Chapter 2

I was mostly comfortable. Lily’s office was designed for that. It was all wood paneling and oak shelves. There were several different chairs, a love seat, and a chaise lounge for whatever her client would find comfortable. She’d dimmed the lights, given me a cup of coffee, and I’d melted into the recliner. It had taken several attempts to find a therapist that worked for me. She was young and had a bit of a punkish exterior: pink hair, tattoos, and piercings. She was all compassion and business despite that.

She smiled, “You want me to start? Or do you want to tell me how you’re dealing with your new apartment guest?”

“It’s been three weeks and I’ve hated every second of it.”

“You haven’t softened at all? It’s okay if you did. She did a number on your head.”

I shook my head, “People don’t get it. The girls are out for revenge even though I’ve told them I just want her gone. They don’t understand what it was like. I was raised ... I was programmed to be the perfect companion for her. I never went to school; just had a string of tutors. She liked art, so they taught me about art. I did the basics of course, but I know I could do a twenty-page essay on Juan Gris right this second, because she might want to talk about his work with her partner. I can do an art history dissertation, play the guitar, and a hundred other things cause that’s what she wanted me to be.

It was like that with everything. She liked a certain body-type, so for as long as I could remember I had personal trainers and nutritionists to make sure I was the perfect level of toned. I didn’t have ice cream till six months after I ran away.

When I hit fourteen, she brought in professionals to get me ready for my eighteenth birthday and our pending ‘wedding.’ I lost my virginity to a high-class hooker and a dozen of them trained me in how to please Lydia. I was trained to be her perfect partner, but I couldn’t touch HER till the wedding.

I was 15 before I slept in my own bed. She would have company and just send me to my room for a couple hours. Then I’d be asked back. It was only after she met Frank that I had to learn how to sleep alone.

I was designed ... created to be hers and it took me years to break out of that mindset. It took me years to realize the depth of the abuse, I know the girls want her to suffer for what she did to me; but I just want her gone.”

“Have you talked to them about it?”

“Yes. A few times. They don’t get it. I even tried to warn her.”

“She didn’t listen?”

I took a long gulp of the coffee to try and ease the guttural response, “She didn’t listen to me the first time I tried to warn her either. I know why ... she doesn’t respect me. She just sees me as the toy she created me to be. I’m something to be kept in a drawer till she needs it and then thrown back in.”

“You warned her about your stepfather?”

“Of course ... and she acted like I was a two-year-old showing her a crayon drawing ... never drew with crayons either ... had to be paint and with a brush. One of our first real dates Kelly had decided to take us out to do ‘Adult fingerpainting.’ I didn’t even have the heart to tell them, I’d never done it as a child. It would be dignified enough for her partner.”

15 years and Three months;

I approached Lydia in the kitchen, “Hey, can we talk?”