34
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
April 7 Raven 13
A.V. reported that she experiences racing thoughts. Client reports that she has not slept for 72 hours. The client was restless and agitated within the session and reports an inability to relax. The client’s high anxiety level is reelected in increased motor activity, restlessness, and agitation. The client reported a behavior pattern that reflected a lack of normal inhibition and increase potentiality for self damaging activities. The client’s impulsivity has been reflected in sexual acting out. Client gave evidence of a very expansive mood that could easily turn to impatience and irritability if her behavior is confronted. The client displays bizarre patterns of dress. A.V. displays and unusual grooming pattern. The clinical assessment confirmed the presence of the classic signs of mania. Assessment was performed of the client’s ability to remain safe within the community. The client was judged to be unable to remain safe within the community due to her symptoms of mania and was referred for a more restrictive setting. Arrangements for hospitalization were made for the client in a psychiatric setting based on the fact that her mania is so intense that she could be harmful to herself and unable to care for her own basic needs. Client was not willing to submit to voluntary hospitalization, therefore commitment procedures were initiated. Follow up session TBA.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
33
33
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
April 5 Raven 11
In previous session, referral to psychiatrist was made for the purpose of evaluating the client for a prescription of psychotropic medications. A.V. reports complete change in psychotropic medication as listed: Lithium 900mg, Geodon 160mg, Klonopin 3.5mg, Seroquel 200mg. the client was reinforced for following through on a referral to psychiatrist. Concerns about the client’s medication compliance were communicated to the psychiatrist. Follow up session TBA
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
April 5 Raven 11
In previous session, referral to psychiatrist was made for the purpose of evaluating the client for a prescription of psychotropic medications. A.V. reports complete change in psychotropic medication as listed: Lithium 900mg, Geodon 160mg, Klonopin 3.5mg, Seroquel 200mg. the client was reinforced for following through on a referral to psychiatrist. Concerns about the client’s medication compliance were communicated to the psychiatrist. Follow up session TBA
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32
Aprils 3 Raven 9
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. reports that “my dead grandmother keeps coming to visit.” Client explains that this causes her great distress as she is fearful of such delusion. Records indicate that client has a history of various delusions in which she hears the voice of her grandmother along with a woman’s voice she calls Lorinda. Client states that it is the voices of Lorinda that tell her to “cut myself all over and to kill myself.” A.V. reports that the hallucinations of her grandmother and Lorinda speak to her simultaneously. A client report measure was used to further asses the depth and breadth of the client’s phobic responses. The Measures for Specific Phobias (Antony) was used to asses client’s phobic responses. The client report measures indicated that the client’s phobic fear is extreme and severely interferes with her life. It was acknowledged that both real and delusional experiences cause anxiety. The client was provided with support regarding her anxieties and worries, which are related to both the real experiences and the delusional experiences. The client was assisted in identifying specific diagnostic classification for her anxiety symptoms. Utilizing a description of anxiety symptoms such as found in Bourne’s The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook, the client was taken through a detailed review of her anxiety symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment needs. The client has failed to clearly understand and classify her anxiety symptoms and was given additional feedback in this area. A referral to psychiatrist was made for the purpose of evaluating the client for a prescription of psychotropic medications. Follow up session TBA.
Aprils 3 Raven 9
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. reports that “my dead grandmother keeps coming to visit.” Client explains that this causes her great distress as she is fearful of such delusion. Records indicate that client has a history of various delusions in which she hears the voice of her grandmother along with a woman’s voice she calls Lorinda. Client states that it is the voices of Lorinda that tell her to “cut myself all over and to kill myself.” A.V. reports that the hallucinations of her grandmother and Lorinda speak to her simultaneously. A client report measure was used to further asses the depth and breadth of the client’s phobic responses. The Measures for Specific Phobias (Antony) was used to asses client’s phobic responses. The client report measures indicated that the client’s phobic fear is extreme and severely interferes with her life. It was acknowledged that both real and delusional experiences cause anxiety. The client was provided with support regarding her anxieties and worries, which are related to both the real experiences and the delusional experiences. The client was assisted in identifying specific diagnostic classification for her anxiety symptoms. Utilizing a description of anxiety symptoms such as found in Bourne’s The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook, the client was taken through a detailed review of her anxiety symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment needs. The client has failed to clearly understand and classify her anxiety symptoms and was given additional feedback in this area. A referral to psychiatrist was made for the purpose of evaluating the client for a prescription of psychotropic medications. Follow up session TBA.
31
31
“Month of Magick, Esbat Raven
Elder Blessing Danu’s maven
Cast the balance, wax and wane
Bounty made from boon to bane.”
April 1 Raven 7
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client described a pattern of persistent and unreasonable phobic fear that promotes avoidance behavior because of an encounter with the problems stimulus as it provokes an immediate anxiety response. Client’s avoidance of phobic situations is so severe as to interfere with normal functioning. Client has made every attempt to recover from her unreasonable fear, but has been unsuccessful. An initial trust level was established with a client to the use of unconditional positive regard. An objective fear survey was administered to the client to assess the depth and breadth of her phobic behavior including the focus of the fear, types of avoidance, development, and disability. The anxiety disorders interview schedule for the DSM-IV ( dinardo, brown, and Barlow ) was used to assess the client’s phobia concerns. The fear survey results indicate that the clients fear is extreme and severely affairs with her life. The results of fear survey was reviewed the client. The client was assessed in regard to phobic stimulus that precipitates her specific fears and avoidance. A.V. was assessed in regards to the thoughts that go along with specific fears and avoidance. Client was assisted in identifying situations that seem to precipitate her specific fears and avoidance. Follow-up session TBA.
“Month of Magick, Esbat Raven
Elder Blessing Danu’s maven
Cast the balance, wax and wane
Bounty made from boon to bane.”
April 1 Raven 7
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client described a pattern of persistent and unreasonable phobic fear that promotes avoidance behavior because of an encounter with the problems stimulus as it provokes an immediate anxiety response. Client’s avoidance of phobic situations is so severe as to interfere with normal functioning. Client has made every attempt to recover from her unreasonable fear, but has been unsuccessful. An initial trust level was established with a client to the use of unconditional positive regard. An objective fear survey was administered to the client to assess the depth and breadth of her phobic behavior including the focus of the fear, types of avoidance, development, and disability. The anxiety disorders interview schedule for the DSM-IV ( dinardo, brown, and Barlow ) was used to assess the client’s phobia concerns. The fear survey results indicate that the clients fear is extreme and severely affairs with her life. The results of fear survey was reviewed the client. The client was assessed in regard to phobic stimulus that precipitates her specific fears and avoidance. A.V. was assessed in regards to the thoughts that go along with specific fears and avoidance. Client was assisted in identifying situations that seem to precipitate her specific fears and avoidance. Follow-up session TBA.
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30
March 27 Keolwulf 19
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. described a pattern of fixed persecutory delusions regarding others, their intentions, and possible harm. Client described beliefs that current sexual partner intends to do her harm, but was unable to identify this as a delusion. A.V. has a history of abuse with sexual partners. At the present time client reports that she “is hearing voices all the time.” Client displayed an animated fear of being exploited or harmed by significant other. The client’s intimate relationship is at risk for dissolution due to the increased levels of stress relating to the effects of her erratic behavior. Client has taken steps to remove her from the abusive relationship. Client was referred to Bipolar Disorder: A Guide for Patients and Families by Mondimore to further educate herself on her symptoms of her mental illness. Client was referred to support group for individuals with severe persistent mental illness who have experienced physical and verbal abuse. Follow up session TBA.
March 27 Keolwulf 19
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. described a pattern of fixed persecutory delusions regarding others, their intentions, and possible harm. Client described beliefs that current sexual partner intends to do her harm, but was unable to identify this as a delusion. A.V. has a history of abuse with sexual partners. At the present time client reports that she “is hearing voices all the time.” Client displayed an animated fear of being exploited or harmed by significant other. The client’s intimate relationship is at risk for dissolution due to the increased levels of stress relating to the effects of her erratic behavior. Client has taken steps to remove her from the abusive relationship. Client was referred to Bipolar Disorder: A Guide for Patients and Families by Mondimore to further educate herself on her symptoms of her mental illness. Client was referred to support group for individuals with severe persistent mental illness who have experienced physical and verbal abuse. Follow up session TBA.
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29
March 14 Keolwulf 19
“We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.” –Anais Nin
Adrienne stood in the dark side street and stared up at the candlelit window. The old Victorian house was half covered by overgrown weeds, but she could still see the window on the second floor, although she was not sure whether it was because it was completely visible or because her mind’s eye remembered it being there. She reached down to the gravel amidst broken beer bottles on the curb and found an adequately sized rock to throw at the window. Again she reached down and picked up two more rocks, hitting the window twice more but in rapid succession. The window opened slightly. “Neveah I know you’re there,” she said to the shadow behind the candle in the windowsill. The shadow didn’t move. “C’mon,Neveah, I even did the signal right. Just get the fuck down here.” The shadow in the window moved and the window opened. A figure climbed from the room to the oak tree that stretched beyond the roof, and slid down its branches like rain water. Neveah stood before her, her dark hair hanging at a sharp angle over her green eyes. She stood eye level with Adrienne, clad in all black. She reached out and moved a curl out of Adrienne’s eye. “You know that’s not my name anymore,” she said curtly, and folded her arms. Adrienne rolled her eyes. “Does anyone else but you actually pay attention to the fact that you’ve changed your name based on Egyptian numerology?” Neveah fingered the amber amulet around her neck. “The rest of my coven does not recognize my birth name,” she answered. Adrienne sat down at the base of the oak. Neveah mirrored her action, pulling a pack of Marlboro Reds from her back pocket before sitting cross legged in front of her. Lighting her cigarette, she took a drag and then handed it to Adrienne. Adrienne puffed lightly, and closed her eyes as she exhaled rings of smoke. “I see you haven’t lost your talent,” Neveah said, taking the cigarette from her. “I haven’t lost any of my talent,” she replied, tracing Neveah’s lips with her finger. “Some people would argue that intercourse with men weakens one’s talents,” she challenged. Adrienne chuckled softly. “Is that an offer?”
“Do you want it to be?” Her jade eyes remained unchanged.
“Am I supposed to?”
“You always answer a question with a question.”
“So do you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it is.”
“You don’t want to know what I think.”
“I already know what you think. You think I should leave men alone completely.”
“So?”
“So what if I don’t want to? What if I don’t know if I can?”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried?”
“How do you know if I’ve never tried?”
“I know. But it’s not about what I know. It’s about what you know.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You have bad taste in men.”
“And I don’t have bad taste in women?”
“If I said yes, wouldn’t I be insulting myself?”
“Hadassah doesn’t bother you?”
“No. Deshawn bothers me.”
“I never said he didn’t bother me.”
“If he does why do you stay with him?”
Adrienne inhaled more of Neveah’s cigarette and handed it back to her. “I told him to leave me the fuck alone. I wouldn’t exactly call that staying with him.”
“You’re still with him until you say that it’s over. You have to actually say it. Otherwise he’ll think you’re still together. He’d never get the hint. And it’s ridiculous to stay with him the way things are.”
“Meaning?”
“Why stay with him when you’re in love with his brother?”
March 14 Keolwulf 19
“We are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.” –Anais Nin
Adrienne stood in the dark side street and stared up at the candlelit window. The old Victorian house was half covered by overgrown weeds, but she could still see the window on the second floor, although she was not sure whether it was because it was completely visible or because her mind’s eye remembered it being there. She reached down to the gravel amidst broken beer bottles on the curb and found an adequately sized rock to throw at the window. Again she reached down and picked up two more rocks, hitting the window twice more but in rapid succession. The window opened slightly. “Neveah I know you’re there,” she said to the shadow behind the candle in the windowsill. The shadow didn’t move. “C’mon,Neveah, I even did the signal right. Just get the fuck down here.” The shadow in the window moved and the window opened. A figure climbed from the room to the oak tree that stretched beyond the roof, and slid down its branches like rain water. Neveah stood before her, her dark hair hanging at a sharp angle over her green eyes. She stood eye level with Adrienne, clad in all black. She reached out and moved a curl out of Adrienne’s eye. “You know that’s not my name anymore,” she said curtly, and folded her arms. Adrienne rolled her eyes. “Does anyone else but you actually pay attention to the fact that you’ve changed your name based on Egyptian numerology?” Neveah fingered the amber amulet around her neck. “The rest of my coven does not recognize my birth name,” she answered. Adrienne sat down at the base of the oak. Neveah mirrored her action, pulling a pack of Marlboro Reds from her back pocket before sitting cross legged in front of her. Lighting her cigarette, she took a drag and then handed it to Adrienne. Adrienne puffed lightly, and closed her eyes as she exhaled rings of smoke. “I see you haven’t lost your talent,” Neveah said, taking the cigarette from her. “I haven’t lost any of my talent,” she replied, tracing Neveah’s lips with her finger. “Some people would argue that intercourse with men weakens one’s talents,” she challenged. Adrienne chuckled softly. “Is that an offer?”
“Do you want it to be?” Her jade eyes remained unchanged.
“Am I supposed to?”
“You always answer a question with a question.”
“So do you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it is.”
“You don’t want to know what I think.”
“I already know what you think. You think I should leave men alone completely.”
“So?”
“So what if I don’t want to? What if I don’t know if I can?”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried?”
“How do you know if I’ve never tried?”
“I know. But it’s not about what I know. It’s about what you know.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You have bad taste in men.”
“And I don’t have bad taste in women?”
“If I said yes, wouldn’t I be insulting myself?”
“Hadassah doesn’t bother you?”
“No. Deshawn bothers me.”
“I never said he didn’t bother me.”
“If he does why do you stay with him?”
Adrienne inhaled more of Neveah’s cigarette and handed it back to her. “I told him to leave me the fuck alone. I wouldn’t exactly call that staying with him.”
“You’re still with him until you say that it’s over. You have to actually say it. Otherwise he’ll think you’re still together. He’d never get the hint. And it’s ridiculous to stay with him the way things are.”
“Meaning?”
“Why stay with him when you’re in love with his brother?”
28
28
Thursday March 12 Keolwulf 17
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. has experienced sudden and unexpected severe panic symptoms that have occurred repeatedly and have resulted in persistent concern about additional attacks. The client has significantly modified her normal behavior patterns in an effort to avoid panic attacks. The client described fear of environmental situations that she believes may trigger intense anxiety symptoms. A.V.’s fear of environmental situations has resulted in her avoidance behavior directed toward those environmental situations. Client has a significant fear of leaving home and being in open or crowded public situations. A.V.’s phobic fear has persisted in spite of the fact that she acknowledges that her fear is unreasonable. The client described situations in which she has declined involvement with others due to fear of leaving her home. Today’s clinical contact focused on building the level of trust with the client through consistent eye contact, unconditional positive regard, warm acceptance, and active listening. A.V. was asked about the frequency, duration, intensity, and history of her panic symptoms, fear, and avoidance. The client was assisted in identifying specific situations that precipitate panic symptoms. Client was administered psychological instruments designed to objectively assess her level of anxiety symptoms. The client was administered The Anxiety Sensitivity Index (Reiss, Peterson, and Grusky).The client has identified a specific anxiety disorder, which is freestanding from her severe and persistent mental illness, and this was reviewed within the session. Follow up session TBA.
Thursday March 12 Keolwulf 17
Adrienne Venet DOB 7/1/1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. has experienced sudden and unexpected severe panic symptoms that have occurred repeatedly and have resulted in persistent concern about additional attacks. The client has significantly modified her normal behavior patterns in an effort to avoid panic attacks. The client described fear of environmental situations that she believes may trigger intense anxiety symptoms. A.V.’s fear of environmental situations has resulted in her avoidance behavior directed toward those environmental situations. Client has a significant fear of leaving home and being in open or crowded public situations. A.V.’s phobic fear has persisted in spite of the fact that she acknowledges that her fear is unreasonable. The client described situations in which she has declined involvement with others due to fear of leaving her home. Today’s clinical contact focused on building the level of trust with the client through consistent eye contact, unconditional positive regard, warm acceptance, and active listening. A.V. was asked about the frequency, duration, intensity, and history of her panic symptoms, fear, and avoidance. The client was assisted in identifying specific situations that precipitate panic symptoms. Client was administered psychological instruments designed to objectively assess her level of anxiety symptoms. The client was administered The Anxiety Sensitivity Index (Reiss, Peterson, and Grusky).The client has identified a specific anxiety disorder, which is freestanding from her severe and persistent mental illness, and this was reviewed within the session. Follow up session TBA.
27
27
March 10 Keolwolf 15
Adrienne Venet DOB 7-1-1982
Vanessa McCain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. described recurrent and persistent thoughts or impulses that are viewed as senseless, intrusive, and time consuming and that interfere with her daily routine. The client reported failure at attempts to control or ignore her obsessive thoughts or impulses. Client described many different failed attempts at learning to control or ignore her obsessions. The client reported that she recognizes that the obsessive thoughts are a product of her own mind and are not coming from some outside source or power. A.V. acknowledged that the obsessive thoughts are related to anxiety and are not a sign of any psychotic process. Client described repetitive and intentional behaviors that are performed in a ritualistic fashion. The client’s compulsive behavior pattern follows rigid rules and has many repetitions to it. The repetitive and intentional behaviors of the client are performed in response to obsessive thoughts. A.V.’s repetitive and compulsive behavior is engaged in to prevent some dreaded situation from occurring, which the client is not yet able to define clearly. Today’s clinical contact focused on building the level of trust with the client through consistent eye contact, active listening, unconditional positive regard, and warm acceptance. Empathy and support were provided for the client’s thoughts and feelings during today’s clinical contact. Client was provided with support and feedback as she described her maladaptive pattern of anxiety. Active listening was used as the client described the nature, history, and severity of her obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors. Through clinical interview, the client described a severe degree of interference in her daily routine and ability to perform a task efficiently because of the significant problem obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors. The Anxiety Disorder’s Interview Schedule for DSM-IV (DiNardo, Brown, and Barlow) was used to assess the client’s frequency, intensity and duration and history of obsessions. It was noted that the client gave evidence of compulsive behaviors within the interview. Psychological testing was administered to evaluate nature and severity of the client’s obsessive compulsive problem. The Yale-Brown Obsessive Compulsive Scale (Gordman and Colleagues) was used to assess depth and breadth of the client’s OCD symptoms. Follow up session/ appointment TBA.
March 10 Keolwolf 15
Adrienne Venet DOB 7-1-1982
Vanessa McCain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. described recurrent and persistent thoughts or impulses that are viewed as senseless, intrusive, and time consuming and that interfere with her daily routine. The client reported failure at attempts to control or ignore her obsessive thoughts or impulses. Client described many different failed attempts at learning to control or ignore her obsessions. The client reported that she recognizes that the obsessive thoughts are a product of her own mind and are not coming from some outside source or power. A.V. acknowledged that the obsessive thoughts are related to anxiety and are not a sign of any psychotic process. Client described repetitive and intentional behaviors that are performed in a ritualistic fashion. The client’s compulsive behavior pattern follows rigid rules and has many repetitions to it. The repetitive and intentional behaviors of the client are performed in response to obsessive thoughts. A.V.’s repetitive and compulsive behavior is engaged in to prevent some dreaded situation from occurring, which the client is not yet able to define clearly. Today’s clinical contact focused on building the level of trust with the client through consistent eye contact, active listening, unconditional positive regard, and warm acceptance. Empathy and support were provided for the client’s thoughts and feelings during today’s clinical contact. Client was provided with support and feedback as she described her maladaptive pattern of anxiety. Active listening was used as the client described the nature, history, and severity of her obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors. Through clinical interview, the client described a severe degree of interference in her daily routine and ability to perform a task efficiently because of the significant problem obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors. The Anxiety Disorder’s Interview Schedule for DSM-IV (DiNardo, Brown, and Barlow) was used to assess the client’s frequency, intensity and duration and history of obsessions. It was noted that the client gave evidence of compulsive behaviors within the interview. Psychological testing was administered to evaluate nature and severity of the client’s obsessive compulsive problem. The Yale-Brown Obsessive Compulsive Scale (Gordman and Colleagues) was used to assess depth and breadth of the client’s OCD symptoms. Follow up session/ appointment TBA.
26
26
“I tell you how I feel but you don’t care/I say tell me the truth, but you don’t dare/You say love is a hell you cannot bear/So I say give me mine back and then go there for all I care.” –Fiona Apple. “Sleep to Dream.”
Adrienne threw off her wet t-shirt and tossed it in her book bag that sat beside Deshawn’s bed. She pulled her clothes from the day before from beside the bed and began to hastily throw them on. Deshawn leaned against the doorframe. She slipped on her boots without tying them and made her way to the door. He blocked her. “Move, jackass,” she snapped as she stared at his hazel eyes. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said, keeping her from leaving. “What’s going on is I’m getting fucking sick of you, and if you don’t get the hell out of my way I’m going to make you.” Deshawn raised his eyebrows. She stared him down, waiting for him to move. Her eyes glazed over in a cold stare. There was something in her face that frightened him; it wasn’t a fear born of the idea that she’d make him move if he refused to. It was because she’d never looked at him that way before. There was something definitely wrong, something that he couldn’t place. And so he moved.
“I tell you how I feel but you don’t care/I say tell me the truth, but you don’t dare/You say love is a hell you cannot bear/So I say give me mine back and then go there for all I care.” –Fiona Apple. “Sleep to Dream.”
Adrienne threw off her wet t-shirt and tossed it in her book bag that sat beside Deshawn’s bed. She pulled her clothes from the day before from beside the bed and began to hastily throw them on. Deshawn leaned against the doorframe. She slipped on her boots without tying them and made her way to the door. He blocked her. “Move, jackass,” she snapped as she stared at his hazel eyes. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said, keeping her from leaving. “What’s going on is I’m getting fucking sick of you, and if you don’t get the hell out of my way I’m going to make you.” Deshawn raised his eyebrows. She stared him down, waiting for him to move. Her eyes glazed over in a cold stare. There was something in her face that frightened him; it wasn’t a fear born of the idea that she’d make him move if he refused to. It was because she’d never looked at him that way before. There was something definitely wrong, something that he couldn’t place. And so he moved.
25
25
“Surely something resides in this heart that is not perishable—and life is more than but a dream.” Mary Wollstonecraft
Adrienne awoke to being splashed with water. She sat up, chocking, and stared at Deshawn who stood over her clad only in boxers. She hit him with a pillow. “What the fuck is your problem, Deshawn? You can’t just run around dumping water on people.” He stared at her coldly. “Why are you in his bed?” “I think you should be more worried about the fact that I’m not in yours.” “I think you need to watch your mouth before it gets you into trouble.” She glanced quickly at Jackson’s empty side of the bed. She stood on the bed, eyelevel with Deshawn. “You’re the one that’s got the trouble, Deshawn. At least that’s what I would call it if the sound of your girlfriend crying in the middle of the night doesn’t even wake you up.” “Oh, so that gives you a free pass to go sleep with my brother?” “What’s the matter? You want to hit me? Go ahead motherfucker. I beat your ass in junior high, don’t think I can’t do it again.” “How long has this been going on?” Deshawn demanded. “Since before your voice changed. Why don’t you shut the fuck up and stay out of shit that you know nothing about. Maybe you forgot who I was with first. I don’t need this shit; get the hell out of my way,” she snapped, pushing past him as she jumped off the bed. He blocked her at the door. “How long have you been fucking my brother?” “Move, Deshawn.” “How long?” “If you don’t get the fuck out of my way I’m going to make you wish you had.” He didn’t move. She tried to kick him in the groin, but he caught her leg before impact. She twisted around and elbowed him in the stomach. He threw her forward and landed on top of her. He lay on top of her, his eyes holding hers. “How long have you been fucking Jackson?” “I’m not fucking him. Sleeping in his bed, maybe. But there isn’t any sex involved. Ask him. Ask him if we’ve ever had sex, even when we were together. Not that it’s any of your business anyway. This is stupid. Get off of me.”
“Surely something resides in this heart that is not perishable—and life is more than but a dream.” Mary Wollstonecraft
Adrienne awoke to being splashed with water. She sat up, chocking, and stared at Deshawn who stood over her clad only in boxers. She hit him with a pillow. “What the fuck is your problem, Deshawn? You can’t just run around dumping water on people.” He stared at her coldly. “Why are you in his bed?” “I think you should be more worried about the fact that I’m not in yours.” “I think you need to watch your mouth before it gets you into trouble.” She glanced quickly at Jackson’s empty side of the bed. She stood on the bed, eyelevel with Deshawn. “You’re the one that’s got the trouble, Deshawn. At least that’s what I would call it if the sound of your girlfriend crying in the middle of the night doesn’t even wake you up.” “Oh, so that gives you a free pass to go sleep with my brother?” “What’s the matter? You want to hit me? Go ahead motherfucker. I beat your ass in junior high, don’t think I can’t do it again.” “How long has this been going on?” Deshawn demanded. “Since before your voice changed. Why don’t you shut the fuck up and stay out of shit that you know nothing about. Maybe you forgot who I was with first. I don’t need this shit; get the hell out of my way,” she snapped, pushing past him as she jumped off the bed. He blocked her at the door. “How long have you been fucking my brother?” “Move, Deshawn.” “How long?” “If you don’t get the fuck out of my way I’m going to make you wish you had.” He didn’t move. She tried to kick him in the groin, but he caught her leg before impact. She twisted around and elbowed him in the stomach. He threw her forward and landed on top of her. He lay on top of her, his eyes holding hers. “How long have you been fucking Jackson?” “I’m not fucking him. Sleeping in his bed, maybe. But there isn’t any sex involved. Ask him. Ask him if we’ve ever had sex, even when we were together. Not that it’s any of your business anyway. This is stupid. Get off of me.”
24
24
“I do not want the peace that passeth understanding. I want the understanding that bringeth peace.” Helen Keller
The weight of his body crushed her against the carpet. New Port filled her lungs, and he cast his ashy breath across her face as he ran his sticky, chapped lips against her mouth. She struggled beneath him, the rug beneath her a braising her wrists. With balled fists she beat against his chest. Hot tears rand down her face and mingled with his sweat. The aroma of wet dog filled her nose. Why did he always smell like a dog? His hands held her down—and then the other hands came. Running down the sides of her face and stopping at the sides of her mouth. The hands forced her mouth open—she never knew whose hands they were; she never saw his face. But that was because it wasn’t his face that was forced against her lips and down her throat.
Adrienne awoke to the sound of her own crying, to the damp of the sweat soaked sheets. She awoke to a soundly sleeping Deshawn, un-awakened by her tears. She gazed at him, breathing so steadily in the presence of her distress and knew that she could never tell him. She could never tell him what had happened so long ago but still haunted her dreams.
She rose from his bed and wandered into the living room. The futon against the far wall cast its shadow across the floor by the light of the street lamp coming in the window. She could still smell the New Port. Why was it that memory was so connected to scent? She walked away from the center of the room, distancing herself from the scent and the memory of the men who ruined her soul.
She stood by the side of his bed and watched him sleep. He was on his back, but she knew that he had started out on his stomach. He breathed deeply, almost like a snore, but not quite as loud. He knew that she was there—he had heard her crying. But he kept his eyes closed because he knew that it was important to her to think that he was still asleep. She crawled into the bed from the other side and snuggled up next to him underneath the blanket. Jackson reached over and took hold of her hand. He knew why she was there, just as he knew that he was the only man who didn’t have to ask why; he was the only man who could sleep in the same bed with her and only touch her hand. So he kept telling her.
“I do not want the peace that passeth understanding. I want the understanding that bringeth peace.” Helen Keller
The weight of his body crushed her against the carpet. New Port filled her lungs, and he cast his ashy breath across her face as he ran his sticky, chapped lips against her mouth. She struggled beneath him, the rug beneath her a braising her wrists. With balled fists she beat against his chest. Hot tears rand down her face and mingled with his sweat. The aroma of wet dog filled her nose. Why did he always smell like a dog? His hands held her down—and then the other hands came. Running down the sides of her face and stopping at the sides of her mouth. The hands forced her mouth open—she never knew whose hands they were; she never saw his face. But that was because it wasn’t his face that was forced against her lips and down her throat.
Adrienne awoke to the sound of her own crying, to the damp of the sweat soaked sheets. She awoke to a soundly sleeping Deshawn, un-awakened by her tears. She gazed at him, breathing so steadily in the presence of her distress and knew that she could never tell him. She could never tell him what had happened so long ago but still haunted her dreams.
She rose from his bed and wandered into the living room. The futon against the far wall cast its shadow across the floor by the light of the street lamp coming in the window. She could still smell the New Port. Why was it that memory was so connected to scent? She walked away from the center of the room, distancing herself from the scent and the memory of the men who ruined her soul.
She stood by the side of his bed and watched him sleep. He was on his back, but she knew that he had started out on his stomach. He breathed deeply, almost like a snore, but not quite as loud. He knew that she was there—he had heard her crying. But he kept his eyes closed because he knew that it was important to her to think that he was still asleep. She crawled into the bed from the other side and snuggled up next to him underneath the blanket. Jackson reached over and took hold of her hand. He knew why she was there, just as he knew that he was the only man who didn’t have to ask why; he was the only man who could sleep in the same bed with her and only touch her hand. So he kept telling her.
23
23
“He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.”
William Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. II.ii.2
Adrienne spread a thick layer of peanut butter across the piece of bread. She wiped the extra peanut butter off the knife with her index finger and ate it. “He’s not going to eat that, you know. Especially when he finds out that you’d rather suck on peanut butter,” Jackson breathed on the back of her neck. She stiffened, aware of him behind her. “Besides,” he began, encircling her waist and picking up the spoon next to the plate, “you don’t make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a knife. You spread the jelly and peanut butter with a spoon,” he finished, pressing himself into her as he spread the grape jelly with the spoon. She could feel his heart beating against her spine. “What makes you think this is for Deshawn?” she asked defensively. Jackson put the lid on the jelly. He lowered his head so that his twists brushed against the side of her face. She tried to ignore him by putting the two pieces of bread together. “You don’t like grape jelly,” he answered, running his hand against hers. He pressed his lips against the side of her face and tugged on her oversized Emory T-shirt. “So, you got anything on under this?” he questioned, making Adrienne suddenly aware of the fact that all she had on besides the t-shirt was socks. She turned around to face him and pushed his hand away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jackson moved away from her face and crossed his arms. “How much you want to bet he doesn’t know you don’t like grape jelly?” Adrienne rolled her eyes and started out of the kitchen, sandwich in hand. He grabbed her by the wrist. “Does he know what else you don’t like?” Adrienne fought to maintain her composure. “I don’t want to have this discussion, Jay,” she breathed, accidentally calling him by a name she hadn’t used in years. “Look at me, Adrienne,” he said softly. She looked up from the floor at his deep brown irises. “He needs to know, Adrienne. You have to tell him; otherwise he’ll expect it to happen eventually. It’s not fair to freak out on him when he doesn’t know.” Adrienne pulled her hand away. “Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
“He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.”
William Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. II.ii.2
Adrienne spread a thick layer of peanut butter across the piece of bread. She wiped the extra peanut butter off the knife with her index finger and ate it. “He’s not going to eat that, you know. Especially when he finds out that you’d rather suck on peanut butter,” Jackson breathed on the back of her neck. She stiffened, aware of him behind her. “Besides,” he began, encircling her waist and picking up the spoon next to the plate, “you don’t make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a knife. You spread the jelly and peanut butter with a spoon,” he finished, pressing himself into her as he spread the grape jelly with the spoon. She could feel his heart beating against her spine. “What makes you think this is for Deshawn?” she asked defensively. Jackson put the lid on the jelly. He lowered his head so that his twists brushed against the side of her face. She tried to ignore him by putting the two pieces of bread together. “You don’t like grape jelly,” he answered, running his hand against hers. He pressed his lips against the side of her face and tugged on her oversized Emory T-shirt. “So, you got anything on under this?” he questioned, making Adrienne suddenly aware of the fact that all she had on besides the t-shirt was socks. She turned around to face him and pushed his hand away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jackson moved away from her face and crossed his arms. “How much you want to bet he doesn’t know you don’t like grape jelly?” Adrienne rolled her eyes and started out of the kitchen, sandwich in hand. He grabbed her by the wrist. “Does he know what else you don’t like?” Adrienne fought to maintain her composure. “I don’t want to have this discussion, Jay,” she breathed, accidentally calling him by a name she hadn’t used in years. “Look at me, Adrienne,” he said softly. She looked up from the floor at his deep brown irises. “He needs to know, Adrienne. You have to tell him; otherwise he’ll expect it to happen eventually. It’s not fair to freak out on him when he doesn’t know.” Adrienne pulled her hand away. “Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
22
Twenty Two
“This night of no moon there is no way to meet him. I rise in longing—my breast pounds, a leaping flame. My heart is consumed in fire.”
--Ono No Komachi Kashinshu
Adrienne awoke sprawled across the bed, her boots still tied. Her eyes scanned the darkness for familiar objects. Big screen TV, red sheets, king size bed. No Gandalf. Her foggy mind processed gradually. Cinnamon and laundry detergent. She smelled him but she could not see him. Adrienne rolled over and found herself inches away from Deshawn’s face. He reached over and ran his fingers through her hair. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked groggily. “A few hours. You had a little too much to drink.” Adrienne ran her hands down his shirt.
“If I had too much to drink, how come everybody still has their clothes on?”
“Because some people decided to do a strip tease with more than a one person audience.” The anger in his sarcasm hit her like a brick wall. Adrienne climbed on top of him and rested her chin on his chest. “What exactly are we mad about? The fact that I was stripping in front of strangers or that I didn’t keep any of the money?” Deshawn stared coldly at her. Obviously he didn’t appreciate her sense of humor. “Or,” she began running her hands underneath his shirt, “we are just mad because we weren’t the center of attention.” He looked away. She sat up. “That’s it isn’t it? You think that all my sexual attention has to be directed at you all the time! I can’t just be a sensuous being. You have to always be the recipient. You spoiled little bitch.” Adrienne got out of the bed and slammed the bathroom door.
Deshawn leaned up against the wall. “Adrienne you know that has nothing to do with it. Why do I always have to be some sort of selfish anti-feminist bastard every time I get mad at you? Why am I never allowed to be mad at you? You want to know why I’m upset? Because you had too much to drink. Because you got on top of the bar and almost fell off. It doesn’t have anything to do with your sexual rights. It’s not like that ‘s your job and you had it all choreographed and you were concentrating and you knew what you were doing. You can’t dance on a bar covered in glasses when you’re has small as you are and have had more alcohol content than you can handle. As your boyfriend I’m supposed to let you do that? I’m supposed to let you hurt yourself? Goddamn it Adrienne, open the fucking door.”
The door opened slightly. Deshawn pushed it open to find Adrienne sitting on the counter by the sink, swinging her legs and kicking the cupboards. Her took her hand and placed it on his cheek. He leaned closer, touching her forehead with his. She ran her hand down the back of his neck, and brought the other arm around to clasp her hands around it. His wet lips slid from her mouth to her chin, from her chin to her neck. His hands ran up her thighs to her waist, encircling her back. Lifting her gently, he pulled her closer toward him, closing the gap between them. Adrienne wrapped her legs around his waist, shifting her weight forward. Lifting her once more, he carried her on his hips to the bed.
He ignored the jingling of the keys in the lock of the front door. His lips ran along the sides of her neck as he ignored the shouts of profanity in the living room accompanied by his name. He threw her shirt at the door as it was kicked open. Deshawn stopped ignoring his brother when the phone bill collided with his head. He looked up from Adrienne’s neck. “Goddamn it Jackson. Don’t you ever knock? What the fuck is your problem?” A topless Adrienne sat up and hugged her knees in an attempt to cover herself. “My problem? My problem is I have a jackass of a brother who didn’t pay his part of the phone bill AGAIN and I had to pay the entire thing. Either you start growing up or your slack ass better go home.” An infuriated Jackson smirked. “I don’t know why you covered up, Adrienne. I’ve seen you more naked than that.” Adrienne threw a pillow in his direction, but he shut the door before it hit him.
“This night of no moon there is no way to meet him. I rise in longing—my breast pounds, a leaping flame. My heart is consumed in fire.”
--Ono No Komachi Kashinshu
Adrienne awoke sprawled across the bed, her boots still tied. Her eyes scanned the darkness for familiar objects. Big screen TV, red sheets, king size bed. No Gandalf. Her foggy mind processed gradually. Cinnamon and laundry detergent. She smelled him but she could not see him. Adrienne rolled over and found herself inches away from Deshawn’s face. He reached over and ran his fingers through her hair. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked groggily. “A few hours. You had a little too much to drink.” Adrienne ran her hands down his shirt.
“If I had too much to drink, how come everybody still has their clothes on?”
“Because some people decided to do a strip tease with more than a one person audience.” The anger in his sarcasm hit her like a brick wall. Adrienne climbed on top of him and rested her chin on his chest. “What exactly are we mad about? The fact that I was stripping in front of strangers or that I didn’t keep any of the money?” Deshawn stared coldly at her. Obviously he didn’t appreciate her sense of humor. “Or,” she began running her hands underneath his shirt, “we are just mad because we weren’t the center of attention.” He looked away. She sat up. “That’s it isn’t it? You think that all my sexual attention has to be directed at you all the time! I can’t just be a sensuous being. You have to always be the recipient. You spoiled little bitch.” Adrienne got out of the bed and slammed the bathroom door.
Deshawn leaned up against the wall. “Adrienne you know that has nothing to do with it. Why do I always have to be some sort of selfish anti-feminist bastard every time I get mad at you? Why am I never allowed to be mad at you? You want to know why I’m upset? Because you had too much to drink. Because you got on top of the bar and almost fell off. It doesn’t have anything to do with your sexual rights. It’s not like that ‘s your job and you had it all choreographed and you were concentrating and you knew what you were doing. You can’t dance on a bar covered in glasses when you’re has small as you are and have had more alcohol content than you can handle. As your boyfriend I’m supposed to let you do that? I’m supposed to let you hurt yourself? Goddamn it Adrienne, open the fucking door.”
The door opened slightly. Deshawn pushed it open to find Adrienne sitting on the counter by the sink, swinging her legs and kicking the cupboards. Her took her hand and placed it on his cheek. He leaned closer, touching her forehead with his. She ran her hand down the back of his neck, and brought the other arm around to clasp her hands around it. His wet lips slid from her mouth to her chin, from her chin to her neck. His hands ran up her thighs to her waist, encircling her back. Lifting her gently, he pulled her closer toward him, closing the gap between them. Adrienne wrapped her legs around his waist, shifting her weight forward. Lifting her once more, he carried her on his hips to the bed.
He ignored the jingling of the keys in the lock of the front door. His lips ran along the sides of her neck as he ignored the shouts of profanity in the living room accompanied by his name. He threw her shirt at the door as it was kicked open. Deshawn stopped ignoring his brother when the phone bill collided with his head. He looked up from Adrienne’s neck. “Goddamn it Jackson. Don’t you ever knock? What the fuck is your problem?” A topless Adrienne sat up and hugged her knees in an attempt to cover herself. “My problem? My problem is I have a jackass of a brother who didn’t pay his part of the phone bill AGAIN and I had to pay the entire thing. Either you start growing up or your slack ass better go home.” An infuriated Jackson smirked. “I don’t know why you covered up, Adrienne. I’ve seen you more naked than that.” Adrienne threw a pillow in his direction, but he shut the door before it hit him.
21
“ Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who did not hear the music.” Angela Monet
A smoky haze floated throughout the air in the bar packed with sweat covered bodies. Adrienne’s energy seemed to catch hold of the smoke and pull it toward her so that when she walked the smoke followed. She wandered out to the tiny dance floor with a Smirnoff Ice in hand and Jamar close behind. Turning to face him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her mouth down the side of his neck. He ran his hand down her arm and took the Smirnoff bottle. “I think I should hold onto this for a while.” Adrienne reached for the bottle, but he held it over her head. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, stopping where it hung over his jeans. “It’s just a Smirnoff. Even you drink more than that.” Deshawn held her gaze firmly. “No.”
Pushing away she made her way through the bodies to the bar. How she got on top of the bar was unimportant. What mattered was only that she was up there, which, in Deshawn’s eyes, was just as bad even if she hadn’t begun to dance. He stared transfixed at her standing on top of the bar, swaying her hips to an unknown tune, and running her hands along breasts that he felt were for his eyes only. By the time he made it to the bar Adrienne was no longer wearing a shirt. Dollar bills were flying when he grasped Adrienne around the waist from behind the bar and pulled her down to the floor where he stood. He briefly exchanged glances with Marina, the bartender, who had caught Adrienne’s shirt when she flung it off. Taking her shirt from Marina, he loosened his grip on her waist and attempted to put her shirt back on her. As soon as his grip loosened, Adrienne fell backwards against the wall. Marina held her up so Deshawn could finish the job. She looked at Deshawn critically. “How many did she have before she got here? Don’t you have any sense at all? When she’s here with Hadassah I don’t make her drinks as strong. Hadassah drinks enough for the both of them put together.” He stared at her for a moment, and then shifted his gaze back to Adrienne. “C’mon baby girl. We’re going home,” he said as he guided Adrienne out the door by her shoulders.
Tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, Adrienne lunged forward, and she would have hit the concrete had Deshawn not caught her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
A smoky haze floated throughout the air in the bar packed with sweat covered bodies. Adrienne’s energy seemed to catch hold of the smoke and pull it toward her so that when she walked the smoke followed. She wandered out to the tiny dance floor with a Smirnoff Ice in hand and Jamar close behind. Turning to face him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her mouth down the side of his neck. He ran his hand down her arm and took the Smirnoff bottle. “I think I should hold onto this for a while.” Adrienne reached for the bottle, but he held it over her head. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, stopping where it hung over his jeans. “It’s just a Smirnoff. Even you drink more than that.” Deshawn held her gaze firmly. “No.”
Pushing away she made her way through the bodies to the bar. How she got on top of the bar was unimportant. What mattered was only that she was up there, which, in Deshawn’s eyes, was just as bad even if she hadn’t begun to dance. He stared transfixed at her standing on top of the bar, swaying her hips to an unknown tune, and running her hands along breasts that he felt were for his eyes only. By the time he made it to the bar Adrienne was no longer wearing a shirt. Dollar bills were flying when he grasped Adrienne around the waist from behind the bar and pulled her down to the floor where he stood. He briefly exchanged glances with Marina, the bartender, who had caught Adrienne’s shirt when she flung it off. Taking her shirt from Marina, he loosened his grip on her waist and attempted to put her shirt back on her. As soon as his grip loosened, Adrienne fell backwards against the wall. Marina held her up so Deshawn could finish the job. She looked at Deshawn critically. “How many did she have before she got here? Don’t you have any sense at all? When she’s here with Hadassah I don’t make her drinks as strong. Hadassah drinks enough for the both of them put together.” He stared at her for a moment, and then shifted his gaze back to Adrienne. “C’mon baby girl. We’re going home,” he said as he guided Adrienne out the door by her shoulders.
Tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, Adrienne lunged forward, and she would have hit the concrete had Deshawn not caught her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
20
Twenty
“Everything has it’s wonders, even darkness and sadness, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.” –Helen Keller
March 9 Keolwulf 14
Adrienne let out a sharp sigh as she turned in her exam envelope. Yet somehow the stress didn’t disappear. True, she only had one final. One final and four papers to be exact. She’d rather have a million papers and no finals. But nobody asked her did they? The papers weren’t what stressed her out. One of her talents was pulling papers out of her ass. The stress came over the anxiety over what she would get on her transcript as a result. Her watch beeped twice; she didn’t have to look at the purple plastic watch emblazoned with glitter. Two beeps meant 9PM. Birth control time.
Adrienne reached in her purse and pulled out her orthotricylen—she had painted the dial pack with metallic purple nail polish. Obsession? Of course not. Artistic boredom. She swallowed the light blue pill with a hot Pepsi One that had been in her purse since the beginning of the exam. She glanced down at the watch to check the date. Monday. She had a tendency to lose track of what day it was. Hourly time didn’t mean much to her. Neither did calendar dates. It was the days of the week that were more important.
Adrienne had certain days reserved for certain things. If she were going to pick a day in which to be a complete and absolute bitch about something, Monday was a definite candidate. Many people had been saved from an all out tirade based on the fact that it simply wasn’t a Monday. In the beginning she had felt bad about having sex on Sundays. Originally it was because she felt as though it was because she was having sex that she wasn’t going to Mass. She proved herself wrong one month that she was celibate. Apparently she didn’t go to Mass regardless. If that didn’t prove anything, her relationship with Hadassah did. She’d have sex with Hadassah no matter what day it was.
The forest green of the oak leaves stood out vibrantly against the orange painted tips; she stood like the oak against the late autumn haze of evening. Or perhaps the evening stood against her, for the ferocity of the colors painted against the sky ran along her spine like a hammer against each bone. Her thoughts danced speedily along the rising wind, as if they summoned the element itself. It was unclear as to the veracity of the wind’s existence. There seemed to be a great gust of energy, hot from her soul that rushed through the autumn haze and the orange dipped leaves. Each vertebra seemed to vibrate in succession. Each muscle seemed overly tight. Adrienne breathed in the dried leaves, the newly turned soil. Anxiety wracked her body like a violent scent.
Just then her purse began to vibrate. She rummaged through its random contents to find her cell, which had been placed on vibrate during the exam. She stared blankly at Deshawn’s number as it appeared on the screen. She almost didn’t answer it, but thought better of it. “Yeah,” she answered flatly.
“Hey beautiful. Are you finished?”
“Yeah, I’m done.”
“Do you want me to come get you, or do you want to meet me?”
“I’ll meet you; I don’t want to have to come back to get my car.”
“So where you want to go?”
“Ruby Tuesdays. The one closest to my house.”
“Alright baby girl. See you in a few.”
The street signs flashed by without much meaning. It didn’t really matter much; Adrienne could make it to Ruby Tuesdays with her eyes closed, for everything stood out starkly against the autumn haze. Colors attacked her and beat against her brain like the pounding of a drum.
Deshawn was leaning against the side of the restaurant when she began to walk toward him. Adrienne walked slowly, balancing her steps with the pounding of the world around her. She fixed her eyes on the way his black t-shirt defined each of his upper body muscles perfectly at the same time that it hung loosely over his oversized jeans. In her opinion, Deshawn’s attractiveness stopped there—mostly because his boots were practically hidden by his jeans. It might just be because she had a boot fetish, but Adrienne thought that if one was going to wear boots, they should be visible.
She could feel his eyes upon her, wandering around her figure the way hers had his. Her low rise jeans began at her hips, and the patches of violet velvet sporadically traveled down the legs to her combat boots that had been painted with indigo and lavender glitter. She ran her fingers through her garnet ringlets, inadvertently causing her lilac tank top ribbed with threads of silver to expose her midriff.
Deshawn slid his sleek arm around her waist, running his fingers almost absent mindedly along the hem of her top. He knew better than to guide her to her seat. Instead he simply rested his arm in the curve of her waist. Adrienne chose a booth toward the end of the non smoking section in the corner at the edge of the room. She slid across the table from him and began to arrange the sugar packets in erratic block patterns. He watched her intently, as if he thought the intensity of his stare would grasp her attention. It didn’t.
“May I take your order?” the waitress in black spandex pants asked for a second time. Adrienne looked up suddenly from her sugar packets. “Two sex on the beach. Chocolate tall cake,” she answered rapidly, in an almost automatic tone. Their server turned to Deshawn, who replied, “Two Corona, chili cheese fries,” without removing his gaze from Adrienne.
Adrienne guzzled both her drinks down before Desawn was finished with his first Corona. He eyed her carefully as she ate the whipped cream off her tall cake. Abruptly she stood and reached out for his arm. “Let’s go. Get a box,” she demanded, grabbing his wrist. He rose and signaled the waitress for a to go box. “What about my beer? This isn’t New Orleans; I can’t take it with me.” Adrienne grabbed his unopened Corona and walked up to a blonde man sitting at the bar. “My boyfriend bought you a drink,” she whispered into his ear as she placed the Corona in front of him. She turned around before a perplexed look crossed his face.
“Everything has it’s wonders, even darkness and sadness, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.” –Helen Keller
March 9 Keolwulf 14
Adrienne let out a sharp sigh as she turned in her exam envelope. Yet somehow the stress didn’t disappear. True, she only had one final. One final and four papers to be exact. She’d rather have a million papers and no finals. But nobody asked her did they? The papers weren’t what stressed her out. One of her talents was pulling papers out of her ass. The stress came over the anxiety over what she would get on her transcript as a result. Her watch beeped twice; she didn’t have to look at the purple plastic watch emblazoned with glitter. Two beeps meant 9PM. Birth control time.
Adrienne reached in her purse and pulled out her orthotricylen—she had painted the dial pack with metallic purple nail polish. Obsession? Of course not. Artistic boredom. She swallowed the light blue pill with a hot Pepsi One that had been in her purse since the beginning of the exam. She glanced down at the watch to check the date. Monday. She had a tendency to lose track of what day it was. Hourly time didn’t mean much to her. Neither did calendar dates. It was the days of the week that were more important.
Adrienne had certain days reserved for certain things. If she were going to pick a day in which to be a complete and absolute bitch about something, Monday was a definite candidate. Many people had been saved from an all out tirade based on the fact that it simply wasn’t a Monday. In the beginning she had felt bad about having sex on Sundays. Originally it was because she felt as though it was because she was having sex that she wasn’t going to Mass. She proved herself wrong one month that she was celibate. Apparently she didn’t go to Mass regardless. If that didn’t prove anything, her relationship with Hadassah did. She’d have sex with Hadassah no matter what day it was.
The forest green of the oak leaves stood out vibrantly against the orange painted tips; she stood like the oak against the late autumn haze of evening. Or perhaps the evening stood against her, for the ferocity of the colors painted against the sky ran along her spine like a hammer against each bone. Her thoughts danced speedily along the rising wind, as if they summoned the element itself. It was unclear as to the veracity of the wind’s existence. There seemed to be a great gust of energy, hot from her soul that rushed through the autumn haze and the orange dipped leaves. Each vertebra seemed to vibrate in succession. Each muscle seemed overly tight. Adrienne breathed in the dried leaves, the newly turned soil. Anxiety wracked her body like a violent scent.
Just then her purse began to vibrate. She rummaged through its random contents to find her cell, which had been placed on vibrate during the exam. She stared blankly at Deshawn’s number as it appeared on the screen. She almost didn’t answer it, but thought better of it. “Yeah,” she answered flatly.
“Hey beautiful. Are you finished?”
“Yeah, I’m done.”
“Do you want me to come get you, or do you want to meet me?”
“I’ll meet you; I don’t want to have to come back to get my car.”
“So where you want to go?”
“Ruby Tuesdays. The one closest to my house.”
“Alright baby girl. See you in a few.”
The street signs flashed by without much meaning. It didn’t really matter much; Adrienne could make it to Ruby Tuesdays with her eyes closed, for everything stood out starkly against the autumn haze. Colors attacked her and beat against her brain like the pounding of a drum.
Deshawn was leaning against the side of the restaurant when she began to walk toward him. Adrienne walked slowly, balancing her steps with the pounding of the world around her. She fixed her eyes on the way his black t-shirt defined each of his upper body muscles perfectly at the same time that it hung loosely over his oversized jeans. In her opinion, Deshawn’s attractiveness stopped there—mostly because his boots were practically hidden by his jeans. It might just be because she had a boot fetish, but Adrienne thought that if one was going to wear boots, they should be visible.
She could feel his eyes upon her, wandering around her figure the way hers had his. Her low rise jeans began at her hips, and the patches of violet velvet sporadically traveled down the legs to her combat boots that had been painted with indigo and lavender glitter. She ran her fingers through her garnet ringlets, inadvertently causing her lilac tank top ribbed with threads of silver to expose her midriff.
Deshawn slid his sleek arm around her waist, running his fingers almost absent mindedly along the hem of her top. He knew better than to guide her to her seat. Instead he simply rested his arm in the curve of her waist. Adrienne chose a booth toward the end of the non smoking section in the corner at the edge of the room. She slid across the table from him and began to arrange the sugar packets in erratic block patterns. He watched her intently, as if he thought the intensity of his stare would grasp her attention. It didn’t.
“May I take your order?” the waitress in black spandex pants asked for a second time. Adrienne looked up suddenly from her sugar packets. “Two sex on the beach. Chocolate tall cake,” she answered rapidly, in an almost automatic tone. Their server turned to Deshawn, who replied, “Two Corona, chili cheese fries,” without removing his gaze from Adrienne.
Adrienne guzzled both her drinks down before Desawn was finished with his first Corona. He eyed her carefully as she ate the whipped cream off her tall cake. Abruptly she stood and reached out for his arm. “Let’s go. Get a box,” she demanded, grabbing his wrist. He rose and signaled the waitress for a to go box. “What about my beer? This isn’t New Orleans; I can’t take it with me.” Adrienne grabbed his unopened Corona and walked up to a blonde man sitting at the bar. “My boyfriend bought you a drink,” she whispered into his ear as she placed the Corona in front of him. She turned around before a perplexed look crossed his face.
19
Nineteen
Tenderness contains an element of sadness. It’s not the sadness of feeling sorry for yourself or feeling deprived, but it is the natural situation of fullness. You feel so full and rich, as if you were about to shed tears. Your eyes are full of tears, and the moment you blink, the tears will spill out of your eyes and roll down your cheeks. In order to be a good warrior, one has to feel this sad and tender heart.” --Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche
Hadassah leaned against the door frame, watching a curled up Adrienne mindlessly gaze at a rerun of the Cosby Show. When she had left her it had been an old Roseanne. Apparently she had been arguing with Reuel for half an hour. Hadassah crawled onto the bed next to Adrienne. She stroked matted red curl. It hadn’t been washed for days. “Come on baby girl. Let’s go take a bath.” She stood and pulled Adrienne to her feet. Adrienne followed Hadassah to the bathroom, clasping her left hand gently. Hadassah dropped Adrienne’s hand and began to run the bath water. Adrienne propped herself up against the doorframe. Hadassah added Jasmine bath and shower gel; the water began to rise, thick with suds.
Hadassah turned to face Adrienne, her eyes filled with a tenderness in the place of the usual lust, catching Adrienne off guard. She averted her eyes and stared at the blue linoleum floor. Hadassah approached her slowly. She ran her hands gently down Adrienne’s shoulders, stopping at the hem of the pink T-shirt. Holding Adrienne’s murky gaze, she lifted it softly over her head. Next she knelt on the floor and unzipped Adrienne’s jeans. Adrienne slipped out of them slowly. Her delicate hands slipped down Adrienne’s panties, making an effort to remove them without it being overwhelmingly sexual. She stood and turned slightly, tossing the purple bikini panties into the corner where she had thrown the rest of Adrienne’s clothes. When she turned back, Adrienne stood less than a foot away from her. She ran her hands up the front of Hadassah’s T-shirt, feeling the warmth of her breasts. She then lifted it gingerly over Hadassah’s head. Reaching down she unbuttoned Hadassah’s black jeans. Once again, no underwear.
The bathtub was large enough that both Hadassah and Adrienne could have sat at opposite ends. Instead, Hadassah sat near the faucet with Adrienne’s back to her. Slowly she massaged the Jasmine scented shampoo into Adrienne’s hair, beginning at the roots. Adrienne’s hair hung to the middle of her back when it was dry. It was at least a couple inches longer when wet. Gingerly Hadassah gathered up the ends and piled all the hair in one sudsy pile on top of Adrienne’s head. Turning around she grasped the spray attachment she had fixed to the faucet. Adrienne leaned her head back as Hadassah effortlessly rinse out all the shampoo.
Adrienne sat on Hadassah’s lap. Facing her, she ran a hot sponge across Hadassah’s mocha shoulders; She stared intently at the little beads of water that collected and scattered themselves across her skin. The sponge ran along the hollows of Hadassah’s neck, hollows that Adrienne’s moist lips would later trace. She ran the sponge along Hadassah’s arms, across her ample breasts and down her stomach, memorizing the contours of her glorious body. Hadassah caught Adrienne’s chin with her right hand; holding her steady, Hadassah gave her lips a full, wet massage with her hungry mouth. She ran her smooth, manicured fingertips over each breast, causing each nipple to harden, each individually, each in its own accord with sensory response to her seductive touch. Adrienne ran her fervent tongue over Hadassah’s abundant lips. Parting her lips, she passionately returned Adrienne’s kiss; she pulled away abruptly, as if suddenly aware of something that she hadn’t been before. Adrienne’s eyes darkened slightly, becoming a deep, stormy grey instead of a light hazel. Hadassah searched their murky depths willfully, aware that somewhere behind them lay things that she might not be able to handle or would later regret that she knew. It was then that she spoke, as she lightly traced the curves of Adrienne’s mouth with her elegant fingers. “I don’t know whether I’m supposed to ask you to tell me or whether I’m supposed to wait for you to tell me of your own accord. When I see something that I want I take it, simple as that, with no equivocation involved. I could be a storm that takes you by force, without thought as to what exactly I am acquiring. If you were just some random fuck then that’s exactly what I would do; but you’re not, because if you were you wouldn’t still be here. If this is what we’re going to do, I’m going to need to know what’s going on. I need some answers Adrienne. I can’t just ignore whatever the hell is going down.”
Adrienne lay down in the water, her head resting on the wall of the bathtub. Her eyes had glazed over, not in an unconscious way, but in a way that almost seemed hyper-conscious. It was like the glaze was there to filter out bright sparks that threatened to burst forth at any moment. “There are days when the sun wakes me up and the first thought in my head is, Goddamn it to hell, why did I have to wake up? The sun spills across my body and it’s like it’s taunting me with life. Look you sorry piece of shit, you still have breath in your lungs. Doctors always tell you, stay regular with your medication, otherwise how will the intensity of these feelings be lowered? The intensity of my feelings? Did it ever occur to them that I wouldn’t like to have them at all? That maybe it’s better to wake up to nothingness than to wake up to something that you know will never work properly for you? Sure you exist, but what kind of an existence is it if you know that it will never be fully what it is for everyone else, because everyone else can function on a higher level than you can. Everyone else gets out of bed in the morning and they think, hey, maybe I’ll wear red today or eat chocolate cake for breakfast or pizza or Chinese food. They think of all the things they have to do in their day and what they have to look forward to at night. I think, maybe I’ll lie here in the floor long enough that because I don’t get up to go to the bathroom I’ll self induce kidney failure. Maybe in a few hours I’ll get enough strength to get up out of the floor and go take some of everything toxic in the house. Maybe this time Jamar will leave his ass at home and not come barging in on a mission to save me. It isn’t about me; it’s about having someone to save. Someone to make him feel useful, to make him feel like his affection isn’t misguided. Something that makes him feel that he’s not just some insignificant spec in the universe. You said he was a patriarchal bastard, and he is. He automatically binds himself to a woman that he feels needs taking care of; she is second rate and he is first rate because he exists on a higher functioning level. I don’t want to be taken care of because I need taking care of. I want it to matter to someone what happens because they believe in me, not because they believe that my existence somehow equates that theirs is higher, that my sole purpose is to demonstrate their superiority. Sometimes the medicine helps; sometimes I get out of the bed, put on my clothes, and vanquish the day because I am woman, I am empowered, and somewhere in the universe I have a purpose. But those days are so far and few in between. Sometimes I think I’ve lost them, like you lose the end of the rainbow when the sun shines too brightly. I lose them, and I don’t know how to get them back.”
Tenderness contains an element of sadness. It’s not the sadness of feeling sorry for yourself or feeling deprived, but it is the natural situation of fullness. You feel so full and rich, as if you were about to shed tears. Your eyes are full of tears, and the moment you blink, the tears will spill out of your eyes and roll down your cheeks. In order to be a good warrior, one has to feel this sad and tender heart.” --Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche
Hadassah leaned against the door frame, watching a curled up Adrienne mindlessly gaze at a rerun of the Cosby Show. When she had left her it had been an old Roseanne. Apparently she had been arguing with Reuel for half an hour. Hadassah crawled onto the bed next to Adrienne. She stroked matted red curl. It hadn’t been washed for days. “Come on baby girl. Let’s go take a bath.” She stood and pulled Adrienne to her feet. Adrienne followed Hadassah to the bathroom, clasping her left hand gently. Hadassah dropped Adrienne’s hand and began to run the bath water. Adrienne propped herself up against the doorframe. Hadassah added Jasmine bath and shower gel; the water began to rise, thick with suds.
Hadassah turned to face Adrienne, her eyes filled with a tenderness in the place of the usual lust, catching Adrienne off guard. She averted her eyes and stared at the blue linoleum floor. Hadassah approached her slowly. She ran her hands gently down Adrienne’s shoulders, stopping at the hem of the pink T-shirt. Holding Adrienne’s murky gaze, she lifted it softly over her head. Next she knelt on the floor and unzipped Adrienne’s jeans. Adrienne slipped out of them slowly. Her delicate hands slipped down Adrienne’s panties, making an effort to remove them without it being overwhelmingly sexual. She stood and turned slightly, tossing the purple bikini panties into the corner where she had thrown the rest of Adrienne’s clothes. When she turned back, Adrienne stood less than a foot away from her. She ran her hands up the front of Hadassah’s T-shirt, feeling the warmth of her breasts. She then lifted it gingerly over Hadassah’s head. Reaching down she unbuttoned Hadassah’s black jeans. Once again, no underwear.
The bathtub was large enough that both Hadassah and Adrienne could have sat at opposite ends. Instead, Hadassah sat near the faucet with Adrienne’s back to her. Slowly she massaged the Jasmine scented shampoo into Adrienne’s hair, beginning at the roots. Adrienne’s hair hung to the middle of her back when it was dry. It was at least a couple inches longer when wet. Gingerly Hadassah gathered up the ends and piled all the hair in one sudsy pile on top of Adrienne’s head. Turning around she grasped the spray attachment she had fixed to the faucet. Adrienne leaned her head back as Hadassah effortlessly rinse out all the shampoo.
Adrienne sat on Hadassah’s lap. Facing her, she ran a hot sponge across Hadassah’s mocha shoulders; She stared intently at the little beads of water that collected and scattered themselves across her skin. The sponge ran along the hollows of Hadassah’s neck, hollows that Adrienne’s moist lips would later trace. She ran the sponge along Hadassah’s arms, across her ample breasts and down her stomach, memorizing the contours of her glorious body. Hadassah caught Adrienne’s chin with her right hand; holding her steady, Hadassah gave her lips a full, wet massage with her hungry mouth. She ran her smooth, manicured fingertips over each breast, causing each nipple to harden, each individually, each in its own accord with sensory response to her seductive touch. Adrienne ran her fervent tongue over Hadassah’s abundant lips. Parting her lips, she passionately returned Adrienne’s kiss; she pulled away abruptly, as if suddenly aware of something that she hadn’t been before. Adrienne’s eyes darkened slightly, becoming a deep, stormy grey instead of a light hazel. Hadassah searched their murky depths willfully, aware that somewhere behind them lay things that she might not be able to handle or would later regret that she knew. It was then that she spoke, as she lightly traced the curves of Adrienne’s mouth with her elegant fingers. “I don’t know whether I’m supposed to ask you to tell me or whether I’m supposed to wait for you to tell me of your own accord. When I see something that I want I take it, simple as that, with no equivocation involved. I could be a storm that takes you by force, without thought as to what exactly I am acquiring. If you were just some random fuck then that’s exactly what I would do; but you’re not, because if you were you wouldn’t still be here. If this is what we’re going to do, I’m going to need to know what’s going on. I need some answers Adrienne. I can’t just ignore whatever the hell is going down.”
Adrienne lay down in the water, her head resting on the wall of the bathtub. Her eyes had glazed over, not in an unconscious way, but in a way that almost seemed hyper-conscious. It was like the glaze was there to filter out bright sparks that threatened to burst forth at any moment. “There are days when the sun wakes me up and the first thought in my head is, Goddamn it to hell, why did I have to wake up? The sun spills across my body and it’s like it’s taunting me with life. Look you sorry piece of shit, you still have breath in your lungs. Doctors always tell you, stay regular with your medication, otherwise how will the intensity of these feelings be lowered? The intensity of my feelings? Did it ever occur to them that I wouldn’t like to have them at all? That maybe it’s better to wake up to nothingness than to wake up to something that you know will never work properly for you? Sure you exist, but what kind of an existence is it if you know that it will never be fully what it is for everyone else, because everyone else can function on a higher level than you can. Everyone else gets out of bed in the morning and they think, hey, maybe I’ll wear red today or eat chocolate cake for breakfast or pizza or Chinese food. They think of all the things they have to do in their day and what they have to look forward to at night. I think, maybe I’ll lie here in the floor long enough that because I don’t get up to go to the bathroom I’ll self induce kidney failure. Maybe in a few hours I’ll get enough strength to get up out of the floor and go take some of everything toxic in the house. Maybe this time Jamar will leave his ass at home and not come barging in on a mission to save me. It isn’t about me; it’s about having someone to save. Someone to make him feel useful, to make him feel like his affection isn’t misguided. Something that makes him feel that he’s not just some insignificant spec in the universe. You said he was a patriarchal bastard, and he is. He automatically binds himself to a woman that he feels needs taking care of; she is second rate and he is first rate because he exists on a higher functioning level. I don’t want to be taken care of because I need taking care of. I want it to matter to someone what happens because they believe in me, not because they believe that my existence somehow equates that theirs is higher, that my sole purpose is to demonstrate their superiority. Sometimes the medicine helps; sometimes I get out of the bed, put on my clothes, and vanquish the day because I am woman, I am empowered, and somewhere in the universe I have a purpose. But those days are so far and few in between. Sometimes I think I’ve lost them, like you lose the end of the rainbow when the sun shines too brightly. I lose them, and I don’t know how to get them back.”
18
March
“Month of Mars, the growing light,
Anticipating Spring’s delight.
Hare moon makes wishing true.
Plot the path and drink the brew.”
Eighteen
“But thought’s the slave of life, and life time’s fool; and time, that takes survey of all the world, must have a stop. O! I could prophesy, but that earthly and cold hand of death lies on my tongue.”
--William Shakespeare
Henry IV, Part I, 5.4.81
March 5 Keolwulf 10
Adrienne walked slowly down the hallway, her movement precise and deliberate. She stayed close to the wall, hundreds of frantic bodies passing her in an effort to make it to their respective classes. Hectic chatter registered only as background noise. That was why she hadn’t heard her name being called. Hadassah grabbed her arm and jerked her into a corner. “Where the hell have you been?” She demanded forcefully. “You haven’t been to class in three days. You don’t answer your phone; you leave your AIM signed on but you don’t answer instant messages,” she paused and placed her hands on her hips. “What the fuck is going on Adrienne? You’re still wearing my shirt. Obviously you haven’t washed your hair. Did Deshawn do something?” Adrienne met her eyes, slightly surprised. “Yeah, I know all about what’s between you. He’s in my Law of Sex Discrimination class. Patriarchal bastard. Just tell me what the motherfucker did and I’ll break his legs,” her thick voice held an element Adrienne couldn’t exactly identify; she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “He didn’t do anything,” she said heavily, putting her book bag down and sitting next to it with her back against the wall. Hadassah squatted in front of her and stroked her matted curls. “It doesn’t make me want you any less,” she whispered. The gold flecks in her eyes glistened. “I’m not threatened by dick,”she said smugly. “Besides,” she added, running her finger over Adrienne’s mouth, “I can give you more than he ever could.”
Hadassah grasped Adrienne’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “You’re coming home with me,” she commanded. “We’ll get your car later. It’s Friday; they’re not going to do anything about it as long as it’s in the parking deck. Do you have everything?” She asked, still grasping Adrienne’s arm firmly. Adrienne nodded silently. “Fine. Let’s go then. I’m driving.”
Hadassah made abrupt turns around sharp corners faster than she probably should have. Adrienne didn’t look at the speedometer; she knew they were going 65 in a 45 zone. Rage Against the Machine’s “Testify” shook the speakers. The tone matched Hadassah’s driving perfectly; she was too numb to smirk. She laid her head against the window and let the vibrations dull her consciousness. The car had been parked for a while before Adrienne realized that they had stopped. She got out, carrying her lavender purse and mauve book bag as she followed Hadassah across the parking lot and up the stairs to the second floor.
Hadassah unlocked the door and kicked it open. She always kicked doors open. Force of habit. She entered first, Adrienne following meekly behind. Hadassah took Adrienne’s purse and book bag from her and tossed it on the blue flowered couch. The Jack Daniels bottle still sat on the coffee table. This time it was empty. The half smoked Black and Milds were still there. She walked into the kitchen, leaving Adrienne standing by the couch. “When was the last time you ate something?” She called. Adrienne sat down next to her book bag. “I don’t know,” she replied hoarsely. She could hear Hadassah rummaging around in the kitchen. “I’ve got frozen pizza, mac and cheese, ramen, bagels, pizza rolls, and random microwaveable dinners,” she said, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice. She placed it next to the empty Jack Daniels bottle in front of Adrienne. “Mac and cheese,” she answered quietly. Hadassah went back into the kitchen and continued clattering pans.
Adrienne played with the remaining macaroni and cheese in her bowl. Hadassah sat across from her on the floor, her gaze never leaving Adrienne. Adrienne had eaten about half of what Hadassah had put in the bowl. She ate methodically, as though her mind were somewhere else and her body was simply going through the necessary motions to sustain itself. She had been only partially present since the car ride there. Abruptly she stabbed the macaroni with her fork and left it standing up straight. She looked over at Hadassah for the first time since she had begun eating. Hadassah held her hazel gaze, searching as though whatever was bothering Adrienne would be held just below the surface and could be discovered if she stared hard enough. She reached out and held Adrienne’s hand. “Come on, maybe you should just lie down,” she suggested, leading Adrienne into the bedroom.
Reuel sat on the blue flowered couch and poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels. He emptied the contents of the lavender purse onto the coffee table: prescriptions, wallet, cell phone, makeup, midol, tampons, disc man, an Alanis CD, purple pens, battery recharger. He opened the wallet and stared at the Emory University ID: Adrienne Judianna Venet, DOB July 1, 1982.. He thumbed through the rest of the contents of the wallet. Washington Mutual Check Card, MasterCard, CVS card, Blockbuster card, Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance membership card, Medicaid insurance card, business cards. He stopped at the business cards.
Maria St. Claire, MD. Emory University. Adult and Child Psychiatry. Psychopharmacology. By appointment only.
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC. Emory University. Adult and Adolescent psychotherapy. By appointment only.
Delia Brown, C.C.N. Certified Clinical Nutritionist.Emory University. By appointment only.
He glanced over at the prescriptions that lay on the table. Depakote, Celexa, Seroquel, Welbutrin, Orthotricyclen.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hadassah demanded, emerging from her bedroom. Reuel poured himself some more whiskey. “ A redhead huh. I’ve never tasted a redhead. Are you going to be stingy with this one?” He challenged, the glass to his lips. Hadassah put her hands on her voluptuous lips. “Why are you going through her purse?” She demanded angrily. Reuel swallowed a large gulp of whiskey. “I wanted to see who you were fucking,” he replied matter of factly. Hadassah’s hazel eyes flickered with rage. “That’s not your goddamned business, Reuel. Now put all her shit back,” she commanded. “I don’t know why you’re so mad; I’m just looking out for my baby sister,” he taunted. “The hell you are. Now put her shit back before you start something you can’t finish.” His golden eyes flickered angrily. “Something I can’t finish? You’re the one with the fucked up bitch in your bed. Did you look at all this shit she’s on?” He thrust the Seroquel in her face. “Do you know what this is? It’s an antipsychotic, Hadassah. And this--” he said, pointing to the Depakote, “ is an antidseizure drug. Celexa is an antidepressant. You’ve got yourself the makings of a manic depressive. You better learn to do background checks on your bitches before you let them in your pants.”
“I better do background checks? What about that last Bitch you had up in here? Tatiyanna something? The bitch with Chlamydia? Put your money where your mouth is motherfucker.” She stared coldly at him. “A master’s degree in Psychology doesn’t make you a goddamned doctor, Reuel. Remember who dropped out of grad school next time you want to play shrink,” she said flatly, reaching for the whiskey. His golden eyes stayed transfixed on her hazel ones as she emptied the contents of the bottle onto the carpet. His eyes glazed over. “If you weren’t my sister, I’d cut you,” he said lowly. “Bring it on, Bitch,” she spat. Within seconds he had her pinned against the wall. She aimed for his testicles. He blocked her. “You want to hit me motherfucker?” She whispered. He stared coldly at her. “Fuck this shit,” he mumbled and released her. “Get your drunk ass out . Go shack up with Tatiyanna,”she said slowly, deliberately articulating each word. She spit in his direction as he slammed the door.
“Month of Mars, the growing light,
Anticipating Spring’s delight.
Hare moon makes wishing true.
Plot the path and drink the brew.”
Eighteen
“But thought’s the slave of life, and life time’s fool; and time, that takes survey of all the world, must have a stop. O! I could prophesy, but that earthly and cold hand of death lies on my tongue.”
--William Shakespeare
Henry IV, Part I, 5.4.81
March 5 Keolwulf 10
Adrienne walked slowly down the hallway, her movement precise and deliberate. She stayed close to the wall, hundreds of frantic bodies passing her in an effort to make it to their respective classes. Hectic chatter registered only as background noise. That was why she hadn’t heard her name being called. Hadassah grabbed her arm and jerked her into a corner. “Where the hell have you been?” She demanded forcefully. “You haven’t been to class in three days. You don’t answer your phone; you leave your AIM signed on but you don’t answer instant messages,” she paused and placed her hands on her hips. “What the fuck is going on Adrienne? You’re still wearing my shirt. Obviously you haven’t washed your hair. Did Deshawn do something?” Adrienne met her eyes, slightly surprised. “Yeah, I know all about what’s between you. He’s in my Law of Sex Discrimination class. Patriarchal bastard. Just tell me what the motherfucker did and I’ll break his legs,” her thick voice held an element Adrienne couldn’t exactly identify; she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “He didn’t do anything,” she said heavily, putting her book bag down and sitting next to it with her back against the wall. Hadassah squatted in front of her and stroked her matted curls. “It doesn’t make me want you any less,” she whispered. The gold flecks in her eyes glistened. “I’m not threatened by dick,”she said smugly. “Besides,” she added, running her finger over Adrienne’s mouth, “I can give you more than he ever could.”
Hadassah grasped Adrienne’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “You’re coming home with me,” she commanded. “We’ll get your car later. It’s Friday; they’re not going to do anything about it as long as it’s in the parking deck. Do you have everything?” She asked, still grasping Adrienne’s arm firmly. Adrienne nodded silently. “Fine. Let’s go then. I’m driving.”
Hadassah made abrupt turns around sharp corners faster than she probably should have. Adrienne didn’t look at the speedometer; she knew they were going 65 in a 45 zone. Rage Against the Machine’s “Testify” shook the speakers. The tone matched Hadassah’s driving perfectly; she was too numb to smirk. She laid her head against the window and let the vibrations dull her consciousness. The car had been parked for a while before Adrienne realized that they had stopped. She got out, carrying her lavender purse and mauve book bag as she followed Hadassah across the parking lot and up the stairs to the second floor.
Hadassah unlocked the door and kicked it open. She always kicked doors open. Force of habit. She entered first, Adrienne following meekly behind. Hadassah took Adrienne’s purse and book bag from her and tossed it on the blue flowered couch. The Jack Daniels bottle still sat on the coffee table. This time it was empty. The half smoked Black and Milds were still there. She walked into the kitchen, leaving Adrienne standing by the couch. “When was the last time you ate something?” She called. Adrienne sat down next to her book bag. “I don’t know,” she replied hoarsely. She could hear Hadassah rummaging around in the kitchen. “I’ve got frozen pizza, mac and cheese, ramen, bagels, pizza rolls, and random microwaveable dinners,” she said, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice. She placed it next to the empty Jack Daniels bottle in front of Adrienne. “Mac and cheese,” she answered quietly. Hadassah went back into the kitchen and continued clattering pans.
Adrienne played with the remaining macaroni and cheese in her bowl. Hadassah sat across from her on the floor, her gaze never leaving Adrienne. Adrienne had eaten about half of what Hadassah had put in the bowl. She ate methodically, as though her mind were somewhere else and her body was simply going through the necessary motions to sustain itself. She had been only partially present since the car ride there. Abruptly she stabbed the macaroni with her fork and left it standing up straight. She looked over at Hadassah for the first time since she had begun eating. Hadassah held her hazel gaze, searching as though whatever was bothering Adrienne would be held just below the surface and could be discovered if she stared hard enough. She reached out and held Adrienne’s hand. “Come on, maybe you should just lie down,” she suggested, leading Adrienne into the bedroom.
Reuel sat on the blue flowered couch and poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels. He emptied the contents of the lavender purse onto the coffee table: prescriptions, wallet, cell phone, makeup, midol, tampons, disc man, an Alanis CD, purple pens, battery recharger. He opened the wallet and stared at the Emory University ID: Adrienne Judianna Venet, DOB July 1, 1982.. He thumbed through the rest of the contents of the wallet. Washington Mutual Check Card, MasterCard, CVS card, Blockbuster card, Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance membership card, Medicaid insurance card, business cards. He stopped at the business cards.
Maria St. Claire, MD. Emory University. Adult and Child Psychiatry. Psychopharmacology. By appointment only.
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC. Emory University. Adult and Adolescent psychotherapy. By appointment only.
Delia Brown, C.C.N. Certified Clinical Nutritionist.Emory University. By appointment only.
He glanced over at the prescriptions that lay on the table. Depakote, Celexa, Seroquel, Welbutrin, Orthotricyclen.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hadassah demanded, emerging from her bedroom. Reuel poured himself some more whiskey. “ A redhead huh. I’ve never tasted a redhead. Are you going to be stingy with this one?” He challenged, the glass to his lips. Hadassah put her hands on her voluptuous lips. “Why are you going through her purse?” She demanded angrily. Reuel swallowed a large gulp of whiskey. “I wanted to see who you were fucking,” he replied matter of factly. Hadassah’s hazel eyes flickered with rage. “That’s not your goddamned business, Reuel. Now put all her shit back,” she commanded. “I don’t know why you’re so mad; I’m just looking out for my baby sister,” he taunted. “The hell you are. Now put her shit back before you start something you can’t finish.” His golden eyes flickered angrily. “Something I can’t finish? You’re the one with the fucked up bitch in your bed. Did you look at all this shit she’s on?” He thrust the Seroquel in her face. “Do you know what this is? It’s an antipsychotic, Hadassah. And this--” he said, pointing to the Depakote, “ is an antidseizure drug. Celexa is an antidepressant. You’ve got yourself the makings of a manic depressive. You better learn to do background checks on your bitches before you let them in your pants.”
“I better do background checks? What about that last Bitch you had up in here? Tatiyanna something? The bitch with Chlamydia? Put your money where your mouth is motherfucker.” She stared coldly at him. “A master’s degree in Psychology doesn’t make you a goddamned doctor, Reuel. Remember who dropped out of grad school next time you want to play shrink,” she said flatly, reaching for the whiskey. His golden eyes stayed transfixed on her hazel ones as she emptied the contents of the bottle onto the carpet. His eyes glazed over. “If you weren’t my sister, I’d cut you,” he said lowly. “Bring it on, Bitch,” she spat. Within seconds he had her pinned against the wall. She aimed for his testicles. He blocked her. “You want to hit me motherfucker?” She whispered. He stared coldly at her. “Fuck this shit,” he mumbled and released her. “Get your drunk ass out . Go shack up with Tatiyanna,”she said slowly, deliberately articulating each word. She spit in his direction as he slammed the door.
17
Seventeen
February 19 Imbolgen 25
Adrienne Venet
DOB 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
The client has failed to take her psychotropic medications consistently as prescribed. A review of the client’s medication indicates that she has not used the expected amounts. The client has verbalized her fears related to physical and emotional side effects of prescribed medications. A.V. states that she does “not like how they make me feel, all sluggish and mushy.” Client has indicated reluctance to take her prescribed medications. A.V. was asked to identify all her currently prescribed medications, including names, times administered, and dosage. The client was provided with feedback regarding the accuracy of her list of medications. Client was requested to provide honest, realistic description of her medication compliance. Her description of her medication usage was compared with information from her medical chart, information from her psychiatrist, and other objective data. An objective data review indicates poor medication compliance. Motivational interviewing techniques were used to help assess the client’s preparation for change. A. V. was requested to describe fears that she may experience regarding the use of her medications. Myths and misinformation regarding the client’s understanding and fears were corrected. The client’s fears were reviewed, discussed and processed to conclusion. A.V. was reinforced for positive reality based cognitive messages to enhance prescription medication compliance. Client was referred to psychiatrist for evaluation of psychotropic medication. Follow up session TBA.
February 19 Imbolgen 25
Adrienne Venet
DOB 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
The client has failed to take her psychotropic medications consistently as prescribed. A review of the client’s medication indicates that she has not used the expected amounts. The client has verbalized her fears related to physical and emotional side effects of prescribed medications. A.V. states that she does “not like how they make me feel, all sluggish and mushy.” Client has indicated reluctance to take her prescribed medications. A.V. was asked to identify all her currently prescribed medications, including names, times administered, and dosage. The client was provided with feedback regarding the accuracy of her list of medications. Client was requested to provide honest, realistic description of her medication compliance. Her description of her medication usage was compared with information from her medical chart, information from her psychiatrist, and other objective data. An objective data review indicates poor medication compliance. Motivational interviewing techniques were used to help assess the client’s preparation for change. A. V. was requested to describe fears that she may experience regarding the use of her medications. Myths and misinformation regarding the client’s understanding and fears were corrected. The client’s fears were reviewed, discussed and processed to conclusion. A.V. was reinforced for positive reality based cognitive messages to enhance prescription medication compliance. Client was referred to psychiatrist for evaluation of psychotropic medication. Follow up session TBA.
16
Sixteen
February 13 Imbolgen 19
Adrienne sat cross legged in the center of the living room on the beige carpet surrounded by piles of numbered index cards and scattered books: biographies, commentaries, and annotated criticisms. Her blue laptop sat in front of her, open to a word document that was now thirty pages long. Various drafts lay strewn across the floor, creating a pathway from the living room to the bedroom. Empty Pepsi One cans haphazardly graced the floor. A package of chocolate chip rice cakes sat next to the newest addition. Several instant messages flashed on the screen. Adrienne ignored them, as she had ignored everything for--she wasn’t quite sure how long she had been sitting there. Perhaps it was only a few hours; perhaps it was a few days. She had been stuck on page thirty for the past three Pepsies. That was how she told time--by how many cases of Pepsi One she consumed. “Going Under” filled the air; Adrienne stared blankly at her lavender cell phone. She stared until the ringing ceased and then put it on vibrate. She stopped paying attention to who was calling hours ago. Her mind was numb; her head throbbed violently. In fact it had been throbbing for several hours--but Adrienne was totally unaware of time at this point. It felt as though her head was under water. Thought ran too fast for comprehension.
Abruptly she rose from the floor and ran into the bedroom. She began emptying the contents of dresser drawers onto the floor. Frantically she scrambled around, rifling through clothes, makeup, lotion, random postcards. Still she couldn’t find it--them. She needed all of them. She needed all of them right now. Right now right now right now right now right now. The words raced through her mind, the only words that would connect. How was it that four little orange bottles could always escape her? True, she did hide them from herself when she started feeling better. But there aren’t that many places that little pill bottles could hide, are there? The problem was when she really needed them she wasn’t coherent enough to find them. She wasn’t coherent for much of anything, except pacing across the floor. But pacing isn’t very constructive when your brain is going a thousand miles an hour and you start bumping into the wall.
Someone was knocking on the door--banging--they were banging. Adrienne kept dumping drawers onto the floor. She threw clothes everywhere. She threw books at the wall in frustration. She hadn’t heard him unlock the door. She wouldn’t have known that he was there if she hadn’t smelled him--the cinnamon and laundry detergent floated peripherally in her consciousness. He wasn’t important right now. Right now right now right now right now right now right now.
Jamar had been standing there leaning against the door frame of the bedroom for ten minutes. He watched her scurry around on the floor through the same pile of junk over and over. At first he was not sure whether she cognizant of the fact that it was the same pile each time; that was why he had watched her for so long without interfering. Now he was sure that she had no idea.
He had been with her long enough to know that she was aware of his presence. To what degree he wasn’t sure. It varied based on how long she had been unmediated. The hiding places were never the same. He had tried to look for patterns each time; there was no immediate pattern between her hiding places. Adrienne was either way too intelligent for him or the places were too random. He wasn’t sure which one it was. You could never be too sure of anything with Adrienne.
Jamar squatted next to her and touched her shaking hands. She didn’t look up; she simply kept sorting through the same pile. “Adrienne,” he said sharply. No response. “Baby, you need to go lay down,” he said softly, running his fingers though her scarlet curls. He stood slowly, grasping her right hand and supporting her waist with the other. In one swift motion he led her to the bed. Gandalf sat in the middle of the purple flowered pillows. Instinctively she lay down, cuddling next to the cat.
Jamar put his back to her and began searching the room for her prescriptions. Obviously they weren’t in the dresser; she’d torn it apart already. He went to the closet and began looking in shoe boxes. Some of them actually contained shoes. Adrienne never ceased to amaze him.
He conducted a rapid inventory of the living room: Pepsi One cans, rice cakes, paper, laptop, cell phone. They weren’t in there he knew. There was no place to hide them. Quickly he moved to the kitchen. With a trained eye he searched it content s the way the memory traces a familiar road. He looked for things that were out of place. There were no dishes in the sink. That did not surprise him much, from the looks of the living room she had been subsisting solely on rice cakes and Pepsi. Dishes, he thought suddenly. Abruptly he opened up the cupboard and searched behind the glasses on the second shelf. Nothing.
He moved to the third shelf: random pieces of china Adrienne had received from her grandmother: salt and pepper shakers, gravy boat, demitasse cups. He began removing the demitasse cups. At the back of .the cupboard he saw a little orange bottle. Jamar grasped it and read the label. Depakote. Great. There were three more left to find. Suddenly he smiled. Demitasse. Depakote. Alliteration.
The problem now was remembering all the meds she was on. He went back to Adrienne’s room. Adrienne lay curled up next to Gandalf, still shaking. “Baby, where’s your necklace?” he asked, stoking her hair. She could only reply in indistinguishable whimpers. Just then he noticed a reflection of light on the wall. Hanging on the bathroom doorknob was the necklace. He grabbed it and walked back to the kitchen. Jamar opened his palm and stared at the medical pendant. Depakote, Celexa, Seroquel, and Welbutrin. At least she had enough sense to own a pendant that listed her meds. The drawback was they changed so often that it was only moments like this that made them useful. It seemed that her life was made up of a never-ending series of such moments.
Jamar randomly chose the next medicine to find: Celexa. What started with a C in Adrienne’s kitchen? Cup was too simple. Cake. Corn. Cheetos. It had to be in the Cheetos; she loved them. He opened the already broken into bag; he smiled. Two down, two to go. He found the last two faster. There wasn’t much to choose from that began with S or W. The Seroquel was behind the soap; the Welbutrin was harder because it wasn’t on Adrienne’s side of the kitchen. He never understood why Marie insisted on splitting up the kitchen. She was never there. Now was a prime example. Adrienne was always by herself when she didn’t need to be.
He took a purple glass from the second shelf of the cupboard. Cutting a slice of lemon, he filled it up with water. Adrienne refused to drink water by itself. Actually, she refused to drink water. Sometimes she would make an exception if there was lemon in it. Jamar smirked and dropped half a lemon in.
“Adrienne,” he said firmly for the fourth time since he’d been standing over her. Adrienne turned her head and stared at him blankly. Jamar sat on the bed. “I need you to sit up real quick; it will just be for a minute. I promise.” She didn’t move. He placed the purple glass on the floor and the assortment of pills on the bed. Gently he sat her up. He closed her fingers over three Depakote, one Seroquel, two Celexa, and one and a half Welbutrin. She moved as if in a trance; her body moving only with the absence of her mind. She shoved all seven pills into her mouth and attempted to swallow them dry. Abruptly she coughed them up. Again she shoved them down her throat, and Jamar raised the glass of water to her mouth. She lay back down upon swallowing, curling up in the fetal position and placing her back to him. He lay down on the bed next to her, encircling her with his arms.
He whispered softly into her ear, positive that at least about a tenth of what he said was being picked up by her subconscious. “You’ve got to stop hiding your meds, baby girl. You really shouldn’t live by yourself; you practically do. Maria’s never here. I would take care of you better if I were with you. I don’t understand why you won’t let me help you.” She made no acknowledgment that she heard him. Perhaps she hadn’t.
February 13 Imbolgen 19
Adrienne sat cross legged in the center of the living room on the beige carpet surrounded by piles of numbered index cards and scattered books: biographies, commentaries, and annotated criticisms. Her blue laptop sat in front of her, open to a word document that was now thirty pages long. Various drafts lay strewn across the floor, creating a pathway from the living room to the bedroom. Empty Pepsi One cans haphazardly graced the floor. A package of chocolate chip rice cakes sat next to the newest addition. Several instant messages flashed on the screen. Adrienne ignored them, as she had ignored everything for--she wasn’t quite sure how long she had been sitting there. Perhaps it was only a few hours; perhaps it was a few days. She had been stuck on page thirty for the past three Pepsies. That was how she told time--by how many cases of Pepsi One she consumed. “Going Under” filled the air; Adrienne stared blankly at her lavender cell phone. She stared until the ringing ceased and then put it on vibrate. She stopped paying attention to who was calling hours ago. Her mind was numb; her head throbbed violently. In fact it had been throbbing for several hours--but Adrienne was totally unaware of time at this point. It felt as though her head was under water. Thought ran too fast for comprehension.
Abruptly she rose from the floor and ran into the bedroom. She began emptying the contents of dresser drawers onto the floor. Frantically she scrambled around, rifling through clothes, makeup, lotion, random postcards. Still she couldn’t find it--them. She needed all of them. She needed all of them right now. Right now right now right now right now right now. The words raced through her mind, the only words that would connect. How was it that four little orange bottles could always escape her? True, she did hide them from herself when she started feeling better. But there aren’t that many places that little pill bottles could hide, are there? The problem was when she really needed them she wasn’t coherent enough to find them. She wasn’t coherent for much of anything, except pacing across the floor. But pacing isn’t very constructive when your brain is going a thousand miles an hour and you start bumping into the wall.
Someone was knocking on the door--banging--they were banging. Adrienne kept dumping drawers onto the floor. She threw clothes everywhere. She threw books at the wall in frustration. She hadn’t heard him unlock the door. She wouldn’t have known that he was there if she hadn’t smelled him--the cinnamon and laundry detergent floated peripherally in her consciousness. He wasn’t important right now. Right now right now right now right now right now right now.
Jamar had been standing there leaning against the door frame of the bedroom for ten minutes. He watched her scurry around on the floor through the same pile of junk over and over. At first he was not sure whether she cognizant of the fact that it was the same pile each time; that was why he had watched her for so long without interfering. Now he was sure that she had no idea.
He had been with her long enough to know that she was aware of his presence. To what degree he wasn’t sure. It varied based on how long she had been unmediated. The hiding places were never the same. He had tried to look for patterns each time; there was no immediate pattern between her hiding places. Adrienne was either way too intelligent for him or the places were too random. He wasn’t sure which one it was. You could never be too sure of anything with Adrienne.
Jamar squatted next to her and touched her shaking hands. She didn’t look up; she simply kept sorting through the same pile. “Adrienne,” he said sharply. No response. “Baby, you need to go lay down,” he said softly, running his fingers though her scarlet curls. He stood slowly, grasping her right hand and supporting her waist with the other. In one swift motion he led her to the bed. Gandalf sat in the middle of the purple flowered pillows. Instinctively she lay down, cuddling next to the cat.
Jamar put his back to her and began searching the room for her prescriptions. Obviously they weren’t in the dresser; she’d torn it apart already. He went to the closet and began looking in shoe boxes. Some of them actually contained shoes. Adrienne never ceased to amaze him.
He conducted a rapid inventory of the living room: Pepsi One cans, rice cakes, paper, laptop, cell phone. They weren’t in there he knew. There was no place to hide them. Quickly he moved to the kitchen. With a trained eye he searched it content s the way the memory traces a familiar road. He looked for things that were out of place. There were no dishes in the sink. That did not surprise him much, from the looks of the living room she had been subsisting solely on rice cakes and Pepsi. Dishes, he thought suddenly. Abruptly he opened up the cupboard and searched behind the glasses on the second shelf. Nothing.
He moved to the third shelf: random pieces of china Adrienne had received from her grandmother: salt and pepper shakers, gravy boat, demitasse cups. He began removing the demitasse cups. At the back of .the cupboard he saw a little orange bottle. Jamar grasped it and read the label. Depakote. Great. There were three more left to find. Suddenly he smiled. Demitasse. Depakote. Alliteration.
The problem now was remembering all the meds she was on. He went back to Adrienne’s room. Adrienne lay curled up next to Gandalf, still shaking. “Baby, where’s your necklace?” he asked, stoking her hair. She could only reply in indistinguishable whimpers. Just then he noticed a reflection of light on the wall. Hanging on the bathroom doorknob was the necklace. He grabbed it and walked back to the kitchen. Jamar opened his palm and stared at the medical pendant. Depakote, Celexa, Seroquel, and Welbutrin. At least she had enough sense to own a pendant that listed her meds. The drawback was they changed so often that it was only moments like this that made them useful. It seemed that her life was made up of a never-ending series of such moments.
Jamar randomly chose the next medicine to find: Celexa. What started with a C in Adrienne’s kitchen? Cup was too simple. Cake. Corn. Cheetos. It had to be in the Cheetos; she loved them. He opened the already broken into bag; he smiled. Two down, two to go. He found the last two faster. There wasn’t much to choose from that began with S or W. The Seroquel was behind the soap; the Welbutrin was harder because it wasn’t on Adrienne’s side of the kitchen. He never understood why Marie insisted on splitting up the kitchen. She was never there. Now was a prime example. Adrienne was always by herself when she didn’t need to be.
He took a purple glass from the second shelf of the cupboard. Cutting a slice of lemon, he filled it up with water. Adrienne refused to drink water by itself. Actually, she refused to drink water. Sometimes she would make an exception if there was lemon in it. Jamar smirked and dropped half a lemon in.
“Adrienne,” he said firmly for the fourth time since he’d been standing over her. Adrienne turned her head and stared at him blankly. Jamar sat on the bed. “I need you to sit up real quick; it will just be for a minute. I promise.” She didn’t move. He placed the purple glass on the floor and the assortment of pills on the bed. Gently he sat her up. He closed her fingers over three Depakote, one Seroquel, two Celexa, and one and a half Welbutrin. She moved as if in a trance; her body moving only with the absence of her mind. She shoved all seven pills into her mouth and attempted to swallow them dry. Abruptly she coughed them up. Again she shoved them down her throat, and Jamar raised the glass of water to her mouth. She lay back down upon swallowing, curling up in the fetal position and placing her back to him. He lay down on the bed next to her, encircling her with his arms.
He whispered softly into her ear, positive that at least about a tenth of what he said was being picked up by her subconscious. “You’ve got to stop hiding your meds, baby girl. You really shouldn’t live by yourself; you practically do. Maria’s never here. I would take care of you better if I were with you. I don’t understand why you won’t let me help you.” She made no acknowledgment that she heard him. Perhaps she hadn’t.
15
Fifteen
Freya’s Day: February 6 Imbolgen 12
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client described a pattern of persecutory delusions, including suspiciousness of others without reasonable cause. A.V. demonstrated a pattern of misinterpretation of benign events as having threatening significance of a personal nature. Client’s history is replete with incidents in which she believed she was persecuted by others. A.V. has gone through periods of time when she did not sleep for 24 consecutive hours or more because her energy level was so high. The client was assessed for her current state of elation: none, hypomanic, manic, or psychotic. A.V. was assessed to be manic. The client’s mania was so severe that periods of psychosis have been present. An assessment was performed of the client’s ability to remain safe within the community. Client was assessed in regard to her level of manic behavior, impulsivity, and propensity toward potentially unsafe situations. Due to programmatic supports, the client has been assessed as being able to remain safe within the community despite her symptoms of mania. Follow up session TBA.
Freya’s Day: February 6 Imbolgen 12
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client described a pattern of persecutory delusions, including suspiciousness of others without reasonable cause. A.V. demonstrated a pattern of misinterpretation of benign events as having threatening significance of a personal nature. Client’s history is replete with incidents in which she believed she was persecuted by others. A.V. has gone through periods of time when she did not sleep for 24 consecutive hours or more because her energy level was so high. The client was assessed for her current state of elation: none, hypomanic, manic, or psychotic. A.V. was assessed to be manic. The client’s mania was so severe that periods of psychosis have been present. An assessment was performed of the client’s ability to remain safe within the community. Client was assessed in regard to her level of manic behavior, impulsivity, and propensity toward potentially unsafe situations. Due to programmatic supports, the client has been assessed as being able to remain safe within the community despite her symptoms of mania. Follow up session TBA.
14
Fourteen
February 4 Imblgen 10
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. gave evidence of increased, pressured speech within the session. Client reported that her speech rate increases as she “feels stressed.” A.V. demonstrated a pattern of racing thoughts, moving from one subject to another without maintaining focus. She reported that she experiences racing thoughts, including difficulty concentrating on one thought as other thoughts interfere. Client reported that at times of quiet reflection, she is disturbed by thoughts racing through her mind. A.V. gave evidence of an inflated state of euphoric belief in capabilities that denies any limitations or realistic obstacles. She appears oblivious to her euphoric beliefs but sees others as standing in her way. In spite of attempts to try to get her to be more realistic, her euphoric beliefs have persisted. A.V. described a pattern of attaining far less sleep than would ordinarily be needed. The client’s thoughts, feelings, and behavior were explored for classic signs of mania, e.g., pressured speech, impulsive behavior, euphoric mood, flight of ideas, high energy level, reduced need for sleep. The clinical assessment confirmed the presence of classic signs of mania. Follow up session TBA.
February 4 Imblgen 10
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. gave evidence of increased, pressured speech within the session. Client reported that her speech rate increases as she “feels stressed.” A.V. demonstrated a pattern of racing thoughts, moving from one subject to another without maintaining focus. She reported that she experiences racing thoughts, including difficulty concentrating on one thought as other thoughts interfere. Client reported that at times of quiet reflection, she is disturbed by thoughts racing through her mind. A.V. gave evidence of an inflated state of euphoric belief in capabilities that denies any limitations or realistic obstacles. She appears oblivious to her euphoric beliefs but sees others as standing in her way. In spite of attempts to try to get her to be more realistic, her euphoric beliefs have persisted. A.V. described a pattern of attaining far less sleep than would ordinarily be needed. The client’s thoughts, feelings, and behavior were explored for classic signs of mania, e.g., pressured speech, impulsive behavior, euphoric mood, flight of ideas, high energy level, reduced need for sleep. The clinical assessment confirmed the presence of classic signs of mania. Follow up session TBA.
13
Thirteen
HADASSAH reached out and pulled Adrienne towards her until she was less than a foot away. “You need a bath,” she whispered huskily over Adrienne’s mouth. Adrienne reached out and ran her hand down the side of Hadassah’s face. “What’s the point if we’re just going to get dirty again? I’ll get new marks and we’ll just have to start over again.” Hadassah slipped her hand around Adrienne’s waist. “I thought English majors liked paradoxes,” she teased. Adrienne stared into Hadassah’s golden eyes that were spun with little specs of hazel. “I have to go home and feed Gandalf,” she protested, all the while caving into Hadassah’s embrace. “I’m going to get you one of those automatic cat feeders,” she mumbled, her face resting on Adrienne’s stomach. Adrienne giggled. “He’ll eat himself to death. You can’t just give him open access to food like that.”
“Seeing as you’ve slept in my bed, you might as well wear my clothes,” Hadassah pointed out, handing her a pink shirt with newspaper like lettering across the middle. She stared down at the words arranged haphazardly: We’re Here. We’re Queer. We Matriculate. “We matriculate?” she asked, hardly containing her laughter. Hadassah smirked. “I’ve got worse.” Adrienne smiled. “I’m sure you do.” She threw the shirt on over her head and pulled the jeans up over her curvaceous thighs. Gazing intently at Hadassah’s navel piercing; she contemplated the feel of the metal against her tongue, the taste of Hadassah’s smooth skin in her mouth. “You better put something over that before we start something,” she said, gesturing towards Hadassah’s stomach.
Hadassah grabbed Adrienne’s waist and abruptly jerked her close. “So start something,” she challenged. Ten seconds of Evanescence’s “Going Under” filled the room. “Your phone,” Hadassah said flatly, increasing her grip. Adrienne kissed Hadassah passionately before pulling herself away and scanning the room for her cell. It continued ringing as she rummaged through the flannel snowflake sheets. It ceased as abruptly as it had begun, a second or two before she found it under the blue pillow. “Jamar,” she mumbled. She took her eyes off of the phone and stared at Hadassah. Something flickered behind Hadassah’s eyes that she could not recognize. It lasted only for a moment and then it dissolved into the hazel specs spun around her gold irises. Hadassah averted her gaze and began searching for something to wear. She slipped her jeans back on and pulled on a red off the shoulder shirt with “Dysfunctional” in black, gothic lettering. Grabbing her keys, she lead Adrienne in silence to the car.
HADASSAH reached out and pulled Adrienne towards her until she was less than a foot away. “You need a bath,” she whispered huskily over Adrienne’s mouth. Adrienne reached out and ran her hand down the side of Hadassah’s face. “What’s the point if we’re just going to get dirty again? I’ll get new marks and we’ll just have to start over again.” Hadassah slipped her hand around Adrienne’s waist. “I thought English majors liked paradoxes,” she teased. Adrienne stared into Hadassah’s golden eyes that were spun with little specs of hazel. “I have to go home and feed Gandalf,” she protested, all the while caving into Hadassah’s embrace. “I’m going to get you one of those automatic cat feeders,” she mumbled, her face resting on Adrienne’s stomach. Adrienne giggled. “He’ll eat himself to death. You can’t just give him open access to food like that.”
“Seeing as you’ve slept in my bed, you might as well wear my clothes,” Hadassah pointed out, handing her a pink shirt with newspaper like lettering across the middle. She stared down at the words arranged haphazardly: We’re Here. We’re Queer. We Matriculate. “We matriculate?” she asked, hardly containing her laughter. Hadassah smirked. “I’ve got worse.” Adrienne smiled. “I’m sure you do.” She threw the shirt on over her head and pulled the jeans up over her curvaceous thighs. Gazing intently at Hadassah’s navel piercing; she contemplated the feel of the metal against her tongue, the taste of Hadassah’s smooth skin in her mouth. “You better put something over that before we start something,” she said, gesturing towards Hadassah’s stomach.
Hadassah grabbed Adrienne’s waist and abruptly jerked her close. “So start something,” she challenged. Ten seconds of Evanescence’s “Going Under” filled the room. “Your phone,” Hadassah said flatly, increasing her grip. Adrienne kissed Hadassah passionately before pulling herself away and scanning the room for her cell. It continued ringing as she rummaged through the flannel snowflake sheets. It ceased as abruptly as it had begun, a second or two before she found it under the blue pillow. “Jamar,” she mumbled. She took her eyes off of the phone and stared at Hadassah. Something flickered behind Hadassah’s eyes that she could not recognize. It lasted only for a moment and then it dissolved into the hazel specs spun around her gold irises. Hadassah averted her gaze and began searching for something to wear. She slipped her jeans back on and pulled on a red off the shoulder shirt with “Dysfunctional” in black, gothic lettering. Grabbing her keys, she lead Adrienne in silence to the car.
12
Twelve
February 2 Imbolgen 8
SWEAT clung to her neck as humidity clings to haze after a storm. Her scarlet curls plastered themselves to her face, which rested on Hadassah’s chest. A slightly congealed liquid pooled across her back. The sun of mid afternoon barely peeked through the heavy, midnight blue curtains, casting the pretense of dawn across the two sleeping bodies. Hadassah slid her sleeping hand across Adrienne’s back, smearing the liquid like substance in brash strokes. Adrienne opened her eyes slowly, letting the night before seep into her consciousness; she sat up eventually, glancing around the room for her clothes. All she could see were Hadassah’s jeans, assorted dirty clothes, textbooks, burned out candles, and an abstract poster of blue lilies. Adrienne smirked. Now she remembered; her clothes lay all over the floor in the living room.
Adrienne rose from the bed and rummaged around in Hadassah’s laundry for a t-shirt to wear while she looked for her clothes. Hadassah awoke to the absence of Adrienne’s body heat. She stared at Adrienne’s back, her eyes transfixed on her hips and the blood that ran down her back in a smeared fashion. “Don’t wear white,” she began, breaking the silence, “I’ve marked you.” Adrienne touched her back, smearing blood across her fingers. She half smiled at Hadassah and tilted her head. “So that’s why it felt so good.”
“You don’t have to put a shirt on. Reuel’s not here,” Hadassah teased, taking the oversized red shirt from Adrienne’s grasp. Adrienne looked at her questioningly. “My brother,” she explained. “He left for work sometime before it was light outside. Speaking of light, what time did you have class?” she said flatly, attempting to downplay the fact that they both hand missed an entire day’s worth of classes. “Fuck!” Adrienne yelled, and threw Hadassah’s jeans at her. Hadassah smiled playfully. “Under normal circumstances, I don’t take direct orders, and I don’t know if you can survive another round anyway, from the looks of your back.” Despite herself, Adrienne cracked a smile.
February 2 Imbolgen 8
SWEAT clung to her neck as humidity clings to haze after a storm. Her scarlet curls plastered themselves to her face, which rested on Hadassah’s chest. A slightly congealed liquid pooled across her back. The sun of mid afternoon barely peeked through the heavy, midnight blue curtains, casting the pretense of dawn across the two sleeping bodies. Hadassah slid her sleeping hand across Adrienne’s back, smearing the liquid like substance in brash strokes. Adrienne opened her eyes slowly, letting the night before seep into her consciousness; she sat up eventually, glancing around the room for her clothes. All she could see were Hadassah’s jeans, assorted dirty clothes, textbooks, burned out candles, and an abstract poster of blue lilies. Adrienne smirked. Now she remembered; her clothes lay all over the floor in the living room.
Adrienne rose from the bed and rummaged around in Hadassah’s laundry for a t-shirt to wear while she looked for her clothes. Hadassah awoke to the absence of Adrienne’s body heat. She stared at Adrienne’s back, her eyes transfixed on her hips and the blood that ran down her back in a smeared fashion. “Don’t wear white,” she began, breaking the silence, “I’ve marked you.” Adrienne touched her back, smearing blood across her fingers. She half smiled at Hadassah and tilted her head. “So that’s why it felt so good.”
“You don’t have to put a shirt on. Reuel’s not here,” Hadassah teased, taking the oversized red shirt from Adrienne’s grasp. Adrienne looked at her questioningly. “My brother,” she explained. “He left for work sometime before it was light outside. Speaking of light, what time did you have class?” she said flatly, attempting to downplay the fact that they both hand missed an entire day’s worth of classes. “Fuck!” Adrienne yelled, and threw Hadassah’s jeans at her. Hadassah smiled playfully. “Under normal circumstances, I don’t take direct orders, and I don’t know if you can survive another round anyway, from the looks of your back.” Despite herself, Adrienne cracked a smile.
11
Eleven
ADRIENNE tossed her patchwork book bag into the trunk of her very junky Ford Taurus. Rummaging through her lavender knit purse she checked for bare essentials: keys, id, wads of crumpled dollar bills, random prescriptions, Nokia cell phone. Hadassah watched her, resting her hands on her full figured hips accentuated by her low rise jeans. Adrienne looked up from her bag and nodded at Hadassah; Hadassah turned and walked across the parking lot, sauntering seductively. Adrienne smiled to herself. Hadassah automatically unlocked the midnight metallic blue Infiniti Twin Turbo.
Upon entering the driver’s seat she turned on the cd player and began blasting live remixes of Ani Defranco. Adrienne threw her purse in the back seat and put on her seat belt. Hadassah reached over to put the car in reverse and placed her hand on Adrienne’s upper right thigh. Reaching out, Adrienne ran her fingers through Hadassah’s micro-braids and shifted slightly on the seat so that Hadassah’s hand was now on the inside of her thigh. She squeezed Adrienne’s thigh and returned her attention to the gear shift.
The car meandered through well lit main roads as well as half darkened back streets; inconspicuously Adrienne kept her eye on the speedometer. She would be fine as long as Hadassah stayed under 80 mph. she was pushing it with 75. Adrienne kept her mind occupied by perusing Hadassah’s CD’s in the space between the seats as well as the ones above her head in the visor. They seemed to be separated by gender rather than genre. Pink, Ani Defranco, Tori Amos, Alliyah, Ashanti, The Cranberries, Alanis Morrisette, Dar Williams, Fiona Apple, The Indigo Girls, Laryn Hill, Tweet, Natalie Merchant, Rage Against the Machine, Angie Apparo: all predominantly female artists with a large collection of lesbian artists. Adrienne looked up from “The Battle of Los Angeles” as the car halted to a stop to find them in a dark parking lot in front of a half lit bar decorated with ice sickle lights. Hadassah turned to look at her with a glint in her eyes. “You ready?” She asked, her head tilted to one side inquisitively. Adrienne stared into Hadassah’s golden eyes, realizing that she was referring to more than going drinking. “Always,” she said lowly.
Adrienne followed slightly behind Hadassah up the half lit steps to the door, her hand lightly held in Hadassah’s grasp. The aroma of tequila and Newport filled her lungs. Adrienne closed her eyes and counted to five. She silently reminded herself that not everyone who smoked Newport was Jamar. She exhaled and tried to chase away the memory connected with the scent. She ran her fingers through her red curls and covered the still swelling black eye.
She perched herself on a stool next to Hadassah. Hadassah was busy resting her breasts on the counter in an attempt to get the bar tender are attention. It proved quite effective, because the purple haired woman charged her a two for one price for the two Tequila Sunrises and two Sex on the Beach. Hadassah took the drinks and motioned for Adrienne to follow her to a darkly lit booth at the back of the bar.
Adrienne poked the ice of her second Sex on the Beach with the cocktail straw. Hadassah was already on her fourth Tequila Sunrise. “Drink up, Baby, you’re supposed to be keeping up with me.” A swervey Hadassah held her gaze. Except that Adrienne couldn’t tell which one of them was doing the swerving. Hadassah took her hand and led her to the middle of the dance floor. It was less like a dance floor and more like a small par key inlay randomly positioned in the center of the room. Adrienne tripped over her own combat boots. She was definitely the one swerving.
She wrapped her arms around Hadassah’s neck in an effort to hold herself up as Hadassah grinded up against her to the music. Even in combat boots Adrienne stood about six inches shorter than Hadassah. She ran her mouth across Hadassah’s neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. Hadassah’s hands slipped up her shirt and grasped her back. She could feel her head throbbing with the music against Hadassah’s neck. Hadassah licked the salt off Adrienne’s neck and took another tequila shot. A random Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt collided with Adrienne’s head, and the owner spilled whiskey all over her. All she could smell was Jamar, and she collapsed against Hadassah. Hadassah swept her away and threw her up against the wall, slovenly licking the whiskey off of her neck and her partially exposed chest. Adrienne could hardly get the words out. “I think we need to get out of here.”
Hadassah led Adrienne out the door with her arm around her waist and Adrienne’s arm around her neck. Adrienne continued to trip over her boots. “Can you drive?” She slurred. Hadassah laughed heartily. “You’re the one drunk, baby girl, not me.” Adrienne ran her fingers over Hadassah’s purple lips. “But you had—four tequila shots and some shots.” Her heavy voice trailed off. Hadassah set her down in the passenger seat of the car. “Four tequila sunrises, five tequila shots, and the whiskey off your gorgeous breasts, but who’s counting? I can drink a bottle of Hennessey and still drive.” She smirked and put Adrienne’s seat belt on her. The door slammed and Adrienne drifted off into a drunken sleep.
The car’s momentum woke her. Hadassah wasn’t driving as fast as she had earlier. Adrienne peered at the speedometer, but the numbers washed together. She glanced up at the moon, high in the sky, a night without stars. They passed an office park, the fountain in the middle catching Adrienne’s attention. “Pull over,” she slurred. Hadassah looked at her oddly. “What?” Adrienne turned to face her. “Go back and pull over.” “You are going to throw up? And you’re picky about where?” Adrienne shook her head, and everything swam. “No.” If Adrienne had been driving she would have made a u-turn; but, apparently, that wasn’t Hadassah’s way, because she put the car in reverse and sped up. “Stop,”’ Adrienne gasped, climbing out of the car as soon as it stopped.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hadassah stood by the car with her hands on her hips as she had earlier. Adrienne was running toward the fountain, half swerving, and half tripping over herself. She stood beneath the falling water, letting it soak through her clothes and saturate her scarlet hair. She leaned her head back and let the icy water run over her face and down her neck. Her mind cleared a little. She was brought back to herself by splashing. Hadassah stood next to her, just as soaked, attempting to splash large amounts of water on Adrienne. Giggling, Adrienne splashed her back, this time coming closer.
Hadassah’s breasts were extra perky in the wet tank top, the cotton material fitting like a second skin and conforming to the concave of each hip. Adrienne involuntarily ran her hands across her hips. Hadassah ran her mouth along the side of Adrienne’s face, stopping at the edge of her mouth. She ran her fingers through scarlet curl, down her back, and up Adrienne’s purple tank top that was plastered to her. Abruptly she stopped when a light flashed in her eyes. She turned her head away from Adrienne to face the owner of the flashlight.
The security guard stood about 5’11, only five inches taller than Hadassah. She raised her eyebrows. “You want something?” she challenged. Adrienne continued to stare at Hadassah. “As much as I would love to watch, ladies, you should really take this somewhere else,” he replied curtly. Hadassah smirked. “What’s the matter? Mad because you can’t join in?” Adrienne covered her face with her hands, suppressing a giggle. The security guard smirked. “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it would be good for me to get caught on tape.” He pointed to a small red light protruding from the mouth of the sculpted lion by the fountain. Hadassah kicked water in his direction.
She grasped Adrienne’s had and led her back to the car, Adrienne continuing to stumble over herself. Adrienne could no longer suppress her laughter. Together they burst out laughing uncontrollably. Suddenly composed, Hadassah pinned Adrienne up against the car. She leaned inward, caressing Adrienne’s lips with her tongue. Adrienne parted her lips and allowed herself to be consumed by Hadassah’s mouth. She reached up and ran her hand down Hadassah’s back and up her shirt, wrapping her right leg around Hadassah’s waist. Hadassah slipped her hand down the back of Adrienne’s pants and popped her purple thong. She slid her mouth across Adrienne’s face and over her ear. “Want to go home?” she whispered. The musky scent of vanilla wafted of her and floated through Adrienne’s head. She was so consumed by Hadassah’s scent that all she could do was nod.
ADRIENNE stood in the doorway while Hadassah moved about the livening room lighting blue candles, the room filling up with the scent of blueberry. In the dim light of the flame she allowed her eyes to wander around the two bedroom apartment. Blue curtains, blue candles, a low glass coffee table with an artificial blue flower arrangement, couch pillows on the floor, a 27 inch TV that sat on the floor across from the pillows that served as a couch. Half a bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the coffee table, surrounded by at least half a dozen half smoked Black and Mild. “They’re my brother’s,” she said matter of factly, as if reading Adrienne’s mind. Adrienne came farther in and sat down on the floor next to Hadassah in front of the table. She reached out and caressed Hadassah’s face with the tips of her fingers; Hadassah ran her mouth across Adrienne’s lips, answering her caress. Adrienne caressed her shoulders, slipping the spaghetti straps of her still soaked tank top down her arms. Hadassah’s skin burned against her touch, contrasting with the ice of the wet cotton. Adrienne slid her mouth down Hadassah’s throat. Gently, she pushed Hadassah over onto her back.
She ran her hands up the sides of Hadassah’s body, slipping the wet shirt over her head and casting it aside. Adrienne gazed intently at the way the candle light cast shadows across Hadassah’s face. She ran her mouth down Hadassah’s stomach and stopped at her navel piercing. She began to play with the silver rod with her tongue. Hadassah grasped Adrienne’s hair; without warning, Hadassah threw Adrienne forward, causing her to sit up. Adrienne barely caught her balance, a little thrown off. Hadassah stood, towering over Adrienne by at least half a foot. Leaning down, she slipped her arms around Adrienne’s waist and pulled her to her feet. Abruptly, she hurled Adrienne against the wall. Adrienne gasped slightly, the wind partially knocked out of her; Hadassah ran her mouth along the hollow of Adrienne’s neck. She cast her tequila breath across Adrienne’s face, and the heat made Adrienne’s knees buckle out from underneath her.
Hadassah caught her with one arm and slid the other hand up Adrienne’s tank top. She caught the fabric of Adrienne’s shirt and lifted it over her head. Her face traveled down Adrienne’s stomach, her lips resting right below her navel. She bit her suddenly, and Adrienne would have slid down the wall to the floor were it not for Hadassah’s arm around her waist. Hadassah pushed her harder against the wall; she removed her arm from Adrienne’s waist and began fumbling with the buttons of Adrienne’s jeans. Hadassah pulled them down slowly, allowing the heat from her hands to penetrate Adrienne’s thighs. She ran her mouth along the waistband of Adrienne’s purple thong, her tongue wandering over the little flowers with rhinestones for centers. Adrienne grasped Hadassah’s shoulders as she pulled the thong back with her teeth and let it snap back. She slipped her arms around Adrienne’s waist and threw her over her shoulder. Heading for the bedroom just off the living room, she threw Adrienne onto the bed and jump kicked the door shut.
ADRIENNE tossed her patchwork book bag into the trunk of her very junky Ford Taurus. Rummaging through her lavender knit purse she checked for bare essentials: keys, id, wads of crumpled dollar bills, random prescriptions, Nokia cell phone. Hadassah watched her, resting her hands on her full figured hips accentuated by her low rise jeans. Adrienne looked up from her bag and nodded at Hadassah; Hadassah turned and walked across the parking lot, sauntering seductively. Adrienne smiled to herself. Hadassah automatically unlocked the midnight metallic blue Infiniti Twin Turbo.
Upon entering the driver’s seat she turned on the cd player and began blasting live remixes of Ani Defranco. Adrienne threw her purse in the back seat and put on her seat belt. Hadassah reached over to put the car in reverse and placed her hand on Adrienne’s upper right thigh. Reaching out, Adrienne ran her fingers through Hadassah’s micro-braids and shifted slightly on the seat so that Hadassah’s hand was now on the inside of her thigh. She squeezed Adrienne’s thigh and returned her attention to the gear shift.
The car meandered through well lit main roads as well as half darkened back streets; inconspicuously Adrienne kept her eye on the speedometer. She would be fine as long as Hadassah stayed under 80 mph. she was pushing it with 75. Adrienne kept her mind occupied by perusing Hadassah’s CD’s in the space between the seats as well as the ones above her head in the visor. They seemed to be separated by gender rather than genre. Pink, Ani Defranco, Tori Amos, Alliyah, Ashanti, The Cranberries, Alanis Morrisette, Dar Williams, Fiona Apple, The Indigo Girls, Laryn Hill, Tweet, Natalie Merchant, Rage Against the Machine, Angie Apparo: all predominantly female artists with a large collection of lesbian artists. Adrienne looked up from “The Battle of Los Angeles” as the car halted to a stop to find them in a dark parking lot in front of a half lit bar decorated with ice sickle lights. Hadassah turned to look at her with a glint in her eyes. “You ready?” She asked, her head tilted to one side inquisitively. Adrienne stared into Hadassah’s golden eyes, realizing that she was referring to more than going drinking. “Always,” she said lowly.
Adrienne followed slightly behind Hadassah up the half lit steps to the door, her hand lightly held in Hadassah’s grasp. The aroma of tequila and Newport filled her lungs. Adrienne closed her eyes and counted to five. She silently reminded herself that not everyone who smoked Newport was Jamar. She exhaled and tried to chase away the memory connected with the scent. She ran her fingers through her red curls and covered the still swelling black eye.
She perched herself on a stool next to Hadassah. Hadassah was busy resting her breasts on the counter in an attempt to get the bar tender are attention. It proved quite effective, because the purple haired woman charged her a two for one price for the two Tequila Sunrises and two Sex on the Beach. Hadassah took the drinks and motioned for Adrienne to follow her to a darkly lit booth at the back of the bar.
Adrienne poked the ice of her second Sex on the Beach with the cocktail straw. Hadassah was already on her fourth Tequila Sunrise. “Drink up, Baby, you’re supposed to be keeping up with me.” A swervey Hadassah held her gaze. Except that Adrienne couldn’t tell which one of them was doing the swerving. Hadassah took her hand and led her to the middle of the dance floor. It was less like a dance floor and more like a small par key inlay randomly positioned in the center of the room. Adrienne tripped over her own combat boots. She was definitely the one swerving.
She wrapped her arms around Hadassah’s neck in an effort to hold herself up as Hadassah grinded up against her to the music. Even in combat boots Adrienne stood about six inches shorter than Hadassah. She ran her mouth across Hadassah’s neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. Hadassah’s hands slipped up her shirt and grasped her back. She could feel her head throbbing with the music against Hadassah’s neck. Hadassah licked the salt off Adrienne’s neck and took another tequila shot. A random Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt collided with Adrienne’s head, and the owner spilled whiskey all over her. All she could smell was Jamar, and she collapsed against Hadassah. Hadassah swept her away and threw her up against the wall, slovenly licking the whiskey off of her neck and her partially exposed chest. Adrienne could hardly get the words out. “I think we need to get out of here.”
Hadassah led Adrienne out the door with her arm around her waist and Adrienne’s arm around her neck. Adrienne continued to trip over her boots. “Can you drive?” She slurred. Hadassah laughed heartily. “You’re the one drunk, baby girl, not me.” Adrienne ran her fingers over Hadassah’s purple lips. “But you had—four tequila shots and some shots.” Her heavy voice trailed off. Hadassah set her down in the passenger seat of the car. “Four tequila sunrises, five tequila shots, and the whiskey off your gorgeous breasts, but who’s counting? I can drink a bottle of Hennessey and still drive.” She smirked and put Adrienne’s seat belt on her. The door slammed and Adrienne drifted off into a drunken sleep.
The car’s momentum woke her. Hadassah wasn’t driving as fast as she had earlier. Adrienne peered at the speedometer, but the numbers washed together. She glanced up at the moon, high in the sky, a night without stars. They passed an office park, the fountain in the middle catching Adrienne’s attention. “Pull over,” she slurred. Hadassah looked at her oddly. “What?” Adrienne turned to face her. “Go back and pull over.” “You are going to throw up? And you’re picky about where?” Adrienne shook her head, and everything swam. “No.” If Adrienne had been driving she would have made a u-turn; but, apparently, that wasn’t Hadassah’s way, because she put the car in reverse and sped up. “Stop,”’ Adrienne gasped, climbing out of the car as soon as it stopped.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hadassah stood by the car with her hands on her hips as she had earlier. Adrienne was running toward the fountain, half swerving, and half tripping over herself. She stood beneath the falling water, letting it soak through her clothes and saturate her scarlet hair. She leaned her head back and let the icy water run over her face and down her neck. Her mind cleared a little. She was brought back to herself by splashing. Hadassah stood next to her, just as soaked, attempting to splash large amounts of water on Adrienne. Giggling, Adrienne splashed her back, this time coming closer.
Hadassah’s breasts were extra perky in the wet tank top, the cotton material fitting like a second skin and conforming to the concave of each hip. Adrienne involuntarily ran her hands across her hips. Hadassah ran her mouth along the side of Adrienne’s face, stopping at the edge of her mouth. She ran her fingers through scarlet curl, down her back, and up Adrienne’s purple tank top that was plastered to her. Abruptly she stopped when a light flashed in her eyes. She turned her head away from Adrienne to face the owner of the flashlight.
The security guard stood about 5’11, only five inches taller than Hadassah. She raised her eyebrows. “You want something?” she challenged. Adrienne continued to stare at Hadassah. “As much as I would love to watch, ladies, you should really take this somewhere else,” he replied curtly. Hadassah smirked. “What’s the matter? Mad because you can’t join in?” Adrienne covered her face with her hands, suppressing a giggle. The security guard smirked. “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it would be good for me to get caught on tape.” He pointed to a small red light protruding from the mouth of the sculpted lion by the fountain. Hadassah kicked water in his direction.
She grasped Adrienne’s had and led her back to the car, Adrienne continuing to stumble over herself. Adrienne could no longer suppress her laughter. Together they burst out laughing uncontrollably. Suddenly composed, Hadassah pinned Adrienne up against the car. She leaned inward, caressing Adrienne’s lips with her tongue. Adrienne parted her lips and allowed herself to be consumed by Hadassah’s mouth. She reached up and ran her hand down Hadassah’s back and up her shirt, wrapping her right leg around Hadassah’s waist. Hadassah slipped her hand down the back of Adrienne’s pants and popped her purple thong. She slid her mouth across Adrienne’s face and over her ear. “Want to go home?” she whispered. The musky scent of vanilla wafted of her and floated through Adrienne’s head. She was so consumed by Hadassah’s scent that all she could do was nod.
ADRIENNE stood in the doorway while Hadassah moved about the livening room lighting blue candles, the room filling up with the scent of blueberry. In the dim light of the flame she allowed her eyes to wander around the two bedroom apartment. Blue curtains, blue candles, a low glass coffee table with an artificial blue flower arrangement, couch pillows on the floor, a 27 inch TV that sat on the floor across from the pillows that served as a couch. Half a bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the coffee table, surrounded by at least half a dozen half smoked Black and Mild. “They’re my brother’s,” she said matter of factly, as if reading Adrienne’s mind. Adrienne came farther in and sat down on the floor next to Hadassah in front of the table. She reached out and caressed Hadassah’s face with the tips of her fingers; Hadassah ran her mouth across Adrienne’s lips, answering her caress. Adrienne caressed her shoulders, slipping the spaghetti straps of her still soaked tank top down her arms. Hadassah’s skin burned against her touch, contrasting with the ice of the wet cotton. Adrienne slid her mouth down Hadassah’s throat. Gently, she pushed Hadassah over onto her back.
She ran her hands up the sides of Hadassah’s body, slipping the wet shirt over her head and casting it aside. Adrienne gazed intently at the way the candle light cast shadows across Hadassah’s face. She ran her mouth down Hadassah’s stomach and stopped at her navel piercing. She began to play with the silver rod with her tongue. Hadassah grasped Adrienne’s hair; without warning, Hadassah threw Adrienne forward, causing her to sit up. Adrienne barely caught her balance, a little thrown off. Hadassah stood, towering over Adrienne by at least half a foot. Leaning down, she slipped her arms around Adrienne’s waist and pulled her to her feet. Abruptly, she hurled Adrienne against the wall. Adrienne gasped slightly, the wind partially knocked out of her; Hadassah ran her mouth along the hollow of Adrienne’s neck. She cast her tequila breath across Adrienne’s face, and the heat made Adrienne’s knees buckle out from underneath her.
Hadassah caught her with one arm and slid the other hand up Adrienne’s tank top. She caught the fabric of Adrienne’s shirt and lifted it over her head. Her face traveled down Adrienne’s stomach, her lips resting right below her navel. She bit her suddenly, and Adrienne would have slid down the wall to the floor were it not for Hadassah’s arm around her waist. Hadassah pushed her harder against the wall; she removed her arm from Adrienne’s waist and began fumbling with the buttons of Adrienne’s jeans. Hadassah pulled them down slowly, allowing the heat from her hands to penetrate Adrienne’s thighs. She ran her mouth along the waistband of Adrienne’s purple thong, her tongue wandering over the little flowers with rhinestones for centers. Adrienne grasped Hadassah’s shoulders as she pulled the thong back with her teeth and let it snap back. She slipped her arms around Adrienne’s waist and threw her over her shoulder. Heading for the bedroom just off the living room, she threw Adrienne onto the bed and jump kicked the door shut.
10
Ten
“Imbolc fires, hypnotic trance,
February, Frost’s romance,
For mundane world to borrow, lend
Spells cast now reap dividends.”
February 1 Imbolgen 7
SHE stared intently at her Pepsi One. Absentmindedly she chewed on the purple pen held in her right hand. The Simone de Beauvoir Anthology lay strewn haphazardly across the cafeteria table along with The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse, college ruled notebook paper, highlighters, and chocolate chip granola bars. She smelled her before she spoke, before she looked into those golden eyes that would later have her memorized in ecstasy.
“But first, we must ask, what is woman. Tota mulier en utero,” came a breathy,
Alto voice that gushed like music. Her eyes moved from the Pepsi One to the golden eyes that stared at her intently, half hidden by micro-braids. A low cropped spaghetti strap tank exposed her ample cleavage, which, randomly sparkled with glitter, contrasted drastically with the mocha of her smooth skin. She sat down, moving stray pieces of notebook paper with purple scrawl. Adrienne stared at the ankh resting in her cleavage, trying to regain her composure. “Woman is womb,” she replied, and continued to quote the passage of Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. “And yet we are told that femininity is in danger; we are exhorted to be women, remain women, and become women. It would appear ,then, that every female human being is not necessarily a woman; to be so considered she must share in that mysterious and threatened reality known as femininity.” The mocha goddess stared at her intently, tilting her head to one side.
“So…Adrienne, how do you plan on connecting sixteenth century poetry with Simone de Beauvoir?” Adrienne looked questioningly at her. “Your name, it’s written all over The Second Sex,” she replied, smirking playfully and gesturing to the book on the table. Adrienne smiled. “Then it appears you have the upper hand.” Her voice trailed off. Her movie references were lost on most people. “Hadassah. My name is Hadassah,” her alto voice interrupted, picking up a chocolate chip granola bar. Hadassah opened the wrapper effortlessly, without damaging her manicure, French tips complete with diamond studs in the middle of each nail. It fascinated Adrienne, because she could never survive with long nails; they would always break off or get in the way of buttons and zippers and opening soda cans. She was mentally relived that she was wearing makeup. Hadassah picked up The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse and leafed through it. “Let me guess. Interdisciplinary masters? English-Creative Writing with a concentration in sixteenth century lit?” Hadassah lifted her eyes from the book and gazed at Adrienne, waiting for a reply.
Adrienne smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah.” Hadassah smirked, Adrienne staring intently at her luscious purple lips. “So what does the early women’s movement have to do with the plight of the sixteenth century woman? Simone was part of the struggle after the suffrage. I mean, earlier you have The Vindication of the Rights of Women, but that’s still nineteenth century. Mary Wollstonecraft is about as far back as you could stretch it.” She folded her arms and rested her breasts on the table. Adrienne tried not to make it obvious that she was heavily engaged in the movement of Hadassah’s breasts, especially because she knew Hadassah was doing it on purpose. She moved her eyes from Hadassah’s chest to her face, aware that her own were sparkling with amusement.
“Margary Kempe, 1373-1438, give or take a few hundred years prior to Mary Wollstonecraft. Sixteenth century speaking though, there weren’t any distinct feminists because there wasn’t a distinct definition of gender. I plan on using the sexual duality of Elizabeth I in conjunction with St. Thomas Moore and Simone de Beauvoir.” Here she drank the rest of her Pepsi One. She looked questioningly at Hadassah. “Women’s studies?” Hadassah smirked. “Close. Women’s Studies and Religious Studies. Double Major.” She leaned forward across the table and moved a stray curl out of Adrienne’s eyes, her hand trailing down Adrienne’s face. Adrienne fumbled with her Immaculate Conception medal, aware that her black eye was fading slowly. Something indistinguishable registered in Hadassah’s eyes. Her voice hit a husky level. “You want to get out of here?” Adrienne held her gaze. “Where’d you have in mind?” Once again, Hadassah smirked. “I’ve got a few places.”
“Imbolc fires, hypnotic trance,
February, Frost’s romance,
For mundane world to borrow, lend
Spells cast now reap dividends.”
February 1 Imbolgen 7
SHE stared intently at her Pepsi One. Absentmindedly she chewed on the purple pen held in her right hand. The Simone de Beauvoir Anthology lay strewn haphazardly across the cafeteria table along with The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse, college ruled notebook paper, highlighters, and chocolate chip granola bars. She smelled her before she spoke, before she looked into those golden eyes that would later have her memorized in ecstasy.
“But first, we must ask, what is woman. Tota mulier en utero,” came a breathy,
Alto voice that gushed like music. Her eyes moved from the Pepsi One to the golden eyes that stared at her intently, half hidden by micro-braids. A low cropped spaghetti strap tank exposed her ample cleavage, which, randomly sparkled with glitter, contrasted drastically with the mocha of her smooth skin. She sat down, moving stray pieces of notebook paper with purple scrawl. Adrienne stared at the ankh resting in her cleavage, trying to regain her composure. “Woman is womb,” she replied, and continued to quote the passage of Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. “And yet we are told that femininity is in danger; we are exhorted to be women, remain women, and become women. It would appear ,then, that every female human being is not necessarily a woman; to be so considered she must share in that mysterious and threatened reality known as femininity.” The mocha goddess stared at her intently, tilting her head to one side.
“So…Adrienne, how do you plan on connecting sixteenth century poetry with Simone de Beauvoir?” Adrienne looked questioningly at her. “Your name, it’s written all over The Second Sex,” she replied, smirking playfully and gesturing to the book on the table. Adrienne smiled. “Then it appears you have the upper hand.” Her voice trailed off. Her movie references were lost on most people. “Hadassah. My name is Hadassah,” her alto voice interrupted, picking up a chocolate chip granola bar. Hadassah opened the wrapper effortlessly, without damaging her manicure, French tips complete with diamond studs in the middle of each nail. It fascinated Adrienne, because she could never survive with long nails; they would always break off or get in the way of buttons and zippers and opening soda cans. She was mentally relived that she was wearing makeup. Hadassah picked up The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse and leafed through it. “Let me guess. Interdisciplinary masters? English-Creative Writing with a concentration in sixteenth century lit?” Hadassah lifted her eyes from the book and gazed at Adrienne, waiting for a reply.
Adrienne smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah.” Hadassah smirked, Adrienne staring intently at her luscious purple lips. “So what does the early women’s movement have to do with the plight of the sixteenth century woman? Simone was part of the struggle after the suffrage. I mean, earlier you have The Vindication of the Rights of Women, but that’s still nineteenth century. Mary Wollstonecraft is about as far back as you could stretch it.” She folded her arms and rested her breasts on the table. Adrienne tried not to make it obvious that she was heavily engaged in the movement of Hadassah’s breasts, especially because she knew Hadassah was doing it on purpose. She moved her eyes from Hadassah’s chest to her face, aware that her own were sparkling with amusement.
“Margary Kempe, 1373-1438, give or take a few hundred years prior to Mary Wollstonecraft. Sixteenth century speaking though, there weren’t any distinct feminists because there wasn’t a distinct definition of gender. I plan on using the sexual duality of Elizabeth I in conjunction with St. Thomas Moore and Simone de Beauvoir.” Here she drank the rest of her Pepsi One. She looked questioningly at Hadassah. “Women’s studies?” Hadassah smirked. “Close. Women’s Studies and Religious Studies. Double Major.” She leaned forward across the table and moved a stray curl out of Adrienne’s eyes, her hand trailing down Adrienne’s face. Adrienne fumbled with her Immaculate Conception medal, aware that her black eye was fading slowly. Something indistinguishable registered in Hadassah’s eyes. Her voice hit a husky level. “You want to get out of here?” Adrienne held her gaze. “Where’d you have in mind?” Once again, Hadassah smirked. “I’ve got a few places.”
9
Nine
January 23 Grael 28
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client displayed a pattern of indifference toward the emotional needs of her partner. Client reports that her partner has complained about her pattern of indifference toward the partner’s emotional needs. A.V. reports a history of hypersexual behavior. She reports having multiple partners at the same time. Records indicate that the client self identifies as bisexual. Records indicate that A.V. has multiple male partners at the same time that she has a female partner. When the client’s partner expresses emotional needs, the client becomes critical, frustrated, and overly reactive. A.V. described a pattern of consistent distrust of her partner. Client offered no sufficient basis for her pattern of distrust of her partner. A.V. described a pattern of repeated discontinuation of relationships due to personal deficiencies in problem solving, social skills, and assertion. The client described a pattern of impulsive sexual involvement outside of the committed relationship. A.V. reports incidents of verbal abuse that occur within the relationship. She also described incidents of physical abuse that occur within the relationship. A.V.’s history of intimate relationships was explored. She was assisted in identifying the positive and negative outcomes of her history of intimate relationships. Client was provided with positive feedback as she displayed insight into her pattern of intimate relationships. A graphic time line display was used to help A.V. chart her pattern of interpersonal relationship conflicts. Client was assisted in identifying her precursors, triggers, intimate relationship conflicts, and outcomes on a timeline to review how she experienced and was affected by the relationship conflicts. A.V. was monitored for compliance with, effectiveness of, and side effects of her psychotropic medication regimen. Concerns about the client’s medication effectiveness and side effects were communicated to the psychiatrist. Follow up session TBA.
January 23 Grael 28
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client displayed a pattern of indifference toward the emotional needs of her partner. Client reports that her partner has complained about her pattern of indifference toward the partner’s emotional needs. A.V. reports a history of hypersexual behavior. She reports having multiple partners at the same time. Records indicate that the client self identifies as bisexual. Records indicate that A.V. has multiple male partners at the same time that she has a female partner. When the client’s partner expresses emotional needs, the client becomes critical, frustrated, and overly reactive. A.V. described a pattern of consistent distrust of her partner. Client offered no sufficient basis for her pattern of distrust of her partner. A.V. described a pattern of repeated discontinuation of relationships due to personal deficiencies in problem solving, social skills, and assertion. The client described a pattern of impulsive sexual involvement outside of the committed relationship. A.V. reports incidents of verbal abuse that occur within the relationship. She also described incidents of physical abuse that occur within the relationship. A.V.’s history of intimate relationships was explored. She was assisted in identifying the positive and negative outcomes of her history of intimate relationships. Client was provided with positive feedback as she displayed insight into her pattern of intimate relationships. A graphic time line display was used to help A.V. chart her pattern of interpersonal relationship conflicts. Client was assisted in identifying her precursors, triggers, intimate relationship conflicts, and outcomes on a timeline to review how she experienced and was affected by the relationship conflicts. A.V. was monitored for compliance with, effectiveness of, and side effects of her psychotropic medication regimen. Concerns about the client’s medication effectiveness and side effects were communicated to the psychiatrist. Follow up session TBA.
eight
Eight
Freya’s Day January 16 Grael 21
“How many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true; but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face.” –W.B. Yeats
She lay curled up upon the queen sized bed with her back against his chest and his arms woven through hers around her waist. Her fiery hair lay strewn across the lavender flowered pillowcase that matched the sheets upon which they lay without speaking. She listened intently to their rhythmic breathing and wondered how long their breath had been in sync. He caressed her hands, circling her knuckles thoughtfully with his nimble fingers. She listened to the melded pattern of his breathing, and with the caress of his fingers she was oddly soothed and aroused at the same time. The heat of his breath on the back of her neck sent a wave of shivers down her spine. Slowly, she turned to face him, her lips only inches away from his. He released his grasp with his left hand and moved a stray auburn tendril of curl from in front of her eyes. Smoothing the stray hair behind her ear, the side of his hand wandered down her cheek. Leaning inward her lips caressed his mouth, slowly at first. Gaining intensity, her mouth searched his for everything which she could not answer for herself. His left hand wandered down to her hip, resting on the slight bit of skin revealed between the end of her purple baby tee and the beginning of her low rise jeans. The warmth of his lips created an insatiable spark; the duality of her tongue explored the depth of his mouth as well as the depth of his soul. Rolling closer to him, she wrapped her right leg around his left. She could feel the firmness of his leg muscles through his jeans against the curve of her thigh. Slowly, his lips traveled down the vertebrae of her throat, lingering on the hollow between the clavicle bone and the last bone of her throat. Here he ran his heated tongue in deliberate circular movements. Suddenly she arched her back, confirming the status of that location as a pressure point. At the arching of her back, he slipped his left hand around her to the small of her back, catching her as she came back down. Coming back down, she allowed him to roll her over onto her back, his hand remaining beneath her. Reaching upward, she grasped his shoulders firmly, helping to position him on top her so as not to crush her. His lips ran back up her neck to her mouth, remaining while his lips sought out the deepest part of her. Her hands slid down his shoulders and back up his arms, slipping inside the short sleeves of his white T-shirt. She held him forcefully for a moment before withdrawing her hands and running them smoothly down his chest, catching the fabric of his shirt in her clasp. With his shirt between her fingers she lifted it gingerly over his head, halting with her lips only then in their heated exchange of atonement.
His right hand brushed tendrils of scarlet curl from her face while his left hand wandered around inside the back of her shirt. His fingers danced along the double back clasp of the lavender lace bra. His mouth passed over the places on her face where her hair had dangled as the hand under her shirt moved across the bra straps and down the shoulders to the cups. It moved farther down to the edge of the shirt, where the right hand met it to catch the hem and lift it over her head. She ran her hands up his muscularly defined mahogany arms. The candlelight cast dark shadows, downplaying the contrast of her pale skin with the richness of his own. His heated lips ran along her neck, along her clavicle bones, and down between her breasts. Reaching upward, he grasped the lace straps and pulled them gracefully down her shoulders. Nimbly he popped open the hook in the back with his thumb and forefinger. Thoughtlessly he cast it to the floor along with their T-shirts that lay in a heap by the side of the bed. His right hand caressed the curve under the cup of her breast as he guided his mouth around her nipple softly. Her breath quickened slightly, and had their breathing not been so in sync he would not have noticed. Cautiously he flicked about her nipple with his tongue and then continued the circling motions around her nipple similar to those he had performed on her neck. She ran her fingers over his braided hair and caressed the nape of his neck. He moved his mouth across the slight cleavage of her b cup breasts to the left breast, wandering around it with his eager tongue. He suckled her softly at first, then intensified as she involuntarily gasped with delight. Simultaneously she grabbed his neck, and he looked up into her eyes questioningly. Smirking, he realized that he had left a mark of passion.
Moving her hands from the nape of his neck to his shoulders, she pushed him down onto his back. His amber eyes held her hazel gaze as she held the dominant position. She stared intently as she sat up straddling him. Slowly she descended, tracing his neck with her mouth, lingering on the side beneath his right ear. She caressed the cartilage around the piercing stud, noticing an increase in the rate of his heartbeat. Simultaneously, she brushed her breasts up against his firm chest. She could feel the heat between them building. As if ignited by another spark, she was abruptly rolled again onto her back.
Her lips let go of his ear lobe; his hands slid down her body to her hips, holding them firmly while he began kissing her stomach. Once again his tongue wandered, although this time it moved in circles inside her navel. Again her back arched, this time accompanied by a slight moan. Although barely audible, he was so in tune with her body that he heard it before it entered the atmosphere. He ran his hands down from her hips to encircle her thighs, all the while caressing her belly button with his tongue. He could feel the heat between her thighs through her jeans. Aptly his fingers traveled to the buttons of her jeans. The first posed some trouble, but the subsequent four unbuttoned without difficulty. Intense was the heat transfer from his hands as they slid down her thighs and legs as he slipped off her jeans. These ended up in the growing mountain of clothes on the beige carpet. He was in the process of gently slipping his fingers inside her purple lace panties when she forcefully pushed him over onto his back.
Her fingers made circles across his chest that would later be traced by her wet, anxious lips. Straddling him with her delicate hands resting on his shoulders, tendrils of cherry hair fell across his amused face. She slunk slowly down his chest, her perky breasts creating friction with his rapidly rising chest. His jeans were easier to take off, which she accomplished with deft hands. She could feel the heat from beneath his smiley face boxers. Rubbing up against him, she felt his body quicken to the occasion. She could smell him more intensely now. Now she could identify the mixture of scents that had always perplexed her: laundry detergent, cinnamon, light cologne, and now, a raw, manly scent that could only be pheromones. His firmness bulged on the inside of her thigh. Her wet, anxious lips traced the muscles of his chest, the way her hands had earlier. They moved lower until she was caressing his navel with her tongue, allowing the heat to trickle over his body and town to the tips of his fingers.
With the same audacity with which she had pushed him over when he was not finished taunting her, he rolled her over onto her back again before she could even realize that she was no longer dominating. This time it was his mouth that did the searching. Across the sides of her face, along the nape of her neck, down her chest, below her navel his lips moistened her creamy skin. His tongue ran over the top of her lavender lace panties enticingly. The heat from beneath the lace was searing, and yet he could not bring himself to remove his mouth. His right hand moved from the small of her back and cast them to the floor. His mouth wandered around the inside of her trembling left thigh. She pushed downward onto his shoulders in an effort to roll him onto his back. Firmly he held onto the small of her back as he surrendered and rolled over. He lay now with his face between her thighs as she slid her body down his face and then his chest, her breasts caressing his face as she became eye level with him.
The heat rose in the little space that was left between them, culminating in the intensity of his amber eyes. She held his gaze, aware of the searing heat between her breasts and his chest, aware of the firmness against the side of her thigh. Slowly, carefully, she slid down his chest and was now eye level with the smiley face boxers. Reaching up she slid them off with more care than he had. She liked to make him wait; he hated waiting. Thoughtfully she tilted her head to one side. To slide up and have him enter her immediately or have him tortured just a bit longer? She surprised a giggle. If she made him laugh it would all be over. Apparently she was losing this option, for his muscular arms grasped her by the waist and slid her back up his chest and placed himself strategically inside of her. She was now eye level with him again. Leaning inward to kiss him, she felt a sharp pang and cried out, although she was not sure if it had been out of pain or pleasure. She surrounded him completely now: her lips, her body. She leaned back gently, feeling him ease farther into her, all the while never taking her lips off of his. Amidst slow, methodical kisses she found her body’s natural rhythm and rocked to it. Ages seemed to pass. She let out a muffled cry. As naturally as she had found the rhythm, he rolled her over, his mouth still engulfed by hers. Only now it was she who was engulfed. Engulfed by his scent, his mouth. His hand moved from her shoulder to the side of her head, as if to cradle it, creating a contrast between the violence of his thrusting and the sensitivity of his touch. Suddenly she became aware of screaming, half pleasure stricken, half starved. It was his touch that brought her back to herself and made her realize that it was she who was screaming. And then there was nothing. There was darkness and sweat, and heaving breath. The sheets were soaked, the candles had burned out, and their erratic breathing still matched. It was as if nothing could sever them. His damp fingers traced the hollow of her neck, and then the darkness came and settled on her soul like a feather.
He left her sleeping on the bed, curls lazily across her face. Quietly he put his clothes back on and headed to the kitchen. He was hungry, and she would be hungry when she awoke. Down the narrow hallway he padded in his socked feet to the kitchen. He looked around the room. There were no plates in the sink. No coffee cups, no silverware. Either she had stopped eating again or had gone into her one of her cleaning modes. He doubted it was the latter. He opened the freezer and rumbled through the plastic containers that were labeled with type. Toasted whole wheat couscous and Basil with sunflower seeds, pink lentils with zucchini, egg plant parmesan, chocolate tapioca pudding, watermelon salad with feta and mint, Cesar salad, Mexicali chop with crunchy tomato strips, mock tuna salad, smoked Portobello club sandwich, Smokey eggplant spread, smoked tomato and black bean quesidias, strawberry meringue nests, southwestern corn pudding, fennel spiced potato wedges. Jamar shut the refrigerator. Adrienne had moments where she would cook large amounts of food, mostly with the intent to feed people other than herself, and freeze them in the freezer. Everything was vegetarian. He shut the refrigerator. She was cooking as though Charlotte were still living with her. The reality was that Charlotte had broken up with her before she took the teaching assistant position at the university, which was at least a semester previously. She hadn’t put any dates on the containers, so he didn’t know that they were fresh. But, they were frozen, so most likely the food only had freezer burn. What he really wanted was some pizza, but he knew if he ordered some she would not eat it. He pulled out the pink lentils and zucchini, fennel spiced potato wedges, and the chocolate tapioca pudding. If nothing else, jamar knew that she would eat the pudding.
Freya’s Day January 16 Grael 21
“How many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true; but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face.” –W.B. Yeats
She lay curled up upon the queen sized bed with her back against his chest and his arms woven through hers around her waist. Her fiery hair lay strewn across the lavender flowered pillowcase that matched the sheets upon which they lay without speaking. She listened intently to their rhythmic breathing and wondered how long their breath had been in sync. He caressed her hands, circling her knuckles thoughtfully with his nimble fingers. She listened to the melded pattern of his breathing, and with the caress of his fingers she was oddly soothed and aroused at the same time. The heat of his breath on the back of her neck sent a wave of shivers down her spine. Slowly, she turned to face him, her lips only inches away from his. He released his grasp with his left hand and moved a stray auburn tendril of curl from in front of her eyes. Smoothing the stray hair behind her ear, the side of his hand wandered down her cheek. Leaning inward her lips caressed his mouth, slowly at first. Gaining intensity, her mouth searched his for everything which she could not answer for herself. His left hand wandered down to her hip, resting on the slight bit of skin revealed between the end of her purple baby tee and the beginning of her low rise jeans. The warmth of his lips created an insatiable spark; the duality of her tongue explored the depth of his mouth as well as the depth of his soul. Rolling closer to him, she wrapped her right leg around his left. She could feel the firmness of his leg muscles through his jeans against the curve of her thigh. Slowly, his lips traveled down the vertebrae of her throat, lingering on the hollow between the clavicle bone and the last bone of her throat. Here he ran his heated tongue in deliberate circular movements. Suddenly she arched her back, confirming the status of that location as a pressure point. At the arching of her back, he slipped his left hand around her to the small of her back, catching her as she came back down. Coming back down, she allowed him to roll her over onto her back, his hand remaining beneath her. Reaching upward, she grasped his shoulders firmly, helping to position him on top her so as not to crush her. His lips ran back up her neck to her mouth, remaining while his lips sought out the deepest part of her. Her hands slid down his shoulders and back up his arms, slipping inside the short sleeves of his white T-shirt. She held him forcefully for a moment before withdrawing her hands and running them smoothly down his chest, catching the fabric of his shirt in her clasp. With his shirt between her fingers she lifted it gingerly over his head, halting with her lips only then in their heated exchange of atonement.
His right hand brushed tendrils of scarlet curl from her face while his left hand wandered around inside the back of her shirt. His fingers danced along the double back clasp of the lavender lace bra. His mouth passed over the places on her face where her hair had dangled as the hand under her shirt moved across the bra straps and down the shoulders to the cups. It moved farther down to the edge of the shirt, where the right hand met it to catch the hem and lift it over her head. She ran her hands up his muscularly defined mahogany arms. The candlelight cast dark shadows, downplaying the contrast of her pale skin with the richness of his own. His heated lips ran along her neck, along her clavicle bones, and down between her breasts. Reaching upward, he grasped the lace straps and pulled them gracefully down her shoulders. Nimbly he popped open the hook in the back with his thumb and forefinger. Thoughtlessly he cast it to the floor along with their T-shirts that lay in a heap by the side of the bed. His right hand caressed the curve under the cup of her breast as he guided his mouth around her nipple softly. Her breath quickened slightly, and had their breathing not been so in sync he would not have noticed. Cautiously he flicked about her nipple with his tongue and then continued the circling motions around her nipple similar to those he had performed on her neck. She ran her fingers over his braided hair and caressed the nape of his neck. He moved his mouth across the slight cleavage of her b cup breasts to the left breast, wandering around it with his eager tongue. He suckled her softly at first, then intensified as she involuntarily gasped with delight. Simultaneously she grabbed his neck, and he looked up into her eyes questioningly. Smirking, he realized that he had left a mark of passion.
Moving her hands from the nape of his neck to his shoulders, she pushed him down onto his back. His amber eyes held her hazel gaze as she held the dominant position. She stared intently as she sat up straddling him. Slowly she descended, tracing his neck with her mouth, lingering on the side beneath his right ear. She caressed the cartilage around the piercing stud, noticing an increase in the rate of his heartbeat. Simultaneously, she brushed her breasts up against his firm chest. She could feel the heat between them building. As if ignited by another spark, she was abruptly rolled again onto her back.
Her lips let go of his ear lobe; his hands slid down her body to her hips, holding them firmly while he began kissing her stomach. Once again his tongue wandered, although this time it moved in circles inside her navel. Again her back arched, this time accompanied by a slight moan. Although barely audible, he was so in tune with her body that he heard it before it entered the atmosphere. He ran his hands down from her hips to encircle her thighs, all the while caressing her belly button with his tongue. He could feel the heat between her thighs through her jeans. Aptly his fingers traveled to the buttons of her jeans. The first posed some trouble, but the subsequent four unbuttoned without difficulty. Intense was the heat transfer from his hands as they slid down her thighs and legs as he slipped off her jeans. These ended up in the growing mountain of clothes on the beige carpet. He was in the process of gently slipping his fingers inside her purple lace panties when she forcefully pushed him over onto his back.
Her fingers made circles across his chest that would later be traced by her wet, anxious lips. Straddling him with her delicate hands resting on his shoulders, tendrils of cherry hair fell across his amused face. She slunk slowly down his chest, her perky breasts creating friction with his rapidly rising chest. His jeans were easier to take off, which she accomplished with deft hands. She could feel the heat from beneath his smiley face boxers. Rubbing up against him, she felt his body quicken to the occasion. She could smell him more intensely now. Now she could identify the mixture of scents that had always perplexed her: laundry detergent, cinnamon, light cologne, and now, a raw, manly scent that could only be pheromones. His firmness bulged on the inside of her thigh. Her wet, anxious lips traced the muscles of his chest, the way her hands had earlier. They moved lower until she was caressing his navel with her tongue, allowing the heat to trickle over his body and town to the tips of his fingers.
With the same audacity with which she had pushed him over when he was not finished taunting her, he rolled her over onto her back again before she could even realize that she was no longer dominating. This time it was his mouth that did the searching. Across the sides of her face, along the nape of her neck, down her chest, below her navel his lips moistened her creamy skin. His tongue ran over the top of her lavender lace panties enticingly. The heat from beneath the lace was searing, and yet he could not bring himself to remove his mouth. His right hand moved from the small of her back and cast them to the floor. His mouth wandered around the inside of her trembling left thigh. She pushed downward onto his shoulders in an effort to roll him onto his back. Firmly he held onto the small of her back as he surrendered and rolled over. He lay now with his face between her thighs as she slid her body down his face and then his chest, her breasts caressing his face as she became eye level with him.
The heat rose in the little space that was left between them, culminating in the intensity of his amber eyes. She held his gaze, aware of the searing heat between her breasts and his chest, aware of the firmness against the side of her thigh. Slowly, carefully, she slid down his chest and was now eye level with the smiley face boxers. Reaching up she slid them off with more care than he had. She liked to make him wait; he hated waiting. Thoughtfully she tilted her head to one side. To slide up and have him enter her immediately or have him tortured just a bit longer? She surprised a giggle. If she made him laugh it would all be over. Apparently she was losing this option, for his muscular arms grasped her by the waist and slid her back up his chest and placed himself strategically inside of her. She was now eye level with him again. Leaning inward to kiss him, she felt a sharp pang and cried out, although she was not sure if it had been out of pain or pleasure. She surrounded him completely now: her lips, her body. She leaned back gently, feeling him ease farther into her, all the while never taking her lips off of his. Amidst slow, methodical kisses she found her body’s natural rhythm and rocked to it. Ages seemed to pass. She let out a muffled cry. As naturally as she had found the rhythm, he rolled her over, his mouth still engulfed by hers. Only now it was she who was engulfed. Engulfed by his scent, his mouth. His hand moved from her shoulder to the side of her head, as if to cradle it, creating a contrast between the violence of his thrusting and the sensitivity of his touch. Suddenly she became aware of screaming, half pleasure stricken, half starved. It was his touch that brought her back to herself and made her realize that it was she who was screaming. And then there was nothing. There was darkness and sweat, and heaving breath. The sheets were soaked, the candles had burned out, and their erratic breathing still matched. It was as if nothing could sever them. His damp fingers traced the hollow of her neck, and then the darkness came and settled on her soul like a feather.
He left her sleeping on the bed, curls lazily across her face. Quietly he put his clothes back on and headed to the kitchen. He was hungry, and she would be hungry when she awoke. Down the narrow hallway he padded in his socked feet to the kitchen. He looked around the room. There were no plates in the sink. No coffee cups, no silverware. Either she had stopped eating again or had gone into her one of her cleaning modes. He doubted it was the latter. He opened the freezer and rumbled through the plastic containers that were labeled with type. Toasted whole wheat couscous and Basil with sunflower seeds, pink lentils with zucchini, egg plant parmesan, chocolate tapioca pudding, watermelon salad with feta and mint, Cesar salad, Mexicali chop with crunchy tomato strips, mock tuna salad, smoked Portobello club sandwich, Smokey eggplant spread, smoked tomato and black bean quesidias, strawberry meringue nests, southwestern corn pudding, fennel spiced potato wedges. Jamar shut the refrigerator. Adrienne had moments where she would cook large amounts of food, mostly with the intent to feed people other than herself, and freeze them in the freezer. Everything was vegetarian. He shut the refrigerator. She was cooking as though Charlotte were still living with her. The reality was that Charlotte had broken up with her before she took the teaching assistant position at the university, which was at least a semester previously. She hadn’t put any dates on the containers, so he didn’t know that they were fresh. But, they were frozen, so most likely the food only had freezer burn. What he really wanted was some pizza, but he knew if he ordered some she would not eat it. He pulled out the pink lentils and zucchini, fennel spiced potato wedges, and the chocolate tapioca pudding. If nothing else, jamar knew that she would eat the pudding.
seven
Chapter Seven
Freya’s Day January 14 Grael 19
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
The client reported that she has had a significant decrease in her appetite. Client’s change in appetite has resulted in significant weight changes associated with the depressive phase of her Bipolar diagnosis. Client reported that she felt deeply sad and had periods of tearfulness on almost a daily basis. Client’s depressed affect was clearly evidenced within the session as tears were shed on more than one occasion. Client reported a diminished interest in or enjoyment of activities that she previously found pleasurable. Client reported periods of inability to sleep and other periods of sleeping for many hours without the desire to get out of bed. Client reported that she feels a very low level of energy compared with normal times in her life. It is evident within the session that the client has low levels of energy demonstrated by slowness of walking, minimal movement, lack of animation, and slow responses. The client expressed that she is experiencing suicidal thoughts but has not taken any actions on these thoughts. An assessment was conducted on the client’s current and past mood episodes, including the features, frequency, intensity, and duration of the mood episodes. The Inventory to Diagnose Depression (Zimmerman, Coryell, Corenthal, and Wilson) was used to assess the client’s current and past mood episodes. The results of the mood episode assessment reflected severe mood concerns and this was communicated to the client. Client was provided with sleeping, eating, and activity logs in which to document the current level of functioning. Client was encouraged to identify and share her feelings of depression in order to clarify them and gain insight into the causes. Client was provided with support and empathy as she described her feelings of depression. Client was unable to clearly identify her feelings of depression, and was provided with additional feedback in this area.
Freya’s Day January 14 Grael 19
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
The client reported that she has had a significant decrease in her appetite. Client’s change in appetite has resulted in significant weight changes associated with the depressive phase of her Bipolar diagnosis. Client reported that she felt deeply sad and had periods of tearfulness on almost a daily basis. Client’s depressed affect was clearly evidenced within the session as tears were shed on more than one occasion. Client reported a diminished interest in or enjoyment of activities that she previously found pleasurable. Client reported periods of inability to sleep and other periods of sleeping for many hours without the desire to get out of bed. Client reported that she feels a very low level of energy compared with normal times in her life. It is evident within the session that the client has low levels of energy demonstrated by slowness of walking, minimal movement, lack of animation, and slow responses. The client expressed that she is experiencing suicidal thoughts but has not taken any actions on these thoughts. An assessment was conducted on the client’s current and past mood episodes, including the features, frequency, intensity, and duration of the mood episodes. The Inventory to Diagnose Depression (Zimmerman, Coryell, Corenthal, and Wilson) was used to assess the client’s current and past mood episodes. The results of the mood episode assessment reflected severe mood concerns and this was communicated to the client. Client was provided with sleeping, eating, and activity logs in which to document the current level of functioning. Client was encouraged to identify and share her feelings of depression in order to clarify them and gain insight into the causes. Client was provided with support and empathy as she described her feelings of depression. Client was unable to clearly identify her feelings of depression, and was provided with additional feedback in this area.
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