What a sight to behold. His torso was lined with clothespins and the pressure from the long amount of time they had been held there was causing the skin around them to become very red. I was standing in front of him holding the end of the strings that would pull them off collectively and was gently tugging on them to make the end of the clothespins move slightly...not much at all, really...but it was enough to make him wince.
He was breathing very heavily. Beads of sweat formed around his brow and he refused to look at me. His bound hands struggled against the steel shackles holding him in place to the St. Andrew's Cross he was displayed on.
"Please, Ma'am," he whispered. "Please, please, please..."
"Please, Mr. Birch? You know your pleas hold no bearing to me. ...and while I do appreciate your begging and pleading, it won't help you." I was trying not to laugh but I was definitely smiling. I was masked as usual so he couldn't tell and I was grateful for the fact that my cheesy grin was hidden.
He exhaled sharply and looked as if he was about to cry. Martin Birch had been coming to see me every Wednesday for about five years now. He was a recovering alcoholic and found that, along with "normal" therapy which he had Wednesday mornings, he found that my kind of therapy Wednesday nights helped as well.
"Please, Ma'am, I can't do it!" he exclaimed.
"Yes you can...and you will. This isn't so bad, Mr. Birch. I could always whip them off for you. Would you like that?"
"Uhhhhhh.....no, Ma'am."
"I'll take them off for you but soon. I just want you to suffer a little bit longer for me. Do you know how happy you make me when you suffer like this?"
He just continued to writhe in pain. I resigned to be nice and prepared to take them off. Getting into a better stance, I wrapped the ends of the strings around my fingers and made a fist around them in order rip the clothespins off in one felled swoop...kind of like a Band-Aid.
"Okay, Mr. Birch. They're going to come off now because you've obviously suffered enough. Are you ready?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good boy. Okay, one...t..."
I couldn't even get the word "two" out of my mouth and, all of a sudden, the door to the dungeon flew open and in burst Marisa with the cordless phone in her hand. All bubbly and smiley as always, she said, "Mother! Phone call...."
Now, unfortunately, I was so inside my own head at that point, I turned around quickly and, forgetting the strings were still in my hand, inadvertently ripped off all the clothespins before I even got to "three." Mr. Birch yelped like a dog that just got hit by a bike and I turned back around, horrified that I had hurt him in the wrong way. He seemed just fine, though. Still, I had to make sure.
"Martin! Are you okay?"
He laughed and said, "What happened to three?"
I said, "What happened to two is more like it! ....I suppose that's one way to take them off, eh? Seriously, though, are you okay?"
He smiled sincerely and looked at me. "Yes, Kathryn, I'm fine. Thank you as always."
I sighed, relieved; however, I was furious at Marisa. I told Martin that I'd be right back and marched over to Marisa who was standing there, visibly frightened. She knew she fucked up.
So as to not let Martin hear our conversation, I forcefully grabbed Marisa's arm and yanked her out into the hallway and slammed the door shut. "What in GOD'S name do you think you're doing?" I whispered through clenched teeth. "You NEVER interrupt me during a session! Now look what you made me do! You know of Mr. Birch's condition. Our relationship is based on very serious trust and I just violated that."
"Mother, I..."
"No, you listen to me. If you EVER do that to me again, you're out of here. I don't care what I've told you or what I promised you. This isn't a game, Marisa. I don't think you know how seriously you fucked up just now."
"But..." she implored, her eyes welling up with tears.
"Yes, please. Tell me your excuse for barging in like that. I'd LOVE to know."
She sniffled and held up the phone. "It's Tristan Andrews."
My heart stopped beating. "Tristan?" I said in a hushed voice.
"Yes, Mother," said Marisa, fighting back the urge to burst into tears.
Marisa handed me the phone and I was staring at it for what seemed like hours. Snapping back to reality, I said, "Go take care of Martin. If he seems off in any sort of way, keep him here so we can talk. I...have to take this now."
Marisa nodded demurely and went back inside to take care of Martin. I felt like a child on Christmas morning waiting to see what presents await under the tree. I excitedly bounded up the stairs and went to my office. I shut and locked the door, sat down, removed my mask and tried to sound calm.
"Hello?"
A soft English voice came over the other end. "I've heard that you were a bit cruel at times but did that poor girl really deserve all that?"
I chuckled, embarrassed. "I...take it you heard all that. I'm so sorry."
"Not at all, Lisa. After all, you learned from the best. I just suppose I didn't realize that you had taken all my lessons so seriously."
"Well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."
Here's the abridged back story on Tristan Andrews...
Back when I was a second year law student, Seattle's richest and most eligible bachelor, Tristan Andrews, came to the university to give a seminar on corporate law and philanthropy. When he walked in the door, I remember being completely flustered at how incredibly handsome he was. He strode in with such grace and elegance. He's quite tall, standing at six foot four and he's very slender. He's just an all-around good-looking guy. Anyway, in the middle of his seminar, I guess he caught me staring at him and, when I realized that he was staring back at me, smiling, I quickly turned back to taking notes, all the while trying to hide my blushing cheeks. After a while, I glanced up at him again and he was still staring at me. That time, I smiled back.
Thinking nothing of it, after class, I gathered up my things and headed toward the library. I walked out the doorway leading to the quad and Tristan was there waiting. I stopped dead in my tracks. He gave me a half-cocked smile and sauntered over to me with the same amount of grace and effortlessness that caught my attention in the first place. He confidently asked me why I was staring at him and I told him I didn't know. I didn't want to seem like some gushy idiot so I just kept my tone very stern and to the point. He said that he had noticed something about me and wanted to have coffee to discuss it later. I didn't know why he wouldn't just tell me then and leave it alone. Hell, I don't even know why he bothered talking to me in the first place. Clearly, he knew how handsome he was, he's incredibly rich...I'm sure I wasn't the only girl who had been caught staring that day.
Later that evening, we met and sat down for coffee and he didn't really say anything to me for the first ten minutes or so. He was just sitting there looking at me...staring, judging, reading me inside and out. It was easily the most awkward meeting I've ever had and his intense stare was making me uncomfortable. I decided to try and break the ice.
