Cybertherapy Ch 03

Thanks to Lily, my friend and editor for more hard work to make my story better.

Chapter 3

The progress he'd made with Killerbitch only made Ben realise how little he'd achieved with Cathy. Why had he made her the topic for Killerbitch's story? It'd happened in a moment before he'd thought about it. In his desperation he'd picked the first subject that came into his head.

Meanwhile Cathy continued her abuse; he cooked her meals, and cleaned whilst she ate and inevitably slept. He did notice she seemed to have stopped thinking up a new daily insult. Probably she had run out of ideas.

Whilst polishing the units in the living room he came to a drawer that would not close, the contents seeming awkwardly wedged. When he pulled it open he found photos, the drawer full of them, each in an elegant frame. Curiosity overcame his scruples and he carefully lifted them all out.

They were pictures of a young family: Cathy's family. A wedding group, some holiday shots, a formal photograph of her with a man and child, her husband and son Ben assumed, and one which particularly caught his eye, a candid portrait of Cathy smiling at something out of shot, her striking beauty such a contrast to the sad broken woman he knew.

Returning the pictures to the drawer, he was careful to put the portrait on top. For the remainder of the week he returned every day to check that everything was safe.

Every evening he spent researching good writing technique, even practicing by writing some short pieces of fiction. By Thursday, he found he not only knew a great deal more about writing -- he actually enjoyed doing it. When the email arrived with KillerBitch's story, he opened it eagerly. To his inexperienced eye it seemed well written and it was well after midnight he finally finished his editing, returning it to KillerBitch with a brief email.

It was time to take KillerBitch in a new direction.

Friday evening, he sat at his computer, wondering if his deception had passed the test. As six o'clock arrived, he had to remember the character he was playing. How long could he keep this up? It was so unlike him.

KillerBitch: Hello.

CareBear: That was a fairly good start.

KillerBitch: Thank you. The editing seemed to make a difference. I may have been hasty in some of what I said.

CareBear: A concession from KillerBitch, amazing. What did you think of the subject?

KillerBitch: It was different.

CareBear: Made you think eh?

KillerBitch: Yes.

CareBear: What did it make you think?

KillerBitch: I don't want to talk about it.

Ben paused. Why should she be so afraid to talk? She was graphic enough in her stories. He decided to press her.

CareBear: But you will.

KillerBitch: No.

CareBear: Oh I think so.

KillerBitch: I can't.

CareBear: Oh, so the tough KillerBitch isn't so tough now?

KillerBitch: I miss it, alright?

CareBear: Miss what?

KillerBitch: You know.

CareBear: No. Tell me.

KillerBitch: Sex. Happy now you've made me say it?

So she was frustrated. How could he use this? He needed more time.

CareBear: I'm happy you're admitting your needs.

KillerBitch: Why are you tormenting me?

CareBear: Because I think it's time you faced your pain and dealt with it.

KillerBitch: What do you want me to do?

CareBear: Write a romance. A real love story about a man and a woman who care about each other. Take a look at Oleandergirl. Your story will have several chapters and you have a week to complete the first one.

Romance writing was the complete opposite of everything she normally wrote. Ben wasn't surprised when she didn't reply.

CareBear: Do you have a problem?

KillerBitch: No.

CareBear: Do you understand what you are to do?

KillerBitch: Yes.

CareBear: Then do it by next Friday.

And before she had a chance to respond, Ben signed out of chat and email.

*

Cathy fell back on the pillow. What was she getting into? What did this man know? She'd felt afraid and yet now he'd suddenly turned to romance - it seemed a complete change from everything he'd said so far. Had she misunderstood him? She was confused, uncertain about whether to carry on with this.

After thinking for a few minutes, she picked up the laptop; she might as well get started before her mother arrived.

*

She had a name for Ben now, 'the chubby chef'. It seemed to hurt him and she whilst was pleased she'd found a chink in his armour at last, she'd felt oddly uncomfortable seeing the sadness in his eyes. Whilst he'd stood up to her taunts, she'd begun to respect him - and hated herself for it. He was such a wimp, so why did his face come to mind when she tried to picture the man in her story?

Damn the man, he had her so confused. She actually caught herself saying thank you to him when he brought her lunch.

*

KillerBitch: Hello.

CareBear: You've done well again.

Thank God. He liked it.

KillerBitch: You approve then?

CareBear: Yes, I'm just returning it to you now.

She waited for a couple of minutes for the email to arrive. Surprisingly he had done very little editing.

KillerBitch: You haven't changed much.

CareBear: It didn't need changing. You write romance better than that other nonsense.

Killerbitch: Why is it nonsense?

CareBear: Oh come on, unbelievable stories with unbelievable characters that you only wrote to antagonise the readers. Read the story you've just started again. The characters seem real, the story is feasible and you have written it with some empathy.

KillerBitch: So what's next?

CareBear: First you publish the chapter on EroticTales.org, then you start writing chapter 2.

Publish it! She hadn't expected him to say that. What if more people started writing to her? How could she deal with friendly emails? Did she want to be friendly? Her head was spinning, filled with questions. Tentatively she typed a response.

KillerBitch: Why do I have to publish it?

CareBear: Because I want you to see how others react to the story.

Her worst nightmare, facing the reaction of others. All her other stories had been written to antagonise the readers so she could control the reactions. This time the story was from her soul and she was scared people would see her for who she really was.

KillerBitch: If people write to me, must I answer them?

CareBear: Not yet. We'll talk about it again when you've written some more.

Why had he changed? He hadn't been like this last week.

KillerBitch: Why are you being nice to me?

CareBear: Why shouldn't I?

KillerBitch: You weren't the other week.

CareBear: I just observed you could write better and now you've proved I'm right.

Some strange creep on the Internet praises me and I like it, Cathy thought. What's got into me?

KillerBitch: It seems so sudden.

CareBear: Not really. If I'd just asked you to write a romance you would have sent me away with a load of swearing and abuse.

Cathy hated to acknowledge the truth of his words.

KillerBitch: Maybe.

CareBear: No, definitely. Now at least you will talk to me.

KillerBitch: Yes.

She paused for a moment. The most important question was still waiting to be asked. Though she feared his answer, she had to know.

KillerBitch: You said you knew things about me. What?

CareBear: We can talk more about that next week. For now just get on with what I asked you to do.

Before she had a chance to type again, he had closed the connection.

*

It was odd thought Ben, but suddenly KillerBitch seemed much more vulnerable. Her aggression had gone and her story suggested a passionate, sexy woman lay behind the façade. He'd been aroused by her story -- although he would never have let her know that. It was a particularly erotic romance. If she had modelled the heroine on her own desires, then she was very sensuous. Maybe she had been punished for a crime of passion -- attacked her lover, or her cheating husband.

Idly his thoughts drifted to Cathy; perhaps her aggressive attitude also hid another personality? He would try to be more understanding and not let her jibes upset him. Maybe he could reach her in time just as he had with KillerBitch.

Next morning he went for his fourth session at the gym he'd joined. Stung by Cathy's 'chubby chef' taunts, he'd started taking a closer interest in his diet and was surprised to find he'd actually lost three pounds during the week. He was beginning to feel good about himself.

*

Cathy had been grateful her mother cooked her meals at the weekend; at least the food was comparable with Ben's. She hated the way her parents refused to blame her for anything that had happened. Their sympathetic understanding had been frustrating. But suddenly she was beginning to feel pangs of guilt about her poor behaviour. What was happening to her?

Now, late on Sunday night, she was thankful when they had returned to their home; she didn't have to deal with her conflicting emotions. She picked up her laptop and returned to the story. Drawing on her memories of the happy times with Sean, she recounted the passionate encounter between her heroine, Emily, and her hero, Paul. The memories stirred feelings she'd thought had been lost.

How she missed Sean's touch on her body. His strong hands could always bring her to the brink of orgasm. He would caress her breasts; pinch her nipples until the slightest pressure between her legs would be enough to bring her to a shattering climax. Even as she thought about him she could feel her body reacting.

*

She was waiting apprehensively as usual on Friday evening.

KillerBitch: Hello.

CareBear: Well done. I've just sent it back to you.

Her laptop beeped as the message arrived. She opened the attached document file and found no changes at all to her words.

KillerBitch: Did you even read it? You haven't done anything.

CareBear: It didn't need anything -- it was a good piece of writing.

KillerBitch: Thank you.

Once more she felt a child-like pride in having pleased him. Yet she found herself having to remind herself to be wary. She knew nothing about this man.

CareBear: Are you enjoying writing this story now?

KillerBitch: Yes, I'm surprised.

CareBear: Why?

KillerBitch: I hadn't expected to feel like this again.

CareBear: Like what?

KillerBitch: Romantic. Sexy.

CareBear: Why not?

KillerBitch: Because I'm not.

CareBear: But why not?

KillerBitch: Because I don't look sexy.

CareBear: Maybe who you are matters more than what you look like?

KillerBitch: No. I'm not sexy any more.

CareBear: We'll see.

Cathy was beginning to feel uncomfortable about the conversation. She needed to change the subject.

KillerBitch: What do you know about me? It's worrying me.

CareBear: Sorry about that. I don't actually know anything. I just said it to make you take notice.

With a huge sigh of relief, she fell back on the pillow before almost immediately resenting him for making her afraid.

KillerBitch: That was cruel. You scared me.

CareBear: I'm sorry. But it worked, didn't it? Whilst you were distracted by that fear, you not only talked to me but wrote stories you wouldn't have considered before. And from those stories haven't you found out something about yourself?

What had she learnt? She thought about her feelings, something she hadn't done for a long time. Perhaps it was getting easier to like people again. Trying to be hateful seemed so much effort now. Had he really done all this just to make her face her own fears and anger? Why?

KillerBitch: I don't know. Possibly.

CareBear: Come on KB, be honest.

KillerBitch: All right then, yes. Perhaps I don't have to be so spiteful.

CareBear: Was that so hard?

KillerBitch: I've had a hard time, I told you about it.

CareBear: Yes, but everyone is entitled to forgiveness, whatever they've done.

KillerBitch: I don't want forgiveness.

CareBear: Don't confuse forgiving with forgetting. People may not forget what you've done but they can forgive it.

KillerBitch: What are you saying?

CareBear: No-one can hold on to their anger forever. It will just destroy you. Whatever you may have done, I'm sure that there are people who care about you and they don't feel angry with you any more.

KillerBitch: But they should. I can't forgive myself.

CareBear: Who cares about you?

KillerBitch: No-one.

CareBear: Think again.

Yet again, before she could reply, he had signed out, leaving her to think about his words. She lay back against the soft pink pillows, confused once more. Why did he have to be so right, making her face things she didn't want to face? He was as bad as that bloody Ben. She'd wanted her parents to hate her, and tried to punish them when they wouldn't. Now she was being forced to confront the unjust way she'd been treating them and it made her uncomfortable.

Did CareBear have a point? Who did care about her? Her parents? They spent so much time with her, she'd thought it was just loyalty to their daughter but maybe they did care. But no-one else. Sean's parents must hate her for killing their son. Her aunts and uncles would surely not be so forgiving. None of her friends came to visit any more. The only person who kept coming back was that wimp Ben.

Ben. He put up with everything she threw at him and came back with a smile. She hated him and yet he seemed to care about her, there had to be something a bit odd about him. Maybe he was like the submissive she'd written about. He never seemed submissive though; behind that irritating smile he seemed to have pride. He kept the house spotless -- although she'd never actually seen it, but her mother was impressed. He cooked wonderful food, he never let her browbeat him, he just accepted her abuse and met it with an even temper.

And what was CareBear's motivation? Why was he doing this? Could it be he actually cared as well? Who was he? What was he? She'd thought he was just some creepy pervert but he seemed more genuine now. Was it an act? She didn't know what to think any more.

*

Ben was bewildered. He seemed to be getting close to KillerBitch but that wasn't supposed to happen. At the same time, despite some peculiar lapses when she was polite to him, he felt Cathy was still aggressive, making him despondent, doubting he'd ever be her friend. He was glad he was meeting Dave -- he needed to talk.

The pub was noisy as it always was at lunchtime on Saturday. That suited Ben; it was actually easier to have a conversation without being overheard. Dave returned to the table in the corner of the large bar with two pints of bitter.

"OK, mate," he said, putting one of the glasses down in front of Ben. "What's bugging you this week?"

"You won't believe it." Ben looked apprehensively at his friend. "I really need you to listen to me. I know you like to take the 'mick' but right now I need you to be understanding."

Dave's smile faded. "You really have a problem, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"The bitch in bed?"

Ben smiled. "No. But a bitch anyway."

"All right. You've got my attention now. Start talking."

"I've sort of met someone."

"How do you 'sort of' meet someone? You either meet them or you don't."

"Well I haven't actually seen her. It's someone I met on the 'net."

"The Internet? Come on Ben, you're not that daft." Dave was smiling at him.

"I really think she's genuine." Ben began to worry, perhaps Dave wouldn't be serious.

"She could be anyone. Look around this bar, she could be one of the ugliest women here."

"Why does it matter what she looks like?" Ben was irritated. "Didn't you see

Shallow Hal

?"

"That was just a film."

"No!" Ben hadn't intended to be quite so vehement. He took a breath. "It's not just a film Dave, it's a way of thinking. Why should it matter how someone looks? It's the person inside that you have a relationship with."

He paused for a moment then went on, "Anyway I've been emailing and chatting to her for a few weeks now and I think she's someone who's had a bad time and now needs an understanding friend."

"Sympathy wouldn't be a good way to form a relationship."

"Not sympathy, understanding. I think I've got her to break out of the shell that she'd built around herself."

Dave looked puzzled. "How can you tell?"

"She's more easy going in the things she writes now. Softer somehow. Funny, when she started she was almost as bitter as Cathy."

"Well what's her name?"

"I don't know her real name. She calls herself KillerBitch -- so you can guess what she was like when I first encountered her."

"And where was that?"

Ben blushed. He hadn't considered being asked that. "Um... Er... I ... I've been reading some stories."

"What? I could hardly hear you."

Despite the noisy crowd in the bar and the loud music playing, Ben hated to speak any louder. "I've been reading her stories."

"Stories? What kind of stories?"

This wasn't what Ben had had in mind when he started the conversation. "Um... Erotic stories."

"Erotic stories?" Dave shouted gleefully. "You're becoming an old perv." He burst into gales of laughter.

"Please Dave," Ben pleaded. "I wanted you to listen to me."

"Sorry mate. But honestly..."

"I know, but I was only trying to find out what Cathy was reading."

Dave's eyes opened wide. "The bitch reads it as well? Bloody hell."

"I just wanted to understand her better." Ben finished his pint. He wanted to end this conversation. Waving his empty glass at Dave, he asked, "Another?"

*

"All finished, dear?" her mum asked, picking up the tray.

"Yes thanks Mum." Cathy looked at her mother's smiling face and for the first time in many months, smiled back.

Her mother froze for a moment. "Cath, are you OK?"

"Yes Mum. I'm fine," she said nodding, meeting her mother's gaze without aggression.

Gloria looked bemused. Cathy thought she was probably wondering whether her daughter was having some sort of emotional or mental breakdown.

"I don't understand, Cath."

"I've been thinking about things, lots of things. I know I've been a bitch."

Gloria hesitated. "You've been through a lot," she said diplomatically. "Daddy and I understand."

"Can we talk for a while?"

A beaming smile split her mother's face, lighting up her eyes where tears began to form. "Of course we can, darling." Putting the tray on the dressing table, she sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry Mum. I've been horrid to you and Daddy and you don't deserve it."

Gloria took her daughter's hands. "I'm just so pleased to see you smile."

Mother and daughter sat silently together for what felt like several minutes, before Gloria spoke again. "What brought about this change?"

"I don't know." Cathy thought for a moment. "No, that's not true. He made me think about the people who care."

"Who? That nice man who comes in every day during the week?"

"Ben?" She chuckled gently. "No. He doesn't make me do anything. He's too nice."

"You make that sound like you don't think he should be nice."

"No. Not really. But he never argues, never gets angry. I tried so hard to make him hate me but it didn't seem to work. He just smiled and kept coming back."

"Do you really hate him?"

"No. Not any more. In fact I found I'd started to be polite to him this last week, although I don't think he noticed. You know, I think I'll try to be friendly to him on Monday. That'll give him a shock." She smiled at the thought.

"Well if it wasn't him, who? One of the nurses?"

"A man on the internet. At least I think it's a man," she said with a wry smile.

"You think! A man on the Internet? Cath, I don't like to be a fussy mother, but are you sure this is a good idea?"

Cathy saw the concern in her mother's face. "Don't worry mum. I'm not totally silly. I wouldn't tell him anything about me that would tell him who I am. He doesn't know where I live or my name."