed my head lightly. “Look at me.”

I opened my eyes to find him right there, looking at me, love and concern etched onto his handsome, serious, face.

“I love you, baby, you’ve got to start believing that.”

I tried to close my eyes and turn to the side, but he didn’t let me turn my head. “Look at me,” he hissed. “I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you!”

A tear slipped past my defenses, and he caught it with his thumb. “I’m not wantable.”

“What?” he snorted in disbelief. “Did that man at the bar not want you?”

“He thought I was easy.”

Zale’s face darkened and his voice rumbled out like thunder. “What the fuck did he say to you? ”

My eyes widened. “Nothing, he just asked me to have a drink with him.”

“So why would you think he thought you’d be easy?”

The words locked in my throat. My eyes overflowed.

“Look at me,” I whispered.

“I’m looking,” he whispered back. “I don’t think I see what you see.”

He pressed his lips to mine, a soft kiss, a sweet and tender closed-mouthed brushing of lips. Testing his welcome, stirring my response.

I tried not to respond. I tried not to feel. I wanted to stay numb. Numb offered its own reprieve. I felt him growing hard against my hip and I moaned against his lips even as I opened my legs to invite him in.

He pressed his erection against me, eliciting another hungry moan. “Does this feel like you’re not wantable?”

“Biology,” I murmured.

“Biology,” he snorted. He rolled away from me, walked to our door, locked it, then turned on his bedside lamp.

“No lights,” I snapped.

“Yes, lights,” he clipped back at me. “Fuckin biology, she says. ”

He slipped his fingers into the waistband of my pajama pants and worked them down over my ample hips and chunky thighs and tossed them onto the floor. My underwear soon followed. He tugged my hand to pull me to sitting and yanked my tank up over my head then tossed it to the floor. I immediately wrapped my arms around my belly, but he grasped my wrists and pulled me up to my knees in the middle of our bed.

“Stay put.”

He climbed out and rid himself of his clothing and then knelt behind me on our bed, his hands going to rest on my hips, his mouth dropping kisses across my back and down my spine, pushing me forward onto my hands.

My breath escaped in a pant, a combination of nerves and desire. I felt him hard against my ass as he moved back up and stroked his hands along my back and down my sides, up and down, back and forth, soothing me, relaxing me. I felt my back dip toward the bed, my pelvis tilting in invitation. He nudged my opening, teased me with short shallow thrusts that further tore down my resistance, but refused to take me fully.

He pulled out and circled around to kneel in front of me. With his hand in my hair, he pulled my mouth to his cock, and I opened to receive him, tasting myself on his skin.

I heard his sharp inhale and I leaned further into him, taking him to the back of my throat, feeling my power over him, feeling his desire for me. My chest filled with warmth, and I smiled inside .

He gently pulled back on my hair and pressed his forehead against mine, kissed my cheek, then guided me back to kneeling in front of him. He moved in close, spread his legs wide to bring us closer in height, and slid his erection along my slick, swollen folds. His engorged head bumped over my clit as he rubbed against me over and over, his dark eyes holding mine, trying to communicate something I was unable or unwilling to receive.

I grasped his ass to keep him close, and my head dropped back.

This was bliss.

He wrapped his arms around my back and kissed me hard on my mouth, forcing my lips open under his, delving inside, his tongue mimicking the action of his hips. He arched my back over his arm, and he licked and sucked along my throat.

I cried out when I lost him at my clit as he bent to my breasts, wrapping one arm behind my back, his other hand at my breast, his mouth at its twin. I entwined my fingers in his hair, encouraging him to keep going with my moans and hums of pleasure. Grasping my wrists, he pulled my hands from his hair, pulled me with him as he lay down on his back, then pulled at my thigh.

“Get on my face, Mara,” he ordered.

This position challenged my courage. After the first couple of blissful seconds, I would start to doubt if he wanted me there or not. I hesitated.

“Up, Mara,” he ordered .

I straddled his mouth. It was more embarrassing to protest when I knew I’d give him whatever he asked for. He yanked me down hard, his arms wrapped around my thighs, holding me open for his lips and his tongue.

Nothing felt better than his mouth on my pussy. I tried to hold back but the pleasure became too much, and I found myself rubbing against his mouth and chin, my hands on the headboard, trying not to make too much noise.

I heard a low hum coming from him. Looking over my shoulder I saw him, swollen and engorged, thrusting lightly into the air.

He slapped me lightly on my thigh. “Off. I want you coming on my cock.”

He guided me to straddle his hips. I was so close, I needed no prodding.

“Take what’s yours, Mara.” He grasped my hand and wrapped it around himself. “You do this to me. This is yours. Only yours. You understand me?”

I nodded, trying to slide myself over him. He resisted.

“Mara, look at me.”

I met his eyes, struggling to hear him over the pounding rush of pleasure and need coursing through my body.

“Yes, Zee?” I breathed .

He slid his hands into my hair and pulled my face close to his own. “I am like this for you and you alone. No one else does it for me. Only you. Always you. I’m yours, only yours, forever yours.”

Tears slid down my cheeks and he kissed them away. He shifted his hips, finally, and entered me. The same relief, the same sense of homecoming and belonging and all's right with the world that I always felt when we joined together flooded my system. He locked his arms around my back and hips holding me immobile while he kissed me, building the tension back up to where it was moments before.

I felt the first slight tremor and gasped, “Zee, honey, I need to move.”

He released my back but kept his hands on my hips. I reared back, finding the perfect angle to drag that swollen head across my sweet spot. Moments later I cried out quietly as I came and he thrust lightly taking me through it before wrapping his arms around me and fucking me in earnest, emptying his seed inside me with a soft grunt.

I loved his noises. They hit me in my belly, in my heart, and gave me a braingasm.

He kept his arms around me, moving them up around my back, to cradle me against his chest, whispering I love yous. He continued stroking up and down my back, along my sides, sweeping my long hair away from my face, kissing the top of my head, my temple, the curve of my neck where it met my shoulder.

I fell asleep on top of him.

There was no attack.

He left no room for it.