Page 16 of A Method to His Madness

“What incident?”

She wets her lips. “During my sophomore year, I was pulled into the boys’ locker room. They…thought it was funny. To flash me. It was my first time seeing anything like that…and there was so many guys. Awallof them. I couldn’t get out. They just kept shoving me around, pushing me into their friends. And then they decided I should return the favor. I should flash them, too. Only I wouldn’t, of course, so they…started tearing at my clothes.”

My hands are fucking shaking. “I’m sorry, Ashley.”

A small nod. “When I tried to explain it to my parents and the school administrators, they all just kind of brushed it off. Boys will be boys, they said. Meanwhile, I was…some part of me was dying inside. The shame was so thick.”

“The shame is theirs,” I seethe.

“Oh, I know that. Logically. But that doesn’t seem to help the fear of it happening again. Being powerless again. After that day, I didn’t want a single inch of my skin showing after that. It doesn’t stop the comments or the…the entitlement, though. And then came Waylon. My parents thought he was harmless, in terms of the attention he paid me. Once they realized the truth, it was too late.” She looks at me for a prolonged beat. “It’s always like that. No one takes a woman’s fear seriously until she’s dead. Or married to someone who hurts them.”

Grief pours into me like wet concrete.

She has no idea how those words, that truth, affects me. But they affect her so much more. She wasn’t the bystander of the trauma, she experienced it firsthand. All I can do is sit here in my helpless rage, wishing to go back in time and protect her.

“They should have listened to you. They should have punished those boys for their deplorable actions. And most importantly, taken steps to make you feel safe again, by any means necessary. Especially when you were brave enough to come forward.”

She swallows and looks toward the window. “Thanks.”

I realize the tip of my pen has put a hole in the paper attached to my clipboard and toss it aside on the desk behind me. “How do you feel about going back to that locker room with me? Stare the memory in the face and let it know it has no power of you anymore.”

“I…” She sits forward, appearing almost startled by the idea. “I mean, it’s the weekend. The school is locked.”

“If it takes away some of your pain, I’ll rip the walls down with my bare hands.”

She studies me long and hard. Then, “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 8

Ashley

The front doorto the school is locked, as predicted.

Caleb calmly takes my hand and leads me around back to what I believe is the cafeteria door. He gently ushers me off to the side, before stepping back and kicking the door in with the ferocity of a beast.

My blood flashes hot, as if it has been set on fire. That peek at what lies beneath his firm yet collected therapist exterior is only the tip of the iceberg. Somehow, I know. He might be steady and have tremendous willpower, but there’s a lot more left undiscovered.

For now.

For now?

I shake myself as I enter the school through the broken door, Caleb offering me his hand once again. And I take it, though I really shouldn’t. Should I? This man told my husband in no uncertain terms that he’ll take me to bed, if and when I indicate that’s what I want. But maybe I’m a little brainwashed or old-fashioned, because I couldn’t help but lay in my bed last night and feel surprised at my actions on the couch yesterday.

Me, a married woman, took my underwear off in front of another man and touched myself, so thoroughly that I had my first orgasm. While he watched. Sweating.

He tucked me into bed last night.

Now, I’m holding his hand.

I’m…an adulteress. Aren’t I?

Whether Waylon is a good or bad husband, that fact remains.

I’m developing feelings for my therapist. For Caleb. Serious ones.

He’s caring, compassionate, genuine. Protective. Encouraging.

Though underneath his handsome exterior, he’s lustful. Rough.

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