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In The Year of The Bog Witch: Notes on a Limbo of Darkness
By Cordelia Clark
Smashwords edition
Published by Cordelia Clark on Smashwords
Copyright 2011 by Cordelia Clark
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Dedication
For Dr. Weiss, with affection. And to all my pagan sisters who understand this calendar.
“Janus facing east and west
End, beginning, both are blessed
Purple skies, Cold Moon’s fires
Manifests my hearts desires.”
Chapter One
January 4 Grael 9
HER hand went instinctively to her hazel eye that was already turning black as it began to puff. She stood in the dark, staring at the figure in the mirror before her. She didn’t need light to see that her eye was beginning to swell, framed by her wiry red hair that hung to her waist. Her hand shook as it rested on the swelling. She could smell him on her; the sour stench of whiskey and Newport intermingled in the spiral ringlets of her hair. Wiping away the silent tears that began to spill down her cheeks, she stared at the reflection of the room behind her.
Clothes scattered themselves haphazardly about the room. The floor, the bed, the chair next to the bookcase that served for reaching above the second shelf—were covered in clothes that had either been worn or tried on in the past two weeks since she’d done laundry. Various shades of lavender painted the room around her—a manic, artistic mood gone horribly wrong. The bookcase was a splatter paint disaster—a dark violet with every shade of lighter purple splattered in small and languid strokes of a dollar store paint brush. Her laptop, covered in purple stickers of fairies wearing corsets and thigh high boots, peeked out from underneath a large body pillow. Several pairs of boots of different lengths were jumbled about without their mates. Books that wouldn’t fit on the shelves were stacked up against the wall, various Shakespeare anthologies, and an odd collection that somehow seemed to fit in the whirlwind of oddity that was her room.
The streetlight came in through the blinds, lighting up the floor to the point that she didn’t need a light. Fumbling with the buttons of her shirt, her hand shook, making it impossible to unbutton it. Without much effort, she gave up and crawled onto the mattress on the floor that was her bed. Without undressing, she curled up under the sheets she’d made of discount fabric and exhaled a choked sob. Feeling underneath the pillow for stray sleeping pills and finding nothing, she swung her head over the edge of the bed and felt around beside it. Lots of stray socks, but no pills. Getting up, she made her way, stepping on clothes, kicking aside boots, and dumped out the contents of her patchwork book bag. Among the pens and notebooks she found the opaque green bottle and shook it. It was half empty.
Emptying six into her hand, she looked around for something to wash it down with. She could chew them, but that was reserved for emergencies and usually made her vomit. Next to the bookcase was a long forgotten Pepsi One can. She shook it. There was about an inch left. Flat, forgotten soda washed down the little blue pills in her hand. Crawling back to bed, Adrienne Judianna Venet sobbed herself to sleep.
Chapter Two
Freya’s Day: January 9 Grael 14
Adrienne Venet Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
DOB: 7-1-1982
Psychotherapy Note
Client displayed poor grooming habits as evidenced by strong body odor, disheveled hair, and dirty clothing. Client denies that others have noticed that she displays substandard grooming and hygiene. A.V. gave evidence of a failure to use basic appropriate hygiene techniques such as bathing, brushing her hair, and washing her clothes. Client’s poor hygiene has caused medical problem. A.V. reports that “I cannot wash my hair because it is falling out.” Client is experiencing dental difficulties due to her poor hygiene. A.V. reports that “my wisdom teeth are breaking off and I have constant pain in my jaw.” Due to Client’s inability to cook meals properly she has experienced deficiencies in her diet. A.V. makes poor food decisions, which has caused deficiencies in her diet. Client reports a history of eating disorder since the age of 14. Client reports hospitalizations for Anorexia Bulimia at ages 14, 16, 19, and 21. Clients’ impaired reality testing and bizarre behaviors cause problems with her performance of activities of daily living. Client’s inventory of positive and negative functioning regarding activities of daily living was reviewed within the session. The client prepared a poor inventory of activities of daily living and was redirected. Client was asked to identify a trusted individual from whom she can obtain helpful feedback regarding daily hygiene and grooming. Next session with client scheduled for one week follow up.
Chapter Three
Saturn’s Day: January 10 Grael 19: Cold Moon
“DRI,” his voice flowed like honey across her skin, and she hoped he didn’t notice that she’d forgotten to breathe. Adrienne looked up from her red scribble and stack of midterm papers. Jamar stood with his hands on the table, slumped toward her, his face only inches away from her mouth. She hated it when he did that—he made it difficult to think. She’d known he was there before he had even said her name; his scent had given him away. The cinnamon and laundry detergent that wafted gradually off of him she could place in a crowd of people. It always made her head spin. She couldn’t remember a time in the eight years that she had known him when he hadn’t smelled like that. She glanced back down at the stack of papers before her so she wouldn’t have to look into his amber eyes. “Your paper sucks,” she retorted, flipping through her red scribble to find his among the stack, giving herself time to breathe normally. He slumped into the chair opposite her and folded his arms.
He smirked to himself. She was exactly where he thought she would be—sitting cross legged in an overstuffed chair by a small table in the most unpopulated area of the university library. He wasn’t even sure if anyone else even knew it was there. She always hid here; it was the corner off a sharp turn at the end of the room where the bound newspapers were kept once they had been put on microfilm. He was still smirking when she pulled his paper out from underneath the others she was grading. “Christmas allusions in Hamlet?” she sneered, still not looking at him, this time because she was fully engaged in the horror that was his paper.
“Undoubtedly, Hamlet takes place at Christmas time, because, like in The Night before Christmas, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse?” She looked up into his eyes, this time not flinching because she was too annoyed. He shifted in his chair and tapped on her tattered Shakespeare Anthology with the highlighter resting beside it. “Look at the conversation between Francisco and Bernardo in Act I. Scene I, verse 11: Not a mouse stirring.” She scanned his paper. “The ghost is a combination of Santa Claus and the Ghost of Christmas Past?” She still wasn’t looking at him. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. Instead, he took a deep breath. “Line 15: When yond same star that’s westward from the pole and line 45: the bell then beating one.” Adrienne rolled her eyes. “Like St Nicholas, originating from Lapland, Hamlet takes place in Norway? Why are you taking a three hundred level—“She was cut off by his uncontainable laughter as it spilled across her skin like goose bumps. She kicked him underneath the table. “Bitch,” she retorted to his laughter, “where’s your real paper?” Jamar kept laughing. He took her pen and tapped the paper. “Did you actually grade the whole thing?” Adrienne kicked him again. “The whole dam thing,” she said between her teeth.
He reached across the table and lifted the stack of papers. “It’s at the bottom. I Loved You Once: The Ophelia Paradox.” Absentmindedly, he reached out to move the curls out of her right eye. She flinched, jerking her head away and revealing a blackened eye. His laughter turned off like a switch. “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered, suddenly horse. Adrienne moved away from the table and curled up in the chair. “I rolled over onto the bed side table. You know I can’t see out of that eye,” she mumbled. He stood abruptly. “You don’t have a bed side table,” he said lowly. Adrienne looked down at the floor. She wasn’t good at lying when put on the spot. “Besides, you were dodging me like you were dodging another blow.” “Just leave it,” she whispered. Jamar came around the table and kneeled on the floor so that he was eye level with her. He lifted her chin. “Let me see. When did he hit you? Last night?” She turned away. His hand dropped slowly onto her knee. “Dri, let me see.” She got up and pushed him aside. Gathering her papers and shoving them in her bag, she bolted out of the room.
Across the parking lot Adrienne broke into a run. She could smell him behind her, but she couldn’t out run him. She just needed to get to her car. Coming upon it suddenly, she braced herself against the Ford Taurus, breathing heavily. Jamar suddenly grasped her wrist and turned her around. Gently, he pulled her toward him. She kept her eyes shut and breathed, “Go away.” “I can’t go away, Adrienne. I have your phone.” Adrienne. She was never Adrienne, unless she was in deep shit. She opened her eyes and stared at his chest; she was eye level with it. Breathing deeply, all she could smell was him. She couldn’t think. He needed to go away so she could think. “Give me my phone, “ she panted. “Not until you tell me what happened.” She stared at his chest. “Then keep it,” she forced, breathing shallowly. Turning around, she got in the car, and drove away. Jamar stood dumbfounded, turning her phone around in his hand.
THE whole way to her apartment, Adrienne’s phone rang. It was ringing now as he stood outside her door. Jamar fought himself not to answer it. He’d knocked on the door several times, telling himself that she simply hadn’t heard. He ran his hand through the twists in his hair. The phone had stopped; he was looking down at it when she opened the door, partway at first, and then all the way. She breathed him in as he slipped past her and leaned against the wall.
She counted to herself as she shut the door, and slowly turned to face him. She reached for his hand. He reached past her arm and placed the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Running his fingers back across her arm, he laced his fingers through hers and pulled her close. Adrienne buried her face in Jamar’s shirt, inhaling the cinnamon of his scent and feeling her head start to spin. He ran his fingers through her curls and rested his chin on her head. He felt her fall as her knees buckled, and she swayed into him. “Dri, baby, it’s ok,” he whispered into her hair. She stiffened and pulled herself away. “You should go,” came out in a breathy, half sob. Jamar ran his fingers over her lips. “What if I don’t want to?”
Four
SHE smelled him the instant before he moved. Her senses were flooded with the scent of Newport and whiskey. Jamar wasn’t much taller than Deshawn ,but he had the element of surprise on his side. In an instant he showed Deshawn against the wall, the roses he’d brought Adrienne thrown to the floor. She rushed toward him, but was caught by his backhand in a slap. Jamar brought his knee up and kneed Deshawn in the stomach. Deshawn leaned forward in enough time for Jamar to shove his head against the door frame. Doubled over, Deshawn fell to the floor. Jamar kicked him in the head. “You may be my cousin, but don’t think I won’t kill you if you ever touch her again.” Deshawn spit out a tooth. “Get the fuck out of here before I knock out all of your teeth.” Jamar picked him up by the collar and threw him out the door, slamming it behind him. He picked up the roses and shoved them down the garbage disposal.
Five
ADRIENNE leaned against the wall, unconsciously rubbing her arms as if she was cold. She watched him chop up the roses in the garbage disposal. When the last of it was gone, he leaned into the sink with his hands placed on either side. She could see the muscles in his back tighten beneath his shirt, his head hanging down. Jamar exhaled a deep breath, something she knew he did when he was trying to control his temper. His voice came out, punctuated with anger. “I know that’s not the first time he’s hit you. So don’t try to tell me it was.” Slowly, intentionally, he turned to face her. She looked down at the floor and rubbed her arms nervously. When she looked up again he’d closed the distance between them. He reached up and ran his hand down the side of her face. There was a gentle strength to his touch, the warmth of his hand and the deep mahogany of his akin not being the only contrasts to her frigid pallor. She shut her eyes and held her breath. He ran his mouth across her lips. All she could smell was him. Her head started to spin. Abruptly she pulled away. He grabbed her arm. “What? What the hell is the matter with you? Everyone else can touch you but me, is that it?” She turned and faced the wall so he wouldn’t see the tears running down her face. She didn’t see him leave, but she heard him slam the door.
Chapter Six
January 12 Grael 17
Adrienne Venet Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
DOB:7-1-1982
Psychotherapy Note
Client identified a pattern of apprehension and nervousness in response to her severe persistent mental illness symptoms. Client reports history of Bipolar Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Panic Disorder. Records indicate that client has a history of medication noncompliance. Referral indicates that client often adjusts medication on a whim and adds her own concoction of herbal remedies. Client has new diagnosis of Bipolar I with psychotic features, per recent discussion with psychiatrist. Client identified specific symptoms, such as frightening hallucinations, manic/racing thoughts, which have led to increased anxiety. Client reports “hearing voices.” Client described anxiety in regards to stress and demands of master’s level coursework and teaching assistant position at local university. Client reports interpersonal relationship difficulties due to increased amity with worry that something dire is about to happen. Client began to describe “the retrograde of mercury lasting for a three week period.” Client’s records indicate religious preference to be pagan. Client was preoccupied with references to Tarot cards and the phrase “five of wands crosses the devil.” Client described a history of restlessness, tiredness, muscle tension, and shaking. Client appeared to have bruise on left hand side of face. Client denies memory of how the injury occurred. Client moved about in her chair frequently and sat stiffly. Client described a pattern of recurrent persistent fear due to the persecutory delusions and bizarre beliefs. Client described her delusions and bizarre beliefs as well as anxiety that she experiences due to those beliefs. Client related that she is constantly feeling on edge, sleep is interrupted, and concentration is difficult. Other symptoms of hypervigilance include client report of being irritable in interaction with others as her patience is thing and she “worries about everything”. Client’s family members report that she is difficult to get along with, as her irritability is high. Client ‘s records indicated two half siblings: one brother, one sister, two step siblings, and a deceased fraternal twin who died at birth. The client reported an inability to concentrate or maintain her train of thought due to anxious preoccupation. Client’s lack of ability to concentrate has resulted in poor functioning in her social and educational needs. Today’s clinical contact focused on building the level of trust with the client though constant eye contact, active listening, unconditional positive regard, and warm acceptance. Empathy and support were providing for the client’s expression of thoughts and feelings during today’s contact. The client was provided with support and feedback as she described her maladaptive pattern of anxiety. The client verbally recognized that she has difficulty establishing trust because she often felt let down by others in the past and was accepted for this insight. The client was asked about the frequency, intensity, duration, and history of her anxiety symptoms. The Anxiety Disorder’s Interview Schedule for DSM-IV (Dinardo, Brown, and Barlow) was used to assess the client’s anxiety symptoms. The assessment of the client’s anxiety symptoms indicated that her symptoms are extreme and severely interfere with her life. Follow up scheduled for the end of this week.
Chapter Seven
Freya’s Day January 14 Grael 19
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
The client reported that she has had a significant decrease in her appetite. Client’s change in appetite has resulted in significant weight changes associated with the depressive phase of her Bipolar diagnosis. Client reported that she felt deeply sad and had periods of tearfulness on almost a daily basis. Client’s depressed affect was clearly evidenced within the session as tears were shed on more than one occasion. Client reported a diminished interest in or enjoyment of activities that she previously found pleasurable. Client reported periods of inability to sleep and other periods of sleeping for many hours without the desire to get out of bed. Client reported that she feels a very low level of energy compared with normal times in her life. It is evident within the session that the client has low levels of energy demonstrated by slowness of walking, minimal movement, lack of animation, and slow responses. The client expressed that she is experiencing suicidal thoughts but has not taken any actions on these thoughts. An assessment was conducted on the client’s current and past mood episodes, including the features, frequency, intensity, and duration of the mood episodes. The Inventory to Diagnose Depression (Zimmerman, Coryell, Corenthal, and Wilson) was used to assess the client’s current and past mood episodes. The results of the mood episode assessment reflected severe mood concerns and this was communicated to the client. Client was provided with sleeping, eating, and activity logs in which to document the current level of functioning. Client was encouraged to identify and share her feelings of depression in order to clarify them and gain insight into the causes. Client was provided with support and empathy as she described her feelings of depression. Client was unable to clearly identify her feelings of depression, and was provided with additional feedback in this area.
Eight
Freya’s Day January 16 Grael 21
“How many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true; but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face.” –W.B. Yeats
She lay
curled up upon the queen sized bed with her back against his chest
and his arms woven through hers around her waist. Her fiery hair lay
strewn across the lavender flowered pillowcase that matched the
sheets upon which they lay without speaking. She listened intently to
their rhythmic breathing and wondered how long their breath had been
in sync. He caressed her hands, circling her knuckles thoughtfully
with his nimble fingers. She listened to the melded pattern of his
breathing, and with the caress of his fingers she was oddly soothed
and aroused at the same time. The heat of his breath on the back of
her neck sent a wave of shivers down her spine. Slowly, she turned to
face him, her lips only inches away from his. He released his grasp
with his left hand and moved a stray auburn tendril of curl from in
front of her eyes. Smoothing the stray hair behind her ear, the side
of his hand wandered down her cheek. Leaning inward her lips caressed
his mouth, slowly at first. Gaining intensity, her mouth searched his
for everything which she could not answer for herself. His left hand
wandered down to her hip, resting on the slight bit of skin revealed
between the end of her purple baby tee and the beginning of her low
rise jeans. The warmth of his lips created an insatiable spark; the
duality of her tongue explored the depth of his mouth as well as the
depth of his soul. Rolling closer to him, she wrapped her right leg
around his left. She could feel the firmness of his leg muscles
through his jeans against the curve of her thigh. Slowly, his lips
traveled down the vertebrae of her throat, lingering on the hollow
between the clavicle bone and the last bone of her throat. Here he
ran his heated tongue in deliberate circular movements. Suddenly she
arched her back, confirming the status of that location as a pressure
point. At the arching of her back, he slipped his left hand around
her to the small of her back, catching her as she came back down.
Coming back down, she allowed him to roll her over onto her back, his
hand remaining beneath her. Reaching upward, she grasped his
shoulders firmly, helping to position him on top her so as not to
crush her. His lips ran back up her neck to her mouth, remaining
while his lips sought out the deepest part of her. Her hands slid
down his shoulders and back up his arms, slipping inside the short
sleeves of his white T-shirt. She held him forcefully for a moment
before withdrawing her hands and running them smoothly down his
chest, catching the fabric of his shirt in her clasp. With his shirt
between her fingers she lifted it gingerly over his head, halting
with her lips only then in their heated exchange of atonement.
His
right hand brushed tendrils of scarlet curl from her face while his
left hand wandered around inside the back of her shirt. His fingers
danced along the double back clasp of the lavender lace bra. His
mouth passed over the places on her face where her hair had dangled
as the hand under her shirt moved across the bra straps and down the
shoulders to the cups. It moved farther down to the edge of the
shirt, where the right hand met it to catch the hem and lift it over
her head. She ran her hands up his muscularly defined mahogany arms.
The candlelight cast dark shadows, downplaying the contrast of her
pale skin with the richness of his own. His heated lips ran along her
neck, along her clavicle bones, and down between her breasts.
Reaching upward, he grasped the lace straps and pulled them
gracefully down her shoulders. Nimbly he popped open the hook in the
back with his thumb and forefinger. Thoughtlessly he cast it to the
floor along with their T-shirts that lay in a heap by the side of the
bed. His right hand caressed the curve under the cup of her breast as
he guided his mouth around her nipple softly. Her breath quickened
slightly, and had their breathing not been so in sync he would not
have noticed. Cautiously he flicked about her nipple with his tongue
and then continued the circling motions around her nipple similar to
those he had performed on her neck. She ran her fingers over his
braided hair and caressed the nape of his neck. He moved his mouth
across the slight cleavage of her b cup breasts to the left breast,
wandering around it with his eager tongue. He suckled her softly at
first, then intensified as she involuntarily gasped with delight.
Simultaneously she grabbed his neck, and he looked up into her eyes
questioningly. Smirking, he realized that he had left a mark of
passion.
Moving her hands from the nape of his neck to his
shoulders, she pushed him down onto his back. His amber eyes held her
hazel gaze as she held the dominant position. She stared intently as
she sat up straddling him. Slowly she descended, tracing his neck
with her mouth, lingering on the side beneath his right ear. She
caressed the cartilage around the piercing stud, noticing an increase
in the rate of his heartbeat. Simultaneously, she brushed her breasts
up against his firm chest. She could feel the heat between them
building. As if ignited by another spark, she was abruptly rolled
again onto her back.
Her lips let go of his ear lobe; his hands
slid down her body to her hips, holding them firmly while he began
kissing her stomach. Once again his tongue wandered, although this
time it moved in circles inside her navel. Again her back arched,
this time accompanied by a slight moan. Although barely audible, he
was so in tune with her body that he heard it before it entered the
atmosphere. He ran his hands down from her hips to encircle her
thighs, all the while caressing her belly button with his tongue. He
could feel the heat between her thighs through her jeans. Aptly his
fingers traveled to the buttons of her jeans. The first posed some
trouble, but the subsequent four unbuttoned without difficulty.
Intense was the heat transfer from his hands as they slid down her
thighs and legs as he slipped off her jeans. These ended up in the
growing mountain of clothes on the beige carpet. He was in the
process of gently slipping his fingers inside her purple lace panties
when she forcefully pushed him over onto his back.
Her fingers
made circles across his chest that would later be traced by her wet,
anxious lips. Straddling him with her delicate hands resting on his
shoulders, tendrils of cherry hair fell across his amused face. She
slunk slowly down his chest, her perky breasts creating friction with
his rapidly rising chest. His jeans were easier to take off, which
she accomplished with deft hands. She could feel the heat from
beneath his smiley face boxers. Rubbing up against him, she felt his
body quicken to the occasion. She could smell him more intensely now.
Now she could identify the mixture of scents that had always
perplexed her: laundry detergent, cinnamon, light cologne, and now, a
raw, manly scent that could only be pheromones. His firmness bulged
on the inside of her thigh. Her wet, anxious lips traced the muscles
of his chest, the way her hands had earlier. They moved lower until
she was caressing his navel with her tongue, allowing the heat to
trickle over his body and town to the tips of his fingers.
With
the same audacity with which she had pushed him over when he was not
finished taunting her, he rolled her over onto her back again before
she could even realize that she was no longer dominating. This time
it was his mouth that did the searching. Across the sides of her
face, along the nape of her neck, down her chest, below her navel his
lips moistened her creamy skin. His tongue ran over the top of her
lavender lace panties enticingly. The heat from beneath the lace was
searing, and yet he could not bring himself to remove his mouth. His
right hand moved from the small of her back and cast them to the
floor. His mouth wandered around the inside of her trembling left
thigh. She pushed downward onto his shoulders in an effort to roll
him onto his back. Firmly he held onto the small of her back as he
surrendered and rolled over. He lay now with his face between her
thighs as she slid her body down his face and then his chest, her
breasts caressing his face as she became eye level with him.
The
heat rose in the little space that was left between them, culminating
in the intensity of his amber eyes. She held his gaze, aware of the
searing heat between her breasts and his chest, aware of the firmness
against the side of her thigh. Slowly, carefully, she slid down his
chest and was now eye level with the smiley face boxers. Reaching up
she slid them off with more care than he had. She liked to make him
wait; he hated waiting. Thoughtfully she tilted her head to one side.
To slide up and have him enter her immediately or have him tortured
just a bit longer? She surprised a giggle. If she made him laugh it
would all be over. Apparently she was losing this option, for his
muscular arms grasped her by the waist and slid her back up his chest
and placed himself strategically inside of her. She was now eye level
with him again. Leaning inward to kiss him, she felt a sharp pang and
cried out, although she was not sure if it had been out of pain or
pleasure. She surrounded him completely now: her lips, her body. She
leaned back gently, feeling him ease farther into her, all the while
never taking her lips off of his. Amidst slow, methodical kisses she
found her body’s natural rhythm and rocked to it. Ages seemed to
pass. She let out a muffled cry. As naturally as she had found the
rhythm, he rolled her over, his mouth still engulfed by hers. Only
now it was she who was engulfed. Engulfed by his scent, his mouth.
His hand moved from her shoulder to the side of her head, as if to
cradle it, creating a contrast between the violence of his thrusting
and the sensitivity of his touch. Suddenly she became aware of
screaming, half pleasure stricken, half starved. It was his touch
that brought her back to herself and made her realize that it was she
who was screaming. And then there was nothing. There was darkness and
sweat, and heaving breath. The sheets were soaked, the candles had
burned out, and their erratic breathing still matched. It was as if
nothing could sever them. His damp fingers traced the hollow of her
neck, and then the darkness came and settled on her soul like a
feather.
He left her sleeping on the bed, curls lazily across her face. Quietly he put his clothes back on and headed to the kitchen. He was hungry, and she would be hungry when she awoke. Down the narrow hallway he padded in his socked feet to the kitchen. He looked around the room. There were no plates in the sink. No coffee cups, no silverware. Either she had stopped eating again or had gone into her one of her cleaning modes. He doubted it was the latter. He opened the freezer and rumbled through the plastic containers that were labeled with type. Toasted whole wheat couscous and Basil with sunflower seeds, pink lentils with zucchini, egg plant parmesan, chocolate tapioca pudding, watermelon salad with feta and mint, Cesar salad, Mexicali chop with crunchy tomato strips, mock tuna salad, smoked Portobello club sandwich, Smokey eggplant spread, smoked tomato and black bean quesidias, strawberry meringue nests, southwestern corn pudding, fennel spiced potato wedges. Jamar shut the refrigerator. Adrienne had moments where she would cook large amounts of food, mostly with the intent to feed people other than herself, and freeze them in the freezer. Everything was vegetarian. He shut the refrigerator. She was cooking as though Charlotte were still living with her. The reality was that Charlotte had broken up with her before she took the teaching assistant position at the university, which was at least a semester previously. She hadn’t put any dates on the containers, so he didn’t know that they were fresh. But, they were frozen, so most likely the food only had freezer burn. What he really wanted was some pizza, but he knew if he ordered some she would not eat it. He pulled out the pink lentils and zucchini, fennel spiced potato wedges, and the chocolate tapioca pudding. If nothing else, jamar knew that she would eat the pudding.
Nine
January 23 Grael 28
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client displayed a pattern of indifference toward the emotional needs of her partner. Client reports that her partner has complained about her pattern of indifference toward the partner’s emotional needs. A.V. reports a history of hypersexual behavior. She reports having multiple partners at the same time. Records indicate that the client self identifies as bisexual. Records indicate that A.V. has multiple male partners at the same time that she has a female partner. When the client’s partner expresses emotional needs, the client becomes critical, frustrated, and overly reactive. A.V. described a pattern of consistent distrust of her partner. Client offered no sufficient basis for her pattern of distrust of her partner. A.V. described a pattern of repeated discontinuation of relationships due to personal deficiencies in problem solving, social skills, and assertion. The client described a pattern of impulsive sexual involvement outside of the committed relationship. A.V. reports incidents of verbal abuse that occur within the relationship. She also described incidents of physical abuse that occur within the relationship. A.V.’s history of intimate relationships was explored. She was assisted in identifying the positive and negative outcomes of her history of intimate relationships. Client was provided with positive feedback as she displayed insight into her pattern of intimate relationships. A graphic time line display was used to help A.V. chart her pattern of interpersonal relationship conflicts. Client was assisted in identifying her precursors, triggers, intimate relationship conflicts, and outcomes on a timeline to review how she experienced and was affected by the relationship conflicts. A.V. was monitored for compliance with, effectiveness of, and side effects of her psychotropic medication regimen. Concerns about the client’s medication effectiveness and side effects were communicated to the psychiatrist. Follow up session TBA.
Ten
“Imbolc fires, hypnotic trance,
February, Frost’s romance,
For mundane world to borrow, lend
Spells cast now reap dividends.”
February 1 Imbolgen 7
SHE stared intently at her Pepsi One. Absentmindedly she chewed on the purple pen held in her right hand. The Simone de Beauvoir Anthology lay strewn haphazardly across the cafeteria table along with The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse, college ruled notebook paper, highlighters, and chocolate chip granola bars. She smelled her before she spoke, before she looked into those golden eyes that would later have her memorized in ecstasy.
“But first, we must ask, what is woman. Tota mulier en utero,” came a breathy,
Alto voice that gushed like music. Her eyes moved from the Pepsi One to the golden eyes that stared at her intently, half hidden by micro-braids. A low cropped spaghetti strap tank exposed her ample cleavage, which, randomly sparkled with glitter, contrasted drastically with the mocha of her smooth skin. She sat down, moving stray pieces of notebook paper with purple scrawl. Adrienne stared at the ankh resting in her cleavage, trying to regain her composure. “Woman is womb,” she replied, and continued to quote the passage of Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. “And yet we are told that femininity is in danger; we are exhorted to be women, remain women, and become women. It would appear ,then, that every female human being is not necessarily a woman; to be so considered she must share in that mysterious and threatened reality known as femininity.” The mocha goddess stared at her intently, tilting her head to one side.
“So…Adrienne, how do you plan on connecting sixteenth century poetry with Simone de Beauvoir?” Adrienne looked questioningly at her. “Your name, it’s written all over The Second Sex,” she replied, smirking playfully and gesturing to the book on the table. Adrienne smiled. “Then it appears you have the upper hand.” Her voice trailed off. Her movie references were lost on most people. “Hadassah. My name is Hadassah,” her alto voice interrupted, picking up a chocolate chip granola bar. Hadassah opened the wrapper effortlessly, without damaging her manicure, French tips complete with diamond studs in the middle of each nail. It fascinated Adrienne, because she could never survive with long nails; they would always break off or get in the way of buttons and zippers and opening soda cans. She was mentally relived that she was wearing makeup. Hadassah picked up The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse and leafed through it. “Let me guess. Interdisciplinary masters? English-Creative Writing with a concentration in sixteenth century lit?” Hadassah lifted her eyes from the book and gazed at Adrienne, waiting for a reply.
Adrienne smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah.” Hadassah smirked, Adrienne staring intently at her luscious purple lips. “So what does the early women’s movement have to do with the plight of the sixteenth century woman? Simone was part of the struggle after the suffrage. I mean, earlier you have The Vindication of the Rights of Women, but that’s still nineteenth century. Mary Wollstonecraft is about as far back as you could stretch it.” She folded her arms and rested her breasts on the table. Adrienne tried not to make it obvious that she was heavily engaged in the movement of Hadassah’s breasts, especially because she knew Hadassah was doing it on purpose. She moved her eyes from Hadassah’s chest to her face, aware that her own were sparkling with amusement.
“Margary Kempe, 1373-1438, give or take a few hundred years prior to Mary Wollstonecraft. Sixteenth century speaking though, there weren’t any distinct feminists because there wasn’t a distinct definition of gender. I plan on using the sexual duality of Elizabeth I in conjunction with St. Thomas Moore and Simone de Beauvoir.” Here she drank the rest of her Pepsi One. She looked questioningly at Hadassah. “Women’s studies?” Hadassah smirked. “Close. Women’s Studies and Religious Studies. Double Major.” She leaned forward across the table and moved a stray curl out of Adrienne’s eyes, her hand trailing down Adrienne’s face. Adrienne fumbled with her Immaculate Conception medal, aware that her black eye was fading slowly. Something indistinguishable registered in Hadassah’s eyes. Her voice hit a husky level. “You want to get out of here?” Adrienne held her gaze. “Where’d you have in mind?” Once again, Hadassah smirked. “I’ve got a few places.”
Eleven
ADRIENNE tossed her patchwork book bag into the trunk of her very junky Ford Taurus. Rummaging through her lavender knit purse she checked for bare essentials: keys, id, wads of crumpled dollar bills, random prescriptions, Nokia cell phone. Hadassah watched her, resting her hands on her full figured hips accentuated by her low rise jeans. Adrienne looked up from her bag and nodded at Hadassah; Hadassah turned and walked across the parking lot, sauntering seductively. Adrienne smiled to herself. Hadassah automatically unlocked the midnight metallic blue Infiniti Twin Turbo.
Upon entering the driver’s seat she turned on the cd player and began blasting live remixes of Ani Defranco. Adrienne threw her purse in the back seat and put on her seat belt. Hadassah reached over to put the car in reverse and placed her hand on Adrienne’s upper right thigh. Reaching out, Adrienne ran her fingers through Hadassah’s micro-braids and shifted slightly on the seat so that Hadassah’s hand was now on the inside of her thigh. She squeezed Adrienne’s thigh and returned her attention to the gear shift.
The car meandered through well lit main roads as well as half darkened back streets; inconspicuously Adrienne kept her eye on the speedometer. She would be fine as long as Hadassah stayed under 80 mph. she was pushing it with 75. Adrienne kept her mind occupied by perusing Hadassah’s CD’s in the space between the seats as well as the ones above her head in the visor. They seemed to be separated by gender rather than genre. Pink, Ani Defranco, Tori Amos, Alliyah, Ashanti, The Cranberries, Alanis Morrisette, Dar Williams, Fiona Apple, The Indigo Girls, Laryn Hill, Tweet, Natalie Merchant, Rage Against the Machine, Angie Apparo: all predominantly female artists with a large collection of lesbian artists. Adrienne looked up from “The Battle of Los Angeles” as the car halted to a stop to find them in a dark parking lot in front of a half lit bar decorated with ice sickle lights. Hadassah turned to look at her with a glint in her eyes. “You ready?” She asked, her head tilted to one side inquisitively. Adrienne stared into Hadassah’s golden eyes, realizing that she was referring to more than going drinking. “Always,” she said lowly.
Adrienne followed slightly behind Hadassah up the half lit steps to the door, her hand lightly held in Hadassah’s grasp. The aroma of tequila and Newport filled her lungs. Adrienne closed her eyes and counted to five. She silently reminded herself that not everyone who smoked Newport was Jamar. She exhaled and tried to chase away the memory connected with the scent. She ran her fingers through her red curls and covered the still swelling black eye.
She perched herself on a stool next to Hadassah. Hadassah was busy resting her breasts on the counter in an attempt to get the bar tender are attention. It proved quite effective, because the purple haired woman charged her a two for one price for the two Tequila Sunrises and two Sex on the Beach. Hadassah took the drinks and motioned for Adrienne to follow her to a darkly lit booth at the back of the bar.
Adrienne poked the ice of her second Sex on the Beach with the cocktail straw. Hadassah was already on her fourth Tequila Sunrise. “Drink up, Baby, you’re supposed to be keeping up with me.” A swervey Hadassah held her gaze. Except that Adrienne couldn’t tell which one of them was doing the swerving. Hadassah took her hand and led her to the middle of the dance floor. It was less like a dance floor and more like a small par key inlay randomly positioned in the center of the room. Adrienne tripped over her own combat boots. She was definitely the one swerving.
She wrapped her arms around Hadassah’s neck in an effort to hold herself up as Hadassah grinded up against her to the music. Even in combat boots Adrienne stood about six inches shorter than Hadassah. She ran her mouth across Hadassah’s neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. Hadassah’s hands slipped up her shirt and grasped her back. She could feel her head throbbing with the music against Hadassah’s neck. Hadassah licked the salt off Adrienne’s neck and took another tequila shot. A random Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt collided with Adrienne’s head, and the owner spilled whiskey all over her. All she could smell was Jamar, and she collapsed against Hadassah. Hadassah swept her away and threw her up against the wall, slovenly licking the whiskey off of her neck and her partially exposed chest. Adrienne could hardly get the words out. “I think we need to get out of here.”
Hadassah led Adrienne out the door with her arm around her waist and Adrienne’s arm around her neck. Adrienne continued to trip over her boots. “Can you drive?” She slurred. Hadassah laughed heartily. “You’re the one drunk, baby girl, not me.” Adrienne ran her fingers over Hadassah’s purple lips. “But you had—four tequila shots and some shots.” Her heavy voice trailed off. Hadassah set her down in the passenger seat of the car. “Four tequila sunrises, five tequila shots, and the whiskey off your gorgeous breasts, but who’s counting? I can drink a bottle of Hennessey and still drive.” She smirked and put Adrienne’s seat belt on her. The door slammed and Adrienne drifted off into a drunken sleep.
The car’s momentum woke her. Hadassah wasn’t driving as fast as she had earlier. Adrienne peered at the speedometer, but the numbers washed together. She glanced up at the moon, high in the sky, a night without stars. They passed an office park, the fountain in the middle catching Adrienne’s attention. “Pull over,” she slurred. Hadassah looked at her oddly. “What?” Adrienne turned to face her. “Go back and pull over.” “You are going to throw up? And you’re picky about where?” Adrienne shook her head, and everything swam. “No.” If Adrienne had been driving she would have made a u-turn; but, apparently, that wasn’t Hadassah’s way, because she put the car in reverse and sped up. “Stop,”’ Adrienne gasped, climbing out of the car as soon as it stopped.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hadassah stood by the car with her hands on her hips as she had earlier. Adrienne was running toward the fountain, half swerving, and half tripping over herself. She stood beneath the falling water, letting it soak through her clothes and saturate her scarlet hair. She leaned her head back and let the icy water run over her face and down her neck. Her mind cleared a little. She was brought back to herself by splashing. Hadassah stood next to her, just as soaked, attempting to splash large amounts of water on Adrienne. Giggling, Adrienne splashed her back, this time coming closer.
Hadassah’s breasts were extra perky in the wet tank top, the cotton material fitting like a second skin and conforming to the concave of each hip. Adrienne involuntarily ran her hands across her hips. Hadassah ran her mouth along the side of Adrienne’s face, stopping at the edge of her mouth. She ran her fingers through scarlet curl, down her back, and up Adrienne’s purple tank top that was plastered to her. Abruptly she stopped when a light flashed in her eyes. She turned her head away from Adrienne to face the owner of the flashlight.
The security guard stood about 5’11, only five inches taller than Hadassah. She raised her eyebrows. “You want something?” she challenged. Adrienne continued to stare at Hadassah. “As much as I would love to watch, ladies, you should really take this somewhere else,” he replied curtly. Hadassah smirked. “What’s the matter? Mad because you can’t join in?” Adrienne covered her face with her hands, suppressing a giggle. The security guard smirked. “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it would be good for me to get caught on tape.” He pointed to a small red light protruding from the mouth of the sculpted lion by the fountain. Hadassah kicked water in his direction.
She grasped Adrienne’s had and led her back to the car, Adrienne continuing to stumble over herself. Adrienne could no longer suppress her laughter. Together they burst out laughing uncontrollably. Suddenly composed, Hadassah pinned Adrienne up against the car. She leaned inward, caressing Adrienne’s lips with her tongue. Adrienne parted her lips and allowed herself to be consumed by Hadassah’s mouth. She reached up and ran her hand down Hadassah’s back and up her shirt, wrapping her right leg around Hadassah’s waist. Hadassah slipped her hand down the back of Adrienne’s pants and popped her purple thong. She slid her mouth across Adrienne’s face and over her ear. “Want to go home?” she whispered. The musky scent of vanilla wafted of her and floated through Adrienne’s head. She was so consumed by Hadassah’s scent that all she could do was nod.
ADRIENNE stood in the doorway while Hadassah moved about the livening room lighting blue candles, the room filling up with the scent of blueberry. In the dim light of the flame she allowed her eyes to wander around the two bedroom apartment. Blue curtains, blue candles, a low glass coffee table with an artificial blue flower arrangement, couch pillows on the floor, a 27 inch TV that sat on the floor across from the pillows that served as a couch. Half a bottle of Jack Daniels sat on the coffee table, surrounded by at least half a dozen half smoked Black and Mild. “They’re my brother’s,” she said matter of factly, as if reading Adrienne’s mind. Adrienne came farther in and sat down on the floor next to Hadassah in front of the table. She reached out and caressed Hadassah’s face with the tips of her fingers; Hadassah ran her mouth across Adrienne’s lips, answering her caress. Adrienne caressed her shoulders, slipping the spaghetti straps of her still soaked tank top down her arms. Hadassah’s skin burned against her touch, contrasting with the ice of the wet cotton. Adrienne slid her mouth down Hadassah’s throat. Gently, she pushed Hadassah over onto her back.
She ran her hands up the sides of Hadassah’s body, slipping the wet shirt over her head and casting it aside. Adrienne gazed intently at the way the candle light cast shadows across Hadassah’s face. She ran her mouth down Hadassah’s stomach and stopped at her navel piercing. She began to play with the silver rod with her tongue. Hadassah grasped Adrienne’s hair; without warning, Hadassah threw Adrienne forward, causing her to sit up. Adrienne barely caught her balance, a little thrown off. Hadassah stood, towering over Adrienne by at least half a foot. Leaning down, she slipped her arms around Adrienne’s waist and pulled her to her feet. Abruptly, she hurled Adrienne against the wall. Adrienne gasped slightly, the wind partially knocked out of her; Hadassah ran her mouth along the hollow of Adrienne’s neck. She cast her tequila breath across Adrienne’s face, and the heat made Adrienne’s knees buckle out from underneath her.
Hadassah caught her with one arm and slid the other hand up Adrienne’s tank top. She caught the fabric of Adrienne’s shirt and lifted it over her head. Her face traveled down Adrienne’s stomach, her lips resting right below her navel. She bit her suddenly, and Adrienne would have slid down the wall to the floor were it not for Hadassah’s arm around her waist. Hadassah pushed her harder against the wall; she removed her arm from Adrienne’s waist and began fumbling with the buttons of Adrienne’s jeans. Hadassah pulled them down slowly, allowing the heat from her hands to penetrate Adrienne’s thighs. She ran her mouth along the waistband of Adrienne’s purple thong, her tongue wandering over the little flowers with rhinestones for centers. Adrienne grasped Hadassah’s shoulders as she pulled the thong back with her teeth and let it snap back. She slipped her arms around Adrienne’s waist and threw her over her shoulder. Heading for the bedroom just off the living room, she threw Adrienne onto the bed and jump kicked the door shut.
Twelve
February 2 Imbolgen 8
SWEAT clung to her neck as humidity clings to haze after a storm. Her scarlet curls plastered themselves to her face, which rested on Hadassah’s chest. A slightly congealed liquid pooled across her back. The sun of mid afternoon barely peeked through the heavy, midnight blue curtains, casting the pretense of dawn across the two sleeping bodies. Hadassah slid her sleeping hand across Adrienne’s back, smearing the liquid like substance in brash strokes. Adrienne opened her eyes slowly, letting the night before seep into her consciousness; she sat up eventually, glancing around the room for her clothes. All she could see were Hadassah’s jeans, assorted dirty clothes, textbooks, burned out candles, and an abstract poster of blue lilies. Adrienne smirked. Now she remembered; her clothes lay all over the floor in the living room.
Adrienne rose from the bed and rummaged around in Hadassah’s laundry for a t-shirt to wear while she looked for her clothes. Hadassah awoke to the absence of Adrienne’s body heat. She stared at Adrienne’s back, her eyes transfixed on her hips and the blood that ran down her back in a smeared fashion. “Don’t wear white,” she began, breaking the silence, “I’ve marked you.” Adrienne touched her back, smearing blood across her fingers. She half smiled at Hadassah and tilted her head. “So that’s why it felt so good.”
“You don’t have to put a shirt on. Reuel’s not here,” Hadassah teased, taking the oversized red shirt from Adrienne’s grasp. Adrienne looked at her questioningly. “My brother,” she explained. “He left for work sometime before it was light outside. Speaking of light, what time did you have class?” she said flatly, attempting to downplay the fact that they both hand missed an entire day’s worth of classes. “Fuck!” Adrienne yelled, and threw Hadassah’s jeans at her. Hadassah smiled playfully. “Under normal circumstances, I don’t take direct orders, and I don’t know if you can survive another round anyway, from the looks of your back.” Despite herself, Adrienne cracked a smile.
Thirteen
HADASSAH reached out and pulled Adrienne towards her until she was less than a foot away. “You need a bath,” she whispered huskily over Adrienne’s mouth. Adrienne reached out and ran her hand down the side of Hadassah’s face. “What’s the point if we’re just going to get dirty again? I’ll get new marks and we’ll just have to start over again.” Hadassah slipped her hand around Adrienne’s waist. “I thought English majors liked paradoxes,” she teased. Adrienne stared into Hadassah’s golden eyes that were spun with little specs of hazel. “I have to go home and feed Gandalf,” she protested, all the while caving into Hadassah’s embrace. “I’m going to get you one of those automatic cat feeders,” she mumbled, her face resting on Adrienne’s stomach. Adrienne giggled. “He’ll eat himself to death. You can’t just give him open access to food like that.”
“Seeing as you’ve slept in my bed, you might as well wear my clothes,” Hadassah pointed out, handing her a pink shirt with newspaper like lettering across the middle. She stared down at the words arranged haphazardly: We’re Here. We’re Queer. We Matriculate. “We matriculate?” she asked, hardly containing her laughter. Hadassah smirked. “I’ve got worse.” Adrienne smiled. “I’m sure you do.” She threw the shirt on over her head and pulled the jeans up over her curvaceous thighs. Gazing intently at Hadassah’s navel piercing; she contemplated the feel of the metal against her tongue, the taste of Hadassah’s smooth skin in her mouth. “You better put something over that before we start something,” she said, gesturing towards Hadassah’s stomach.
Hadassah grabbed Adrienne’s waist and abruptly jerked her close. “So start something,” she challenged. Ten seconds of Evanescence’s “Going Under” filled the room. “Your phone,” Hadassah said flatly, increasing her grip. Adrienne kissed Hadassah passionately before pulling herself away and scanning the room for her cell. It continued ringing as she rummaged through the flannel snowflake sheets. It ceased as abruptly as it had begun, a second or two before she found it under the blue pillow. “Jamar,” she mumbled. She took her eyes off of the phone and stared at Hadassah. Something flickered behind Hadassah’s eyes that she could not recognize. It lasted only for a moment and then it dissolved into the hazel specs spun around her gold irises. Hadassah averted her gaze and began searching for something to wear. She slipped her jeans back on and pulled on a red off the shoulder shirt with “Dysfunctional” in black, gothic lettering. Grabbing her keys, she lead Adrienne in silence to the car.
Fourteen
February 4 Imblgen 10
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
A.V. gave evidence of increased, pressured speech within the session. Client reported that her speech rate increases as she “feels stressed.” A.V. demonstrated a pattern of racing thoughts, moving from one subject to another without maintaining focus. She reported that she experiences racing thoughts, including difficulty concentrating on one thought as other thoughts interfere. Client reported that at times of quiet reflection, she is disturbed by thoughts racing through her mind. A.V. gave evidence of an inflated state of euphoric belief in capabilities that denies any limitations or realistic obstacles. She appears oblivious to her euphoric beliefs but sees others as standing in her way. In spite of attempts to try to get her to be more realistic, her euphoric beliefs have persisted. A.V. described a pattern of attaining far less sleep than would ordinarily be needed. The client’s thoughts, feelings, and behavior were explored for classic signs of mania, e.g., pressured speech, impulsive behavior, euphoric mood, flight of ideas, high energy level, reduced need for sleep. The clinical assessment confirmed the presence of classic signs of mania. Follow up session TBA.
Fifteen
Freya’s Day: February 6 Imbolgen 12
Adrienne Venet
DOB: 7-1-1982
Vanessa McClain, MA, LAPC
Psychotherapy Note
Client described a pattern of persecutory delusions, including suspiciousness of others without reasonable cause. A.V. demonstrated a pattern of misinterpretation of benign events as having threatening significance of a personal nature. Client’s history is replete with incidents in which she believed she was persecuted by others. A.V. has gone through periods of time when she did not sleep for 24 consecutive hours or more because her energy level was so high. The client was assessed for her current state of elation: none, hypomanic, manic, or psychotic. A.V. was assessed to be manic. The client’s mania was so severe that periods of psychosis have been present. An assessment was performed of the client’s ability to remain safe within the community. Client was assessed in regard to her level of manic behavior, impulsivity, and propensity toward potentially unsafe situations. Due to programmatic supports, the client has been assessed as being able to remain safe within the community despite her symptoms of mania. Follow up session TBA.
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