Resurrection of Crazy Jane Pt. 05
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Before reading Part V of “The Resurrection of Crazy Jane,” if you haven’t yet, read it from Part 1 first. These installments do not stand on their own and don’t make any attempt to.
Please note that any viewpoints expressed by the characters in this story do not necessarily reflect my own viewpoints. I am simply attempting to stay true to the characters.
I made eye contact with Zoey.
It was remarkable that I’d only known this girl for about two weeks, and we were still able to communicate with just eye contact. It was the strangest damn thing.
But the eye contact we had at this moment was perhaps the most important nonverbal conversation we’ve had through our short friendship – or tease-ship or whatever the hell you would call this.
Beth had finally let her guard down for a moment. She sat her shaken, tormented body on the couch cushion next to me, giving herself to my embrace, crying on my shoulder.
She was choking and wetting me with snot and tears. She was just overcome by her confession that she has had recurring dreams that I was raping her.
In thinking about it, of course, I felt undeniable guilt. The way I plowed into Beth the previous night with unmitigated power, helped along by Zoey’s innocent striptease just feet away from Beth’s head, probably was a bit too dominant for Beth’s taste.
The fact that I just plunged in, no condom at all, and blew what felt like gallons of spunk into her without abandon, probably didn’t help matters, either.
Sex with Beth had to be just one step past virginal. It had to be a Puritanical courtship.
And that’s all it could ever be.
And of course, when I was lost in this train of thought, my girlfriend falling to pieces before my very eyes, was the moment that Zoey decides to wake up and investigate, looking directly into my eyes.
She peeked her head around the corner into the living room just as Beth leaned her sobbing head into me.
In the TV-lit darkness of the living room, Zoey’s blue eyes sparkled a silvery-gray as they looked straight at me.
Her look of true concern suggested that the previous night and all of the transgressions I committed with her had been forgotten.
Instead of her default tempestuous glare, dripping with sex and bad intentions, Zoey made eye contact with me in an almost empathetic way. At least that was the way I hoped she was looking at me.
Either way, it was a look I’d rarely seen from the girl.
Zoey just looked scared and apprehensive, like a little girl that awoke to her parents fighting.
She’s lost it, I attempted to tell Zoey with my eyes. I’m trying to do all I can to make it better.
As I tried to communicate this with my eyes, Zoey somehow received it. Her expression softened even more.
Zoey’s expression, God help me, somehow was the worst thing I could have seen at that moment.
I’m not proud of it, but for the first time, I was thinking about Beth like she was broken. Irreparably. The concept that was swimming in my mind, that a simple sexual relationship was breaking her brain even further, had me doubting what I was doing with her.
Can I even deal with this?
Can I deal with a woman who may never want to have sex with me?
I felt selfish for thinking it. I should be able to put a sexual relationship on the back burner. But if this is a long term deal, I can’t not have sex with my girlfriend.
And Zoey’s look suggested, at least for a second, that she was more than just a wanton sex kitten.
There was a person inside there.
And, dang it, I might like that person. For the first time, I truly compared Zoey and Beth to each other, considering both as romantic options I had to choose between.
And Zoey might be winning.
And it got even worse.
Usually, a look from Zoey stirred a reaction in my cock, pushing an on/off button that made my treacherous weiner expand at her whim.
Now, the whole scene unfolding in the living room, just the entire gravity of this moment, that sudden pressure of asking myself to make a choice, pulled on my emotions.
It created a lump in my throat, threatening to push tears out. I wasn’t sure what in the hell that was about. It was probably everything altogether, to be honest.
There was Beth’s helplessness, and perhaps that this was the first suggestion that my relationship with her was starting to fade.
And then there was the suggestion that whatever this was that I was having with Zoey was, in fact, something.
I began to sniffle and cry myself, which caused Beth to reflexively hold me tighter. I think she found my tears quite comforting, in a strange way.
If she only knew.
But we, as humans, sense the presence of others. We know when people are staring at us.
As Beth jumped and look backward, she felt that. She sensed Zoey’s presence sincan escort and made a whimpered gasp at seeing her.
Immediately, Beth began to collect herself and suck back her tears, which were now slowing down to a manageable cry, just to steady herself for Zoey’s benefit.
“I’m … sorry,” Beth stifled out between cries. “I didn’t … mean to … wake you.” Beth wiped at the tears flowing on her face, which had made tear-stained streaks down her cheeks. There was no hiding her state of sadness and helplessness.
Zoey looked at Beth with a warm smile. “Sweetie, come here,” Zoey said, spreading her arms wide. After a hesitation, Beth left my embrace and went to Zoey, who hugged her tightly as Beth began to cry again. “Let it out…” Zoey warmly said, running her fingers through Beth’s hair while making assuring eye contact with me over Beth’s shoulder.
I smiled a thankful grin at Zoey, and she did the same to me. It probably felt good to Beth to know that she had support.
And, for the first time, Zoey and I didn’t turn a silent conversation into some drawn out flirtation.
I was sitting in the living room watching TV, half trying to wake up while also desperately wanting to sleep. Shortly after they began to hug and cry together, Beth had followed Zoey into Zoey’s bedroom. They’d been in there for a while.
I heard their voices and their tears. And maybe even a little laughter. All of it was muffled behind a closed door on the other side of the apartment.
Whatever Zoey was doing, it was working. They were most likely having “the talk”, where Beth spilled her guts about her abuse, about her life, about her everything. She was just so much better at this than I was.
And I knew they were talking about me. That made me into a nervous jumble.
Then my mind wandered more. What if I did choose Zoey? Would she even have me?
Obviously not. Right? Whatever Zoey was doing with me, to me, this entire time, obviously had nothing to do with me. She couldn’t have liked me. Like that. I mean, I’m still this ugly troll. I didn’t even know why Beth liked me. So I’d have to win Zoey over.
What was I even thinking? My girlfriend, my Beth, was falling to pieces, literally crying on her friend’s shoulder. Meanwhile, I am thinking about hooking up with that very friend? I’m a sicko. A completely horrible person.
But, I suppose, it was okay that I was thinking like this. Beth was obviously telling Zoey how much she hated me. How much I disgusted her. Obviously. She was having dreams that I was fucking raping her. That had to be rooted in pure hatred. Why else would she even be having these thoughts in the first place? She hated me. She hated sex with me. I was just that terrible at it. A selfish lover.
And if I was a bad, selfish lover, what business did Zoey even have with me? Why was she showing me so much attention? It couldn’t be that she actually wanted me. It made no sense. I was a sexual noob. There had to be another reason. Maybe she was insane. That’s the only explanation.
What the hell am I thinking? Ugh!
I had to distract myself from the chattering monkeys in my head. But it was the middle of the night and this was mid-2000s basic cable. So I just stared at infomercials on the TV for an hour as Zoey continued to commiserate with Beth, trying to eavesdrop while also trying to ignore, since I probably wouldn’t like what they were saying anyway. Luckily, their voices were too soft to hear. And I wasn’t going to creep and put my ear to the door.
I just stayed put.
The morning kept coming closer, and before I knew it, it was 5 a.m. and my eyes simply wouldn’t close. My body was pulsing with loss, emotion, and just a little bit of adrenaline. I didn’t know what to think.
I was really really nervous.
I knew that reading would put me out. For a guy that was a literature and writing major, I really really hated reading. So I began reading some poetry, again opening Yeats, hoping that would do the trick.
I care not what the sailors say:
All those dreadful thunder-stones,
All that storm that blots the day
Can but show that Heaven yawns;
Great Europa played the fool
That changed a lover for a bull.
Fol de rol, fol de rol.
To round that shell’s elaborate whorl,
Adorning every secret track
With the delicate mother-of-pearl,
Made the joints of Heaven crack:
So never hang your heart upon
A roaring, ranting journeyman.
Fol de rol, fol de rol.
I awoke with a yell as a pillow bounced off my head. It zapped me awake, knocking the book of Yeats poetry off my chest and I sat straight up, ready to punch something.
Fight or flight.
“Shakespeare, you need to cover that fucking thing up,” I heard Zoey say from the small adjacent kitchen as my ankara escort vision tried to focus and recover from the shock of waking up from a pillow being thrown at my head. “That gigantic thing will force me to make bad decisions.”
I looked around to see Zoey with her back turned, doing something on the kitchen counter as she looked back at me with a mischievous grin.
I felt a tightness in my crotch and looked down, only to see the head of my cock sticking out the bottom of my boxer shorts, hard as a rock in all of its morning wood glory, restrained by the left leg of my boxers and threatening to spring upward if my boxers rode up and hinted at the slightest promise of freedom.
I immediately covered it up, grabbing that pillow and hiding it from Zoey’s sight.
I looked up to the wall clock, seeing that it was 10:25 a.m. I began looking back and forth frantically. I knew that Beth had an 8 a.m. class and Zoey was due into class at 10 a.m. They were definitely playing hookey.
“Where is Beth?” I asked Zoey.
“Church,” Zoey responded nonchalantly before turning around and looking back at me with an evil grin. “She had to get the hell away from that devil in your pants.”
I held the pillow tighter against my crotch. “That’s not funny,” I chastised Zoey.
She came out to the living room holding two cups of coffee, giving me one. I held on to the pillow with one hand while grabbing the coffee mug with the other, making room for Zoey to sit beside me on the couch.
“Don’t judge my breath,” Zoey said. “This is my third cup this morning.”
She was wearing a big black Ramones T-shirt and a loose pair of white shorts, showing off her long, tanned legs. She had no bra on, as I saw her prominent nipples sticking out through her shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was absolutely casual.
There was something almost domestic about this scene.
As she sat, I realized where she said Beth had gone to?
I pretty much knew the method behind the madness before she even explained.
When Beth and I got together, we discussed our views on religion. In short, we were both agnostic, mostly because we each had problems with the excesses and hypocrisy of established religion.
That’s why it was shocking when she told me about a priest. She had heard of a priest that specialized in joining multiple personalities, like Beth suffered from.
“You mean like an exorcist?” I immediately asked Beth when she first explained this priest.
But calmly, Beth told me what it was all about. She made it sound like he was more of a therapist than a man of God.
Beth regularly skipped therapy appointments with her actual therapist. She was supposed to go weekly. However, ever since we had gotten together, she pretty much quit therapy altogether, even though I told her I’d be willing to go to a session with her, if she needed me to.
“He’s a specialist,” she explained about the priest. “He’d merged the personalities of so many people. It’s more effective than therapy. He has different techniques.”
I knew it sounded like bull.
“He’s probably just trying to get you to buy what he’s selling,” I opined, “just so you will join the church. Those damn people, they collect parishioners like baseball cards.” I was grumbling.
She kept talking about it, ignoring my protestations, her voice full of hope, and I just let her talk. She gave me example after example of how he’d worked miracles. Whatever. I had said my peace, knowing she’d eventually change the subject as I became less and less responsive.
Which she did.
But all of this “priest” talk was about a month or two prior, before we’d even had sex. It seemed like a dead topic. We hadn’t spoken about it since.
Now, all of a sudden, she went to church? On a Wednesday morning? When she hadn’t set foot in a church for years?
“Yeah,” Zoey responded to my question, shaking me out of my momentary flashback. “She seems to think it will work with her, you know… issues.”
“Shit…” I groaned.
“What’s the big deal?” Zoey asked seriously. “I think it’s a good idea. Church isn’t all bad, you rotten sinner.”
I grumbled some more. It wasn’t that I was so anti-church, per se. I mean, people get some good use out of it. But it wasn’t for me. People who trust an exterior source as opposed to actually dealing with the stuff life throws at you, which divests them of all responsibility for their own lives, never set well with me. If you have a problem with your life, don’t wish upon a godly star. Fix it. Like I had.
I didn’t have a girlfriend. I was a scrawny little troll. But I decided I wouldn’t someday be a 40-year-old virgin. I changed things. I began working out. I started being more assertive. And now, I have a girlfriend. With maybe another on the way. But the main thing was, etimegut escort I changed things.
I thought Beth was doing the same thing. She was going to change her situation. She didn’t like it, so she was going to fight her demons head on. It was one of the things I loved about her.
I thought she would go to therapy. Work through her issues and make a change. Now she wants to talk to a priest and trust some God to do all the hard work for her?
And then, get one step closer to paying this priest’s salary through tithing, so he could by a new bookshelf for his office?
It was asinine. It was the coward’s way out.
“A priest is not as well-qualified as a therapist,” I complained. “He is going to sell her snake oil. Wave a fucking magic wand. Or a magic Bible. But she won’t even go to her therapy appointments? This is big shit she is working through. Why trust a priest over somebody who has a degree? Who was trained?”
Zoey shook her head. “No. I don’t believe that. Therapists are the scam. Therapists are the snake oil people.”
She adopted a look of true passion in her face. Her body straightened out. She was climbing onto her soap box, without giving me a word in edgewise.
“I went to therapy. After I was almost raped, they suggested I see somebody. I was 16. And the shit they told me.” She shook her head abruptly. “Hell no. The shrink sent me to some guy. To get me on meds. Okay, whatever. Anti-depressant meds I figured. Then you know what the fucker says to me?”
She interrupted me before I could answer.
“He said he wanted to put me on antipsychotic meds. Are you fucking shitting me?!”
I looked at her confused. Floored. The doctor tried to do what?
“Ummm, you’re not psychotic,” I said, a level of obviousness in my voice. “With Beth, yeah, I can see calling her ‘psychotic.’ But you? You’re friendly and outgoing and playful.”
“Thank you!” she shouted, waving her hand at me. “I was just fucking raped, okay? I was scared, okay? If you want to throw medicine at it, an antidepressant? Sure. But crazy pills? Fuck no!”
She was fuming, obviously re-living it. Her eyes had a look I’d never seen before. It was a look of anger. I’d never seen Zoey angry. Or even passionate in a non-sexual sense.
“So, what happened?” I asked.
“I quit going to the therapist. If he would send me to this asshole to get on medication, then why in the fuck should I trust him? Like I said, therapists are the scam.”
I just sat there, silent, looking at her.
“So,” I began gingerly, “if Beth wants to see a priest, you think more power to her?”
“Yes!” she said adamantly. “Exactly! More power to her. If Jesus turned water into wine, He could make Beth like cock again. Or pussy, or whatever,” she smirked.
Here we were, having a serious conversation about Beth and the nature of therapy, then she has to say “cock” all deviously. And “pussy”. She’s right. Those hard k’s. There’s something sexy about them. Thinking of that, and looking at her being all cute in those boy shorts and punk rock T-shirt, her nipples sticking out like turkey thermometers, got my cock stirring again. It had been covered the pillow this whole time, but I felt my cock head rubbing against the soft pillow. It was creeping out of my boxers, stiffening once more. I could feel it.
But back to the main idea at hand.
Church? Really? I didn’t want to be swept up in it. Mostly, I didn’t want to be pressured into believing. The whole origin story of life, Adam and Eve and the snake and that whole leap of faith thing was simply something I couldn’t do. Beth was so pushy in general, I didn’t want to deal with it. She would become preachy.
“Dammit,” I groaned.
I shook my head and swung my head back in exasperation, resting my hands on my head as it flopped on the back of the couch cushion. The impact of my frustrated response knocked the pillow off my lap, once again revealing my tent.
Zoey’s eyes zeroed in on my crotch, and that pure look of evil hunger occupied her face.
“Quit… tempting me,” Zoey plead matter-of-factly, flashing a mischievous grin, patting on my exposed cock head with her hand like she was petting a dog. I jerked forward and grabbed the pillow off the floor and covered up again.
“Jesus Christ, Zoey. Not now!” I chided.
Zoey leaned back and turned her body toward me, putting one knee up on the couch as she rested her head on her bent left arm, looking over to me and overflowing with deviousness.
“You need to quit flattering yourself,” she chided back, batting her eyelashes while I tried to avoid making eye contact. “Besides, I promised Beth I wouldn’t.”
I looked at her incredulous. She what?
“What do you mean, you promised?” I asked, panicking. “Did you fucking tell her? Please, please tell me you didn’t …”
“Settle down,” she interrupted me, her eyes looking downward as she patted the pillow with her hand. “She knows nothing, you bad, bad boy!” She changed her expression to one of seriousness, then looked away from me.
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