"Sleep with whoever you want. Sleep in the guest room. Just never get caught, or I’ll be forced to play the victim."
Silence fell as the door slammed again. I peeked out and saw the groom finishing his cigarette, tossing the butt on the floor, and muttering to himself.
"She’s a whore," he spat before walking away. I decided to light a second cigarette, since I’d had to put out the first one to listen in.
Vanessa would be proud of the gossip I’d scavenged, but I knew she was currently "closing a deal" in one of the private rooms with a congressman. That was her code for a business-interest quickie.
The moment I saw the bride walk past me again, I noticed she was alone. She winked at one of the guests before slipping into the bridal suite. It was at that exact moment I decided I wanted that woman. It didn't matter if it took a year or ten.
The perfect opportunity would eventually come, and I would lock her in a room just to find out if those green eyes of hers rolled back when she came.
2009 - Present day
#3
“Now that it's over, I'm gonna carry on Lifted me up, and watched me stumble after the heartache, I'm gonna carry on” - Madonna
Icalmly analyze the office, taking in its neutral, earthy tones. The cushions support my back as I rest my hands on my knees, adjusting my posture. I take a deep breath, bracing myself to face my therapist once again. She is likely already formulating the next sentence designed to corner me.
"So... how do you feel about being in control?" she asked softly. "In our sessions, you constantly bring up the management of your hearings, your family dynamics, your marriage..." I took a long breath, searching my mind for a reason to continue with therapy that wasn't strictly tied to my career. I rested my index and middle fingers against my temples, watching her jot down what had to be my fifth outburst this month.
"It doesn't bother me at work," I stated. "In fact, as a judge, it wouldn't make sense not to want control." She nodded without a word. Damn therapists. “But more generally, I need that power to maintain my position. It’s how I preserve my routine and avoid unnecessary stress. We’ve already discussed Peter and the marriage. If it weren't for the prenuptial agreement, I’d be divorced by now, and in all likelihood bankrupt, because he would have sucked every cent out of our accounts.”
"So, to you, marriage is simply a contract between two parties?" she queried.
"Yes, exactly. This district is so conservative that I only secured enough support to be appointed to the bench once my father came up with the idea of the marriage. It was a calculated move after that scandal in my third year of law school, and Peter’s father owed my family a few favors. You know this already." She rested her pen against the arm of her chair, placing both hands on her knees as she looked at me with a raised eyebrow. It felt as if she could read every synapse firing in response to her provocations.
"Even if it meant sacrificing your sexuality?" she probed. I nodded, a brief flash of a college relationship with a beautiful woman crossing my mind.
"I don't find my sexuality to be an issue that immobilizes me. That would only happen if I weren't comfortable with the choice I made," I countered, frowning slightly. "I consider myself a non-practicing lesbian. Quite happy not to practice, actually." My laugh was a short, sharp burst of desperation.
"Define that for me..." she suggested, her eyes seemingly peering into my soul. "You’ve mentioned before that you enjoy films or series with characters who represent your orientation."
"That is exactly the 'non-practicing' part," I retorted, lacing my fingers around my knees and realizing the posture had become uncomfortable.
"Have you ever imagined your life as..." she paused, making air quotes with a kind smile, "...'practicing'?" I rested an elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand, reflecting. A few minutes of silence passed before I could formulate a response.
"Maybe I’d be a doctor. I’d marry a woman who loved to travel, and we’d have a real marriage. Sleeping in the same room, waking up at the same time." I shrugged, pulling myself back to reality. "But it isn’t possible. Relationships are weighed down by demands and emotional needs that I’m simply not willing to meet."
"So, lovers are out of the question as well?" she asked with the knowing look of someone who had been listening to my grievances for nearly three years.
"Even lovers didn't work out. Remember the assistant I had an affair with? I didn't even fall in love. It’s better to remain non-practicing."
"I remember you mentioning that she tried to blackmail you before things were even consummated," she recalled, pointing a finger as if remembering a dark joke.
"Yes! Exactly! More of that extreme sentimentality," I exclaimed, gesturing as if at a punchline. "She actually thought I’d pay that much money over some text messages. Too bad forher the burner phone wasn't in my name. There was nothing to link me to it."
"Were you sad?"
"Disappointed is a better word," I corrected. "I wanted sex. I wanted to relax. I wanted to come and wake up with a surge of serotonin in my blood." Her eyebrow arched in surprise. "I really did want us to have sex. She was attractive, friendly... I thought she might make a good mistress based on our conversations." My shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. "But they always say they won't get attached, and then they do. They want something, either emotional or financial. In her case, it was just a shame she wasn't smarter about it."
"Megan, you mentioned a pivotal meeting in New York in a few months. I think that would be an excellent time to reflect, in solitude, on how much control you truly want over your life and where you want to go. You’re at a crossroads, and there are paths worth exploring."
"That meeting is the primary reason I’m here," I admitted, thinking of the glass I’d shattered against the wall, specifically the one, where my husband had been standing. "Peter wants me to cancel and spend Christmas with his family." I let out a mocking laugh. "I am not trading a career-defining event that will solidify my name for a top DC appointment for his mother’s gingerbread cookies. The problem is, if I go to New York, the marriage is over. And if I leave him, there is no coming back for a divorced judge in this town."
"You’ve already decided you don't want to stay here. What is truly holding you back?" As I opened my mouth to answer, she raised her hand to cut me off. "Think about it calmly. You have time. If you need anything, call me."
I snorted in frustration, grabbed my bag, and marched out of the office. Walking to my car, I adjusted the rearview mirror, ensuring my security detail noticed me and was ready to follow.
