Chapter 26: Smart Girls Give Sessions

So, Marley and Bodie will talk a little about the dinner at the Turners in this chapter, but basically, we didn't need to show it. Everyone is entrenched in their positions at this point. Daemon, Pat and TJ on one side, Bodie and Marley on the other, Darius in the middle, and no one is going to give anything away in front of Darius. There was nothing new to show.  This scene however, is pretty interesting!

Marley

I hear Bodie's bedroom door open and close, and his quick, bare footfalls on the stairs. I flip over on my stomach, clenching the comforter around me.

Holding onto it as if the effort could keep me in place.

This is not normal...for a counselor to feel this much concern for a patient.

Fuck, who am I kidding? This is not normal...for a woman to feel this tied to a man. Period.

I put two pillows over my head, trying to find a reality in which my senses and feelings are dulled. I try to think about anything but Bodie. I try not to imagine what he's doing downstairs, what he's thinking, what dreams—or fantasies—were keeping him from sleeping.

I watch the clock tick. Two interminable minutes become twenty. Bodie doesn't return to bed. I wonder if he's watching TV downstairs. I wonder what he's watching.

Suddenly, I have a different wondering.

What if he's having anxiety or cravings? What if he needs me?

Right.

I pull on a long duster sweater over my somewhat slinky short pajama set—because I'm still living out of the suitcase that I took to Nashville. I beat heavily down the stairs, so that he's knows I'm coming.

The main floor is silent. I pad from unfamiliar room to unfamiliar room, a spooky dread filling me. Amorphous shadow shapes stare ominously at me, but I know they are just furniture and lamps and hatracks other items that are still practically foreign to me. I have a completely ridiculous desire to rush back upstairs, lock my door and throw myself back under the covers.

But I don't, because the growing dread that Bodie left the house urges me on to the garage. Just as I am about to open the garage door, one of the make-believe shadow shapes moves in my peripheral vision.

I let out a whoop of startle as the "ghost" grips my elbow.

Bodie yelps back, shocked at my cry.

But I'm already in fight or flight, and I'm still trying to escape my scare futiley clawing at the handle, completely incapable of unlocking it in my terror.

"Shhh, girl, it's just me," he chuckles, reaching for my hand to still it's frantic attempt at escape.

Hilarity replaces fear and I burst out laughing as he presses his mouth against cap of my shoulder to muffles his own humor.

"You scared me," I pant. He's still gripping one elbow, holding my other hand, pressing me from behind. I can feel sweaty heat pouring off him.

"Bodie," I say softly, "Are you okay?"

He gently turns me in his arms and backs me into the door, caging me there. His forehead is pressed into the door, his mouth is beside my ear.

"No, I'm not okay. I can't stop...remembering the jasmine body lotion you used to wear. This isn't going to work." His voice is ragged.

I press my palms to the door to keep from touching him, but my body betrays me. My mouth automatically turns to his, breathing in his sweat and brushing his damp skin. "It has to work."

"You said you wanted me."

"I want you clean. I want you whole," I say automatically.

"Then make me whole," he growls and crushes his mouth to mine.

Fireworks. Reds and golds and purples. Just like Labor Day.

I'm sky high. Then I'm floating back to earth as together Bodie and I slide down the door...

"Uuuuuuuuugggggggggggghhhhhh!" I scream and throw the pillows across the room to break my fantasy.

I throw myself back down on the bed and give myself a little lecture.

Marley Watkins, you stupid stupid girl.

The fantasies have to stop now.

It was fine to lie awake in your UGA dorm room all those nights, after seeing Bodie on stage at the No Doze in Athens, imagining his hands in all the places you were touching yourself.

It was even okay to spin a few little fairy tales with very satisfying endings after the first time several hundred times you saw Soundrcrush on TV.

It was maybe, not so okay to be fantasizing about Bodie during sex with Elliot and Marc, but in hindsight, they were probably fantasizing about somebody else, too.

But now?

This is absolutely unacceptable.

You cannot masturbate to fantasies of your client.

Even if he is your Babydaddy.

You just shut those fantasies down.

Delay your gratification.

I groan. There's a pretty urgent throbbing in my panties that is begging to be gratified.

No, just stop it girl. Do you want Bodie lying awake in the next room, pleasuring himself and fantasizing about you?

Well, duh. Of course.

No. No you don't. You want Bodie focused on his recovery. On regaining his emotional balance and his health. Even when he's physically and emotionally stronger, there is so much more to prioritize over a romantic affair. There's building a relationship with Darius. There's repairing with his band. There's getting out of the "smoking gun" mess with Daemon.

Romance is off the table.

Okay, I'm fine with that. No romance. How about just a little hot sex? Because even coming off a drug binge, Bodie is really really hot. Like, so much hotter than at fifteen. And I bet he's learned so much—

No. No ma'am. Shut this down. You choose your thoughts, remember?

"I hate you, Dr. Watkins," I mutter.

I throw back the covers and put on the exact same sweater duster in my fantasy. I pad down the stairs in the exact same way. Just like in my fantasy, the first floor is quiet and spooky. But instead of opening the garage door, sound draws me to the basement door.

I crack it and listen silently to the treadmill, to Bodie's too-heavy and erratic footfalls. To his labored breath and finally to the machine stopping, and then to a splatty sound that I imagine is Bodie collapsing on the spongy mats that cover the floor.

"Fuck!" he yells.

I grab a couple of waters from the refrigerator and take them down. Like I expected, he's lying on his back on the floor. He doesn't react as I sit down beside him and pull my knees up, wrapping the sweater duster around me as I examine him.

He's pouring sweat and panting. I can't see his face because he has an arm thrown over his eyes to shield against the fluorescent lights above.

"You okay?" I ask mildly.

"Fine," he eeks out between pants.

He must be able to see me from under his arm, because he reaches out to grip my ankle.

He just lays there, holding my ankle for the longest time.

"I want that session now," he says. His fingers grip my ankle more firmly as he rolls slowly up to sitting.

He squeezes once, letting go, reaching for the water bottle directly in front of my feet and downing it. I watch his throat move and the sweat trickle down his face.

I blink. "You want a shower first? Maybe some breakfast?"

He shakes his head, getting his feet under him. I climb to mine as well and follow him up the stairs into the living room.

The basement was cold and now I'm chilled. Bodie somehow senses that because he walks over to the gas fireplace, turns a valve, flips a switch, presses a button and dials the flame to a cozy warmth. I sit on the hearth and he sits on the floor, his back against the sofa.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask him.

"Dinner last night," he says. "That was fucked up shit, you and me sitting there, knowing damn well we are Darius parents, Darius being oblivious, and Pat suspecting the truth and Daemon being too damn narcissistic to see the truth, and TJ..." Bodie trails off.

I wait. Finally, I prompt. "And TJ what?"

Bodie's head drops back to the top of the sofa. "And TJ there with his own family, but holding so tight to mine," he says flatly.

I try not react to the word family, but I can't help it. "Family is an interesting word choice to describe you and me and Darius, given the circumstances."

Bodie's head pivots toward me. He watches me almost lazily in the shadow of the fire. "It's not a word choice, Marley. It's a goal. Isn't what all this is for?" He gestures between the two of us. "Isn't this a test, to prove that I'm worthy for you and Darius?"

I shake my head. "It's not a test, Bodie. Not at all. It's just...the best way I know how to help you right now."

He nods noncommittally and returns to staring at the ceiling.

After a long moment, I add, "I like that idea you have. Of family, as a goal."

He's silent.

"You don't believe me?"

He thinks. "I want to. I mean, I would like to think we are in the same place. But I guess, I always feel like I'm being tested. Like I have to prove myself."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"It's been my experience." More silence.

"Can you elaborate?"

"Growing up, I had to be tougher than the other kids in the hood. They automatically assumed I was some kind of pussy, because of my shade. Then I got to juvi and it was..."

"Worse," I say softly.

"Yeah."

Silence. A very long silence.

"Do you want to talk about that?"

"Not really," Bodie shrugs.

"What if I want to know what it was like for you?"

"I thought this was about me."

"I thought you said the goal was family."

He chuckles. "So this is family counseling? And you get to wear two hats? You get to play wifey and shrink?"

I smile at that, I can't help it. "You can counsel me, too, I guess. Seems like you're a natural, especially when it comes to Darius issues."

He smiles. "Thanks. You're pretty good, too. At mothering, and counseling, I mean."

"Thanks," I find myself returning his gentle tone.

He reaches for my ankle again and pulls my leg toward him.

"Why did you keep doing that?" I ask.

"Because I..." he sighs and regroups. "You remember the worst part about prison?"

"The loneliness," I say automatically.

"Yeah. And since I got out of juvi and went straight to Athens, I'm not used to being alone. Physically. There were coeds, then fangirls, then Bells..."

I nod. "I understand. Being physically close to someone—touching someone—is very comforting. But Bodie..."

"I know, Marley. I know you've just been waiting until I wasn't such a hot mess to set the boundaries. Which is why I'm putting cold fingers on your ankle not warm lips on your neck. I get it. This arrangement is sexless. But if the goal is family, does that really have to mean, no...closeness at all?"

When I don't answer, he prompts. "That was a real question, you know."

"I know, I'm just arguing with myself in my head about it."

He snorts. "You're funny."

"Glad you think so, because the doctor in my head thinks I'm a lunatic for this," I say as I creep off the hearth and move beside him. I tuck my arm beneath his and lean my head on his shoulder. "Just friendly contact, okay? No contact that implies...escalation."

"That's rather vague, Dr. Watkins," Bodie says with a bedroom voice. "Can you elaborate?"

"No hand-holding, no kissing, no physical teasing," I point a finger at him, "No forehead kisses."

"You like those, do you?" he says in the bedroom voice again as he burns me with a lazy gaze from forehead to lips.

"No sexy voice," I whack his pec.

He grabs my wrist. "No, love licks. When you do that, it turns me on big time."

I blush as he releases me.

"Sorry."

"Me too, if you are really serious about this no escalation policy."

I take a deep breath. "I am. I mean it, Bodie. You need to focus on your recovery and I need to focus on...making better decisions in romantic relationships. Because all of my choices have been for the wrong reasons."

"That's probably very true," he concedes. Slowly he eases an arm around me, leaving most of his weight on the couch, just making space for us to sit closely.

"What about this? Is this okay?"

I nod slowly, "As long as it doesn't escalate."

"Cool," he says, crossing his long legs at the ankles. He pulls a blanket off the couch and tosses it gently over my bent knees.

We sit in silence, getting used to each other.

Finally he clears his throat and says, "So, you want to know about juvi."

"I would like to, yes, but only if you are comfortable telling me."

"Yeah, it's fine. It wasn't maybe as bad as you think. Or rather, it was real bad but for a relatively short time. Right away, I got jumped twice, beaten pretty bad. Both times, the guards broke it up before it went to completion...you know what I'm saying?"

"Before you were raped?" It takes everything in me to keep my voice calm.

"Yeah. Anyway, I was lucky. I guess the guards felt sorry for me because I was so young and so pretty. I basically had a target on my ass the second I was processed."

"You were very handsome at fifteen," I say softly.

He tsks at me. "Get those sexy memories out of your head, Dr. Watkins."

"I'm not reminiscing," I lie, "I was merely offering observation relevant to your narrative."

"Hmmm-mmmmm," he smiles.

I sling a hand out in front of us. "Anyway, what happened next?"

"Well the guards' pity only extended about two weeks. When I was being returned to GenPop after the second infirmary stint, the guard told me my learning curve was over, and I needed to decide if I was going to be somebody's bitch or put up a better fight, because they were done taking licks pulling my virgin ass out of the fire. That's when I decided, fuck the rules, anybody that comes at m,e I'm tryna murder 'em. So after a few more fights where I gave worse than I got, and after a few truly horrible stints in the SHU when I thought I would lose my mind, I earned my sovereignty. Nobody fucked with me. Not the whites, not the blacks, not the browns."

"You were truly lone man." I look up at him, understanding how lonely he really was and how easy it must have been to seek sex with coeds and fangirls as comfort when he got out.

"Yep. I started doing online classes and music therapy and that filled up all my time. Honestly it wasn't that bad after the first three months. Just...real lonely."

"Well, you aren't going to be lonely anytime soon. You are going to be sick of my company," I assure him.

"We'll see," he smiles at me. He taps my shoulder with the arm that's around me. "Your turn."

"My turn? Oh. You mean my prison experience? Well, I was actually really lucky. You know in women's prison, some of the older lifers build families, not really gangs. There was an tough old lady named Angela that was in charge of the prison farm. Pretty much from the day I got there, she took me in." I put my hands in front of my stomach. "By the time my trial was over and I was sentenced, I was five months. Obviously pregnant. Her family—that became my family—they were excited about the baby. It was...something hopeful in a hopeless place, you know? They took real good care of me, the whole time I was pregnant. She put out the word right away, anyone that messed with me was messing with her family."

Bodie makes an abrupt motion with his other hand and I look over to see him dashing away at tear. "Jesus Christ, I'm a fucking disaster," he growls and laughs.

"Why are you crying?" I ask softly.

"Because I'm so fucking grateful for Angela who ran the prison farm," he puts a hand over his face. "I've been thinking all this time...being pregnant probably made it harder for you in jail. I've been thinking, I caused you such hardship, getting you pregnant."

"You didn't cause me hardship." I bite my lip. I guess now is as good a time to tell him as any. "Bodie, there's something I need to tell you, about the way I got pregnant, okay?"

He gives me a quizzical look. "I know you how got pregnant, girl. I was there."

I smile. "That night we were together...I let you inside me without a condom only because I was on birth control pills. I want you to know that. I wasn't being careless. I thought we were protected."

He blinks. "Oh.Okay. Well, I guess they fail sometimes. That's exactly what happened to my cousin Tam and Leed. She was on the pill; now they have Ollie."

"My birth control pills didn't fail. Daemon sabotaged them, somehow. He confessed that to Pat, after he went to prison."

Bodie stiffens. "What?"

"It's okay," I tell him. "I mean it's not okay, but I wouldn't take it back." I give him a searching look. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you..."

Bodie looks like anger is warring with nausea, "I'm glad you did, but...I...I don't know how to feel. Angry at him for you, but then there's Darius..."

"I feel the same. Except I feel more than anger towards Daemon. Before he sabotaged them, we fought about me going off the pill. I wouldn't. I told him I was no where near ready for a baby. He didn't care. He was ready for a son, so he switched my pills for fakes, somehow. When I found out what he had done, it changed my perception of all the sex we had had since that big fight. It no longer felt...consensual."

Bodie's expression enters the danger-zone. "You felt violated."

"Yes," I say simply.

Bodie turns to me and pulls me into a full hug. "I'm sorry. So fucking sorry."

"Me too. But I'm not sorry about Darius. Even when I thought he was Daemon's son. I love him, no matter whose son he is."

"Jesus, Jaz, I know that. My own mother loves me, and my father was a worthless piece of shit. Not as bad as Daemon, but bad enough."

"Still, I'm so glad Darius is the person he is. Your son. There is so much goodness in him. He may not look much like you, but there is so much of you in him."

"It's maybe not me," Bodie says softly. "And anyway, it's definitely you, the love you've given him. And maybe a little because...he was made in love."

Now I'm the one slipping tears as he murmurs in my ear. "I did love you. To my fifteen year old capacity, anyway."

"I loved you, too. As much as Jasmine could. I was...a lost girl. With you...I felt like myself."

I want to tell him I could love him so much better now.

With a sure love, not a scared love.

But it's much too soon for promises.

We hug in the firelight for a long time. When we finally let go, we stay face to face, our elbows propped on the sofa. Bodie reaches out a hand to touch my face, but he grips his fist and lets it fall.

I let out small sigh of sympathy. "This is...hard. It's like Riley said, it would be so easy for us to...get really deep, really fast."

"I don't think that would be a bad thing, except for my drug problem," he says softly. "Which doesn't exist, really, on this treatment. I feel shitty, but I'm not craving drugs."

"I disagree with pretty much everything you just said right there," I say gently. "Bodie, six months ago, you didn't trust me at all. And we haven't had much time together to build any trust. So your addiction problem is not the only issue. And even if it were, your addiction problem still exists. You're on a pretty high dose of methadone right now. It's going to be challenging as you step down and you are confronted with triggers or situations that make you want to use."

Bodie looks down at the blanket between us. He plays with the fringe. "I don't want to accept that. Five days in and it's pretty much like I was afraid. I like the feeling, Marley. Of my brain on methadone. It's not a high but it's a...feeling like no longer being hungry. I don't want to go back to feeling empty. To feeling like drugs make everything better and without them, I feel bored and restless. The truth is, I don't like being a slave to heroin, but I really do like that sweet spot just before dependency. I guess I just... love drugs."

"Think of it like this, Bodie. When you strip it all down, it's not that you loves drugs. Your brain loves the rush of dopamine. Everyone's brain gets pleasure from dopamine reward, but for whatever reasons, your genetic makeup is such that your brain really loves dopamine. Unfortunately, you got mixed up with harmful substances to trigger that rush. There are other ways to get your fix. Much more healthy habits. Like meditation or exercise. The biggest one for you probably is..." I trail off, hoping he will make his own answer.

"Sex," he supplies with that devilish, kissable grin.

I bite my lips. "Okay, yes. Sex is probably the biggest one for most people. But I was thinking you might have another one."

"Music." His grin relaxes and he gives me the chin tip.

Fuck me. That's even more sexy than the smile.

"Yes, that's what I was thinking too. So we haven't begun to work on retraining your brain. But as soon as your energy levels are up, that's where we start. Building healthy habits that give you your dopamine fix. That's what I'm really supposed to be doing, as your sobriety companion. Not policing your vice. Encouraging your better habits."

He uses the fringe of the blanket to tickle my nose. "Well if you really mean that, I think we can make a strong case to Riley for sex to be a part of my therapy."

"Okay, I know you were joking, but that's crossing the line," I pull the blanket out of his fingers. "I think we've covered alot of ground, this is probably a good place to take a break—"

I try to rise, but he pulls me back down. "Don't," he says softly. "Don't run away because I said something dumb." He licks his lips. "I'm sorry for the lame joke. This was the best hour I've spent in a really really long time. And it wasn't in any way professional. We're more than counselor and patient, and you know it."

I meet his gaze. He's the calmest, most centered he's been in days. "Yes. We are more than counselor and patient. But we have to be less than lovers. I'm not moving the line, Bodie. I'm serious about that. Because there might come a point that you need Dr. Watkins, and not your Babymama."

"Okay, you're right. But right now, I don't need the counselor. Right now, I just need Marley. My friend." He gives me vulnerable eyes. "My family?"

I melt.

I break my own rule, and I touch his face softly. "We share a son. We will always be family. What do you need?"

He sighs in relief and pulls me up onto the couch. It's so effortless and comfortable the way draws us into the deep corner of the sectional, pulling the blanket over us.

"I just need to put my arm around you and nap a little. I hate sleeping in that bed alone, Marley..." he murmurs, settling us together.

That's when I realize. It might have been a wonderful hour between us, but there was a part of Bodie's brain that was manipulating the situation. Directing me away from the real issue that the counselor would have addressed right away, if she weren't so caught up in crushing on her patient.

I push up to a sitting position and I drape the blanket over him alone. "Hold up. I will sit with you while you sleep, if you will answer three more questions honestly."

He smiles at me and slides an arm around me. "Come on, I'm really tired and you said we were done..."

"No, you started making sex jokes and I shut that down. Now we're both confused and pushing the boundaries we just set about not escalating physical contact. So, do you want to answer my three questions and I'll sit with you while you sleep? Or is it time to take a break from each other and all these confusing emotions?"

He looks away, displeased. "Fine," he says, with a snappish tone. "Fire away."

"Why were you running on the treadmill at 4am?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Bad dream."

"What did you dream about?"

"You know what I dreamed about."

"What did you dream about Cain Priestly?"

Bodie rises abruptly, with clenched fists. "Your three questions are up. You know what? You really know how to take a good moment and piss all over it, don't you?"

He stomps up the stairs and slams his bedroom door. He doesn't come down until the deliveries start arriving midmorning. In the first truckload of boxes, Bodie's new kit is delivered. He takes one large box at a time to the basement. Within forty-five minutes, the drumming starts.

All day long I unpack the truckload of deliveries. I find homes for clothes and dishes and household supplies and groceries as I pace the house to the unrelenting beat of Bodie's desperate drum.

I think our counselor has already uncovered the trigger that drove Bodie to rock bottom. I wonder how they are going to deal with this if Bodie won't even talk about Cain Priestly?