When I explain further, she turns into a cushion. “Perfect. Do you mind if I call you Dr. Downy?”
The crease for a mouth moves. “This interaction is confusing. I have no context in which to understand it.”
“We are emulating a therapy session. I am the patient, and you are my psychiatrist.”
“Thank you. I am ready to listen, evaluate, and give you excellent choices so you can think on them. Then, you will either improve your chances of a successful life or continue to do the same thing and return week after week without progress. Please tell me what is bothering you.”
I glance over at the bodyguard snoring softly. God, I would be mortified if he woke up and overheard this. “Hey, Wheels? You awake?”
His breath remains steady, and he doesn’t stir, so I begin. “Here’s the thing. According to everyone, I sabotage my relationships by telling my boyfriends I cheated on my husband.”
“I see. And how does this make you feel?” The meme raises her cotton-case brows.
Shaking my head, I cluck my tongue. “Sorry, that’s a bit too cliché.”
“Agreed. I’m new to this. Please continue.” As she blinks in wait mode, I swear I hear my bodyguard chuckle but when I turn, his eyes remain closed, and his chest moves up and down.
I lower my voice. “I’m tired of feeling guilty.”
“Then don’t.” At the unexpected live response, I jump a mile.
With my face red hot, I contemplate pulling to the curb and disappearing off the face of the earth, forever.
“Is this couples therapy?” The fake Dr. Downy causes both humans to respond in unison.
“No!”
After a few miles of dark road, Wheels places his hand on my upper thigh. “Stop feeling guilty. It does no good. Believe me, I know.”
“I’ve been trying. I’m stuck.” The whine I’ve used for years seems petty compared to a former SEAL. God knows what he’s done.
“Own up to who you were, what you had to do to survive.” His grip on my leg tightens and my girly parts take notice.
“There’s not much I can say. I had a little too much to drink, I was lonely, I was tired of being treated like shit, and I wanted to feel something other than misery.” I think back on the night I ruined my marriage for good and try to take responsibility for my actions.
“By then, I knew any positives in our relationship were in my head. I worked hard to imagine him as the man I fell in love with, but it was too late. The house of cards crumbled, and I had to face reality. I was stuck with an emotionally abusive man-child who I hated almost as much as I did myself.”
As I ponder the naked truth, truck lights in the opposite direction remind me of my surroundings. “Listen, I’m sorry. You’re just so easy to talk to.”
“Why didn’t you divorce him?”
“Seriously? I was in a foreign country and married to the Sicilian mafioso. Not only that, how could I admit to my family I failed? I’d be more of a black sheep than I am now.”
“Did he hit you?” The sexy man rubs my shoulders and as they drop away from my ears, I recall purple marks on my bicep.
“Not really. Sometimes he grabbed me too hard and left a mark but no physical violence.”
“Babe, you’re describing abuse.”
I glance off the road, catch his concerned gaze, and shrug. “I guess… but the real harm was much more subtle. He constantly put me down. I had to change my clothes, add a little makeup, remove a small stain on my blouse, and so on.”
“Over the years, it got worse, to the point I could do nothing right. Then, one day, I went on a retreat and met this man who hit on me. It had been so long since someone had said something nice to me, I went a little crazy. He made me feel beautiful. I drank a little and one thing led to another. I know there’s no excuse for having sex outside of marriage which is why I warned you off.”
Wheels stays quiet for a while. “Did you ever cheat before?”
“Paolo was my first and only. After we broke up, of course not. And now, I end all relationships before I fuck up. My therapist says it’s self-destructive.”
“Dr. Downy?” One corner of his mouth lifts in a grin and I have to laugh.
