Anissa's Redemption Page 11

  Monique thought that was a positive way to feel more empowered about an act that had originally rendered me weak and vulnerable. But, after discussing my relationship with Julien in more depth, I told her that I had effectively ended things with him yesterday. Her professional opinion, after everything I had told her, was that it was a wise decision for many reasons. She didn’t think it was healthy for me to be dating someone with so much sway over me (as both my professor and a potential benefactor for my cause), and she thought that the huge power imbalance between him and me – notwithstanding any temporary impact I might have on his happiness – was at least partly the reason the relationship had been so one-sided. She also worried that I might be developing an unhealthy dependence on Julien.

  After speaking with my therapist, I felt better about my decision, even if I occasionally still worried that I had made a terrible mistake – in terms of the cause, my dream of working at JMAT, my grade in his class, and the strong and intimate connection that I had started to feel to him.

  A few hours later, I confronted Maya about her sexual relationship with Julien. I asked her to meet me in front of Butler Library, because I didn’t know how our exchange would unfold, or how long we’d want to continue talking. At first, she tried to deny it.

  “What are you talking about, Anissa? Julien and I are just friends,” she insisted, as she swung her bag of books over her shoulder.

  I raised my eyebrow skeptically and shook my head in disappointment. “So I guess he and I were ‘just friends’ all this time too – at least that’s how he saw it. That would certainly explain a lot.”

  “What are you getting at, Anissa?”

  “What I’m getting at is that while I was dating Julien he was still involved with other women, and you were one of them.”

  Maya seemed slightly flustered as she tried to deny it. “I don’t know where you’re coming up with this stuff. Julien and I are just friends.”

  “Just friends who also sleep together.”

  “Who told you that?” she asked, with a regained boldness. “Sounds like the usual gossipy rumors to me.”

  “Is that your final answer?” I asked giving her one last chance to come clean with me.

  Seeing that the conversation would probably last longer, she took the bag off of her shoulders and rested it on the ground. “Yeah. What makes you think that’s not the case?”

  “Because I snuck into his Facebook inbox, that’s why. And I saw the messages between the two of you joking about how, right after that first date he took me on, you were helping him to release his pent-up urges so that he could take things slow and play it cool with me.”

  Maya looked away, embarrassed. “I can’t believe you went into his private business like that,” she finally said.

  “And I can’t believe that you were sleeping with him this whole time... When did you start having sex with him?”

  “Last September.”

  “But why would you even try to encourage me to get closer to Julien if you were with him?”

  Maya shook her head again and regained her usual swagger. “You are still precious, my Syrian sista’. Even if you’re a bit inexperienced about the ways of the world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because the smart way to date someone like Julien is to find out what you can do for him – find out what he wants. It’s nice to have a guy like Julien owing you favors.”

  “So you brought me to his party to keep yourself in his good graces?”

  “I was trying to hook you up, Anissa. Like I’ve told you, I have girlfriends that don’t talk to me anymore because I haven’t brought them to one of his VIP parties.”

  “But why didn’t you at least tell me that you were sleeping with him this whole time?”

  “Girl, that’s private – between him and me. That was part of our deal – that we’d never discuss it with anyone.”

  “But I told you that I slept with him, so – at that point – why couldn’t you at least tell me the same thing? I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am your friend. But just because you broke confidence with him, doesn’t mean I should.”

  I was speechless and appalled, and could only shake my head in amazement.

  Maya stooped down to pick up her bag, apparently concluding that our talk was coming to an end. “You think you own him just because he slept with you? Do you know how many supermodels he’s slept with, Anissa? Nobody owns him – it’s just not possible. And everyone who sleeps with him knows that. But I guess you’re a bit naïve.”

  “If loyalty among friends and fidelity among lovers is naïve, then yes, I am proudly naïve. I’m just glad I finally found out who shares my values, and who doesn’t.”

  I turned around and walked away, angry and disappointed in yet another person I thought I could trust.

  Chapter 11: Anissa

  Sunday, April 27, 2014

  To My Dearest,

  The last few days I mostly kept to myself, trying to get out of the doldrums by focusing more on my studies and my physical fitness training. I actually skipped the Psychology and Markets lecture last Thursday – it was my first time missing any college lecture. I just wasn’t ready to see Julien again – actually, I should probably go back to referring to him as “Professor Morales” again. It would have been really awkward to see him, and I didn’t want to give him even the chance to try to talk to me afterwards. I also might have been unable to suppress the temptation to call out our TA for sleeping with our professor, and I knew that I just needed a bit more time to cool off. So I had to get the notes for that lecture from one of my classmates.

  On Friday, I also skipped my Economics study group to avoid seeing Maya. Instead, I went to the campus Jiu-jitsu class that I had been wanting to try out, and actually saw Michael training there. We smiled at each other politely, and I could sense that he wanted to talk to me afterwards, but he kept his distance out of respect for whatever boundaries we had implicitly established. I was happy just to try to clear my head and be with myself in whatever Zen moment of concentration I could find while training.

  By the end of yesterday, Professor Morales still hadn’t tried to contact me to apologize or anything else, so I was quite sure that it was over between us, and was feeling better about moving on. I also got the email that Michael sent to all MCA members, asking everyone to show up to today’s vigil, organized by the main Jewish student group on campus, in honor of Holocaust Remembrance Day. His email emphasized the importance of showing solidarity and building bridges with others who have suffered from genocide.

  It was a last-minute request, so I doubted many MCA members would make it, but I decided to go, if only for the renewed perspective it would give me on whatever small life problems and disappointments I was experiencing at the moment.

  It was a nice, early-spring day. I arrived at the campus sundial about ten minutes early, and was surprised to see that Michael was also there early, among the few other students already gathered at the site of the event. None of them looked familiar, so I assumed they were all from the Jewish organization. This time, when Michael and I saw each other, I went up to him with a meek smile and we exchanged greetings.

  “How’s your doctoral work coming along?” I asked him.

  “I convinced the department to give me another three months because of the work I’m doing in Syria.”

  “That’s great news – I’m glad they were willing to accommodate the cause,” I added with a wink. I kept looking around to see if his girlfriend would appear, and then I finally just asked him about her: “Where’s Karen?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think she’ll be coming.” Michael looked down for a moment. “In fact, I’d be surprised if she shows up to any more MCA meetings.”

  As he raised his head again, I noticed that Michael’s stubble was a bit longer than usual. “Why is that?”

  “We started having some problems after she scored that $100,000 donation that she was wo
rking on.”

  “I didn’t realize that she’d raised that money.”

  “Yes, she did. And I was naturally thrilled, but then she started asking me if I could envision her and me as an engaged couple soon. I think she assumed that if she just impressed me with her help for the MCA, the rest would fall into place.”

  “Ha. Well if $11 million wasn’t going to do it for me, I don’t see how $100,000 could do it for her,” I remarked, with a bit of guilt at my snarky cattiness. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Michael chuckled. “Yeah, well, of course I didn’t mention your numbers to her. There was enough drama without me adding any fuel to the fire. And I wanted to respect your privacy – if word got out that you brought in that kind of money, who knows what rumors would start, or how many people would start approaching you with random requests for help?”

  I smiled gratefully. “That was very considerate of you.”

  “But it wasn’t just the sudden pressure that I felt from her... I think there were just too many cultural differences between us – which became much clearer after I finally met her family for dinner.”

  “What kind of differences?”

  “Well, I just didn’t feel as comfortable around them as I had hoped I would. And I always imagined myself having in-laws who share my culture.”

  “You mean like Middle Eastern hospitality? Or more the language and history?”

  “All of that – and the smaller everyday things like food, music, etc. I just realized that those things are all too much a part of my identity for my life partner and her family not to share them with me,” he explained.

  I repressed the impulse to say, “I had a feeling that would happen!” and tried to look as blasé as possible about the best news I had heard all week. “Well, I’m glad Karen was able to raise that money from her donor because we’re not getting any more from Professor Morales – I’m done with him.”

  Michael looked surprised but also seemed to be repressing his delight at the good news. “Really? What happened?”

  I noticed that the area began to fill up with other students who were arriving. “Oh, it’s a long story – not for when this vigil is about to start.”

  “Good point,” he conceded with a smile. He put his hand lightly on my shoulder. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about the way we did things.”

  “Me too.”

  “But if we look at the bright side, you helped in a huge way. Thanks to your efforts, I’m in the process of creating half a dozen militias, totaling hundreds of armed men, to protect Christian populations in Syria. My deputies and various local leaders are managing the logistics and have told me that weapons and training should be arriving in two days. And we’ve found several contractors and construction companies that can help to repair damaged churches. We’re also bringing in special medical personnel and equipment to care for any of our security forces or civilians who get hurt... Now you see why I had to get more time before defending my dissertation?” he asked lightly.

  As more students arrived, the crowd gathering around the sundial pushed me closer to Michael. “You do sound a tad busy these days,” I noted ironically. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to build a new country or something,” I added playfully.

  Michael chuckled, as he looked down at me. “Yes, well, considering how fast eleven million dollars gets gobbled up for this basic stuff, the cost of founding a country is still a long way off. We’ll need some heavyweight lobbyists for that project... But you know by now what we say to any challenge, right?” he asked with a wink.

  “If you will it, it is no dream,” I affirmed.

  “Exactly.”

  Our conversation was cut short as the event organizer began to speak. We turned our attention to him, but somehow the whole thing brought me closer to Michael – maybe because it indirectly reminded me that he deeply cares about important issues. And it made Julien and his whole lifestyle of luxuriously pampered living, frivolous fun, and womanizing seem trivial and embarrassingly different from my own values and concerns. I was so glad that I hadn’t given him my family necklace in the end.

  The memorial event was very moving, but the part that will probably stay with me forever was when one of the speakers recited aloud a poem by an Israeli Holocaust survivor, Dan Pagis, about a woman and her son on a train transporting them to the Nazi death camps. I shed a tear as I listened, but its powerful symbolism haunted me long after, as the poem poignantly summed up – in so few words – how short humanity has fallen at times. The sudden ending sends a chill down my spine every time I read the laconic poem – the vanquished voice of the innocent abruptly cut off by the evil that the world has countenanced.

  When I got back to my dorm after the event, I had to print out a copy for myself. Here it is.

  Written in Pencil in the Sealed Railway Car

  Here in this carload

  I, Eve,

  with my son Abel.

  If you see my older boy,

  Cain, the son of man,

  tell him that I

  Chapter 12: Julien

  Sunday, 4/27/14 at 22:06.

  Anissa was absent from my lecture last Thursday, and I seriously doubt that she was out sick. I’m surprised at how much I miss her and regret the way things unfolded between us. I obviously didn’t handle it well. The minute I sensed that she was a different kind of woman, I should have gone to greater lengths to treat her accordingly. But old habits die hard and I wanted to avoid seeming overly interested in her, which meant getting my usual releases along the way. I think a part of me was also scared that I might actually fall for her, which would have meant losing what I’ve grown so used to having: complete control.

  Even though she was absent on Thursday, I assume that she’ll attend class this Tuesday and I’ve been feeling a bit anxious about the whole thing. It’s obviously not the venue for me to make any sort of conciliatory overture to her, and in some sense it feels as if I should have already made one, if I was going to make one at all. But it will also feel strange for us to play it cool, as we did when we were dating, because this time there will be no stolen glances or smiles – just a cold indifference to each other. Yet, trying to create a better energy could itself produce some kind of awkwardness in front of the other students.

  I’m going to go see my therapist now, and I’ll probably end up discussing this issue for most of the time with her, but I’ll write more when I come back.

  * * *

  Back from my psychological sparring session with Lily. In the hope of getting over Anissa by now focusing on my therapist, I toyed with the leggy redhead a little along the way.

  “Dating Anissa certainly falls into that reckless pattern we’ve discussed,” I conceded. “But I haven’t felt as close to a woman in a very long time. You gave me that feeling almost as much, even if I always dismissed it.”

  Lily gently rubbed her pen between her open palms, and I imagined that she was doing that to my cock instead. “What do you mean, you dismissed that feeling?” she asked.

  “Well, I knew that it was the ultimate illusion. You obviously don’t actually care for me the way Anissa did, so it made no sense for me to feel like I was getting closer to you.”

  Lily took a hard swallow. She clearly wanted to object to this claim more vociferously, but managed to subdue the impulse. “Julien, that’s an apples-to-oranges comparison. She was your girlfriend. I am your therapist.”

  “Exactly. She genuinely cared about me. You’re just paid to care about me. If I stop paying, you stop caring.”

  “You don’t know that,” she replied. “And you’re not paying me to care for you. You’re paying me to treat you as best I can, using my professional skills and background.”

  “So if I told you that I now want to start seeing you in a non-professional way or not at all, what would you choose?”

  Lily adjusted her posture for a moment before uncrossing her legs and switching
the thigh on top. “You mean if you asked me to date you while you’re still my client?”

  “Yes.”

  There was an awkward silence, as she struggled with the question for a moment. “Well, I... ” Then she abruptly regained her control. “Julien, how did this become about me again? I’ve never dated an existing client and I’m not planning on starting now. That’s a breach of my professional ethics.”

  “And if we terminated therapy?”

  “Well, the APA’s code of ethics requires that at least two years pass before a therapist can enter into a sexual relationship with a former client.”

  “And you’re worried that I’d report you? You don’t trust me?”

  Lily exhaled and rolled her eyes. “I’m not your rebound obsession, Julien. But I can help you to manage what you’re going through.”

  “I’m not so sure – especially if you can’t answer my question.”

  “It’s not relevant to your treatment.”

  “Maybe it is. Maybe if I knew that you actually cared about me and were drawn to me enough that you’d want to date me, I’d feel more comfortable opening up to you in therapy. Because then maybe the whole thing would seem more authentic to me.”

  I felt some intellectually sadistic satisfaction in seeing her struggle with the dilemma I had foisted on her, like a chess player who has just cornered his opponent’s queen. If she admitted that she had any feelings for me, she might already be getting dangerously close to transgressing her professional duties. If she refused, she might lose me as a client and possibly feel like a failure on some level.

  She finally caved, and let me peel away a small layer of the cold and distant façade that she had been maintaining. “I think I would trust you not to report me,” she began, fixing her eyes on mine and then looking away. “But I’m not sure I could handle the conflict internally.”

  Chapter 13: Anissa

  Tuesday, April 29, 2014

  To My Dearest,