Oske arrives three minutes late, but she doesn’t seem like she was late out of defiance. She glances around my empty office nervously before I assure her that everything she says to me is entirely confidential. My husband can’t force me to violatemy commitment to my profession, no matter how much he pressures me.
“I’m curious why you came in today,” I tell Oske as she sits down. “But I want you to view this session as an exploration of your inner world. I have no agenda and neither should you.”
“I’m here because I need help,” Oske says bluntly. She considers me curiously, unafraid of hiding her skepticism that therapy could be useful to her. As a black woman, I completely understand her hesitation to trust people in the field of mental health. It’s part of why I became a therapist. I never intended to end up in the custody of the bikers. I never expected to fall in love with Ethan.
But if I can use my connection to these chaotic (and sometimes downright demonic) white men to make a difference in the world, I’ll do pro bono work when it feels right. I find Oske’s self-awareness fascinating and not a common trait in the world of the bikers.
“What do you think you need help with? I’m surprised that you agreed to meet with me, especially since the bikers have the crazy idea you were involved with a situation you were nowhere near.”
I’m not playing a game by pretending to be on Oske’s side. Part of why I agreed to this meeting is because I’m fairly sure Oske had nothing to do with what they claimed. They can’t provide a motive. As a psychologist, I have a fair understanding of everyone involved and this doesn’t seem like a situation Oske would get involved in when she already has everything she wants from the club.
“I need someone to tell me why I’m so attached to this club of absolute idiots,” Oske says. “In fact, I need to understand why I feel like it’s my job to fix everyone around me. I have had plenty of chances to leave these men alone. I have everything I thought I wanted but… I’m still here. Still a bar wench in Oklahoma.”
I never knew that Oske thought of herself as “bar wench”, but I try to keep my internal reactions private so I can give her as much of my professional attention as possible. If I can provide her some insight into her own reactions, I would consider that a victory.
“We all have our reasons for doing things. Would you like to be somewhere else? You don’t have to view this session as here to fix you. There are other ways a therapist can support you.”
“I’m in a toxic relationship with this club,” Oske says bluntly. “I’m in a toxic relationship with myself. My whole life I dreamed of getting off the rez but the truth is… the happiest times in my life were chasing my brothers with a wooden spoon playing our stupid games…”
Oske has effortlessly tanned skin, the same shade as Salma Hayek’s. Her hair is even longer. I notice that she wears it in two equally parted braids for our session when normally she has it in a single braid or a ponytail. She seems to be missing this connection to her past, which I can honestly relate to as a black woman married into a club of dangerous outlaw bikers.
“It’s normal to have a strong connection to your past.”
“There’s nothing left there for me,” Oske says bluntly. “I have all the money I could ever need. I gave my brothers their share of land from my mother’s will. I should be able to leave and never look back.”
“Maybe there’s a sense of family keeping you here.”
“These white men arenotmy family. My brothers are… I act like they need me, but they don’t anymore. Wyatt promised to take care of them and ever since they started working for him, they’ve stayed out of trouble.”
Oske clearly feels a familial attachment to Wyatt, but it’s easy for me to understand why that would make her guilty too. I came late to the party, but I’ve hung around enough people in the club and heard snippets of the past to understand the gist of the story.Wyatt’s father did some dirt to the Native Americans out here and while he tried to make it right, the wounds still exist.
Wyatt’s sense of justice on an individual level doesn’t change the power dynamic and it doesn’t change Oske’s feelings about the matter. Everything here suggests Oske’s issues lately have been more about herself and how she fits within the organization. I don’t think she gives a crap about Magnum Sinclair, even if we have the rest of the session for me to probe further into that line of discussion.
I nod and wait for Oske to fill the silence. It’s a tactic that works well, even on the most recalcitrant.
“Why can’t I move on? It should be easy now. They’re accusing me of something I hadnothingto do with.”
“So you’re coming here for insight?”
“Yes. You can explain why people are so fucked up, right? I need answers.”
“You had nothing to do with Magnum and Damara?”
Oske rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Magnum might be a dick head, but I learned my lesson after KeyshawnmarriedDeacon. I thought she planned on getting a little extra cash and disappearing. I didn’t know I was full on trafficking her!”
She groans and leans her head back. “I swear, Dr. Yancey. Trouble finds me. Can I call you that, Amanda? I need to act like you don’t know me in real life so I don’t explode.”
“You can call me whatever makes you comfortable, Oske. We’re here to process.”
Process. Heal. Whatever you want to call it. Oske might not have participated, but maybe her understanding of the bikers will help discover who came up with this plot indirectly. I can be patient – good things come to those who wait.
Chapter Twenty
Magnum
Her body tenses up and eases towards mine as Damara edges towards release. No matter how much she wants to pretend that she can resist my touch, I can always push her to a climax. Damara’s body belongs to me entirely, and my craving to fill her up with my seed only heightens when she pushes me off and activates my primal need for physical domination.
I push Damara’s legs up far behind her head, pressing her in a vulnerable position that completely exposes her gushing flower to me as I slowly ease out of her pussy with my soaking wet dick. Watching my cock exit Damara’s pussy is almost enough to make me cum all on its own.
