Free Submission Therapy by Willsin Rowe Katie Salidas Page B

barely registered that I’d moved, yet suddenly my palm was tingling and Derek was clutching at his cheek, his glasses laying like a crushed insect on the floor.
    A ball of unreleased scream sat in the base of my throat and made it almost impossible for me to speak, but I managed to strangle out a yell. “You voyeuristic cunt! You get off on my exploits, don’t you? I bet you finish every one of our sessions with a ten-minute jerk-off!” I almost spat in his face. “Or maybe you only last five.”
    Derek shook his head and rubbed at his reddened flesh. To my surprise he started chuckling. “Was it something I said?”
    I closed my eyes and pushed a stray tress of black hair back behind my ear. I let a long breath seep out of me as I regained my composure. “You be sure to send me the bill for those glasses, Derek.”
    “ One hour. Hotel Bridgeman.” His voice faded slightly as I reached the elevator. “ No excuses, Natasha.”  
    The limo was waiting out front with the door open. I slipped inside and fastened my seat belt. Simon closed my door and sat in front.
    “ Ma’am?”  
    “ Yes?”  
    “ Where to, ma’am?”  
    I finally registered the tingling sensation in my palm. I stared at it as if it held some kind of answers, even poked at it with my manicured nail in case there was a secret below the surface. The sharpness of the pain there was like a frightened breath, a sudden blotting-out of everything else.
    My ulcer flared up a little, but in truth it was the least of my troubles. Anxiety attacks, momentary blackouts, and chest pains. My self-medication program of coffee, cigarettes and vodka – sometimes simultaneously – didn’t seem to be working. Even sex was losing its edge, and those pretty-boy escorts were hardly worth the time and money I spent on them. They scratched an itch but they had no substance.
    “ Ma’am?”  
    “ Hotel Bridgeman.”  
    I flipped open my cellphone and dialed Joanna’s number. She answered on the third ring. “Ms. Blakely’s office.”
    “ Joanna, what took you so long? Two rings maximum, remember?”  
    “ I’m sorry, Ms. Blakely. I was just signing for a flower delivery. My fiancé–”  
    “ I don’t care. Cancel my afternoon.”  
    “ Um...pardon?”  
    I squeezed the phone as I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Nothing tipped a girl off her rocker quite like flowers. “Look, if you can’t handle it...”
    “ No, no problem, Ms. Blakely. I was just...surprised.” She remained professional, but I heard tears mixed with her confusion. Good. I didn’t need her thinking we were buddy-buddy friends.  
    “ Don’t wet yourself. Just do your job.”  
    I disconnected the call and stared at my cell for a moment. I imagined Joanna sitting there, poking her tongue out at me through the phone. Joanna, with her upcoming wedding to that no-neck carpenter who smelled of sweat and hard work. Whose muscular hands and coarse mouth probably left grime all over Joanna’s body every night. Whose low income seemed matched only by his poor imagination. Flowers on Valentine’s Day? A dozen red roses, no doubt. I mean, who on Earth wanted that sort of stupid, empty...funny...romantic... shit ? I stowed my phone and leaned my head back, watching the skyscrapers glide past. For a second, maybe two, I closed my eyes and listened to the muffled noise of the city.
    The limo pulled to a stop.
    “ What’s wrong, Simon?”  
    “ We’re here, ma’am.”  
    “ Already? We only just left.”  
    “ Begging your pardon, ma’am, but we’ve been driving for forty minutes.”  
    “ Forty?”  
    “ Yes, ma’am. The traffic was against us, I’m afraid.”  
    “ Did I...fall asleep?” I don’t sleep during the day! I barely have time for it at night.  
    Simon opened my door and helped me out. “Shall I wait, ma’am?”
    “ No. Just be ready. I’ll call when I need you.”  
    “ Yes, ma’am.”  
    I took the stairs since it was only one floor, and was