Being Better

"I don't want to be a burden on you though, what if..." I struggled back some tears, "what if Nelson broke up with me because I'm not pleasant to live with? What if I leave a mess or break something valuable?"

"I'm not Nelson," he shrugged, "I enjoy a little mess, and I like fixing broken things."

My heart had been beating fast, and then at the tone of his reassuring voice I felt it ease. Tom always knew how to calm me down with a few mere words. I relaxed back into the seat, closing my eyes and hoping that soon, the pain in my chest would go away too.

We pulled up out the front of a nicely kept home. It was moderate in size and the garden was neat and green. It looked like a family home, but I knew already that Tom lived alone.

When we were finally inside, and Tom had placed my bag down by the couch, I stood awkwardly uncertain of what to do. I had never been to visit with Tom; he had always met me for coffee or by the book shop. Actually, he always seemed to be at the book shop; Nelson would say he was wasting time when he should be looking for employment.

I felt Tom's eyes upon me, he soothed; "you can sit down, I'm not going to yell at you, make yourself comfortable." I did so and looked up at him.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess right now," I buried my hands in my face. Nothing about this was how I had expected my day to go.

Tom came over to me and said, "Do you have a hair brush in your bag?" I quickly reached up to feel my hair- to see if I could tell how ugly it was- but Tom gently guided my hands back down, "you look fine, I just want to help you settle down. Relax."

I swallowed down on his words and reached into my bag. When I found the brush I handed it to him, he turned me around and started to brush my hair gently. Tom asked me to close my eyes and focus on my breathing, which seemed weird but I did it anyway.

"Just focus on your breath and the sensation of the brush," I felt like a rock of anxiety that was beginning to levitate. Weightlessness falling upon me he continued; "Now think about your toes, your feet, and relaxing them. Think about that sensation growing and moving throughout your body."

The brush had soft buds on the bristles that smoothly ran through my hair and down my back. It was comforting and soon began to make my skin tingle with the tender rhythm of his strokes. I breathed in and out to the sound of his voice until a shiver ran down my spine.

"That's better..." He cooed, and replaced his brush strokes with his hands massaging deep into my shoulders, "now just feel all the tension lifting from your body..."

It was strange how his language seemed to resonate with my subconscious in a way that made me respond to his every word. Soon he moved back and guided my head to rest against his lap. He caressed my forehead, running his fingers through my hair, and soon I fell asleep.

When eventually I woke later that night I found myself lying alone on Tom's couch, a blanket atop of me and soft cushion underneath my head. I looked about but Tom was not to be seen. However, a little card had been placed on the coffee table nearby. It read:

Jenny,

I have had to pop into the book shop to assist the staff in a delivery problem. Back in as soon as it's resolved; please help yourself to anything you may require.

Thomas.

After reading the letter I realised how thirsty I had become. I stood up and made my way to Tom's kitchen. It was immaculate. The furnishings, the silver wear, and dining room set, everything was only the finest I'd ever seen.

I had gotten myself a glass of water and felt overcome with curiosity. It was clear to me now that Tom was not jobless and a wonderer of book stores. No, he worked at the book store, and possibly even managed it. That made sense because he was such a responsible and in control kind of guy, I never really thought of him as jobless. Yet we had never discussed careers together; he had never told me and I had never asked.

I looked around at his kitchen again and wondered, how much did I even know about Tom? He was always asking questions about me, and being my usual neglectful self, I suppose I had never bothered to return the kindness. So I walked through his house until I found his bedroom, as if this room would tell me everything I needed to know about the man, as if it would make up for my lack of conversational interest.

I paused at the doorway and thought... this was wrong. I really was a bad person, snooping about his home as if he didn't have the basic rights to privacy that all people should have. I exhaled with shame and turned into-

"Tom!" I had turned to stare face to face with him, his dark eyes leering down upon my head.

"You, young lady, should not go snooping," he looked angry. Then seeing my expression of horror he grinned and leaned forward to open his bedroom door, "Go on. It's just an ordinary bedroom with ordinary things; nothing sinister for naughty little fingers to go prying into."

I peeked inside despite the shame I felt for being caught.

"I'm sorry I was looking about Tom, really I am, I hadn't gone inside though, and I had decided not to go in just before- I promise." I looked up at him with worried eyes and noticed something different about his gaze. While his deep eyes had always been warm to me, there was something more behind them in this moment, as though he could look further into my mind and see things I could not.

"Well look at you; all scared that I'm going to be angry with you for something silly like this," he touched my chin affectionately and smirked, "quite amusing."

I felt suddenly unable to speak, as though he had used some kind of magic formula of phrasing to paralyse me into a heated fuzzy place. My cheeks flushed and I could feel this warm sensation growing throughout the core of my body. Tom cleared his throat and took a step backwards, and then placing his hands behind himself, he calmly nodded for me to walk along into the hallway.

~

As night bore down on us I grew hungry. Tom demanded that it was only appropriate for him to make me dinner, and I wasn't to argue because we both knew I couldn't cook. I looked at my mobile phone for a second and wondered what Nelson might be doing. Usually by this time he was eating the food I had either ordered or re-heated for him, but without me I wasn't sure if he would be off schedule or not.

I believed in my heart that Nelson was just realising what a flawed person I was for the first time, and that perhaps if I worked extra hard to be better, he might take me back. So once Tom had called me out into the kitchen to sit and eat his meal, I thought I could ask for his advice on the matter.

"You're joking right?" He looked angry, for real this time.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought it up." I felt stupid for dragging Tom into my problems, as if my being here- and taking up his space- wasn't bad enough!

"No, hold on. You can talk to me about anything;" he chewed on his homemade pasta thoughtfully, "But Nelson doesn't appreciate you, because he's an idiot, not because you are fundamentally flawed."

"I don't know, he's always been very smart, a professional business man," I countered, "He has a business degree and is always telling me new things I didn't know before."

"He has a business degree," Tom repeated factually, "That may be true, but I own several businesses across the city. Plus I didn't need to hire a snooty little agent in order to tell me how to do it."

We sat in silence for a moment; my heart feeling sunken and sore. I couldn't enjoy the delicious food before me, and I couldn't argue Tom's point either. "You own the book store?"

"Several of them, yes." He admitted, "But neither that nor any degree in any field should be a measure of intelligence. Intelligence is more than something that you own or that is written on a piece of paper." Tom spoke softly, as if he was breaking some kind of harsh news to me, "but you still don't believe me, do you?"

"I'm sorry, I"-

"Don't be sorry," he cut me off, "because in a sense you are right. You aren't perfect, you have flaws and like all flaws they need to be acknowledged and tended to. However, Nelson is not a God, and he does not have the right to judge your flaws when his own are far worse."

"Is this because of how he acted at the party with you?" I began, "I already explained that he was only doing that because I'd asked him to try and get to know you, Tom..."

"And what of how he treated you after that?" Tom asked.

"Like after the party?"

"Like," he began by mimicking my use of the word, "how he took you away to his room. How he treated you in there."

I felt not just a light flush, but certainly a hot flush of complete embarrassment drowning out the white in my cheeks with a bloody red. I tried to hide the blush by looking toward the floor, but truly that wasn't going to be enough to hide the humiliation. I opened my mouth and closed it again.

"Let's play a game where I ask you a series of questions about that night," Tom stated.

"Please, I hated how that night played out. Really I do."

"I'm not trying to upset you Jenny, but you need a new perspective here." He reached out and held my hand, "Tell me what Nelson said right before he took you to the bedroom, we both know what it was, but I want to hear you confess."

"He... he said; 'speaking of which.'" I mumbled shyly.

"Speaking of what? Give it the context Jenny." When I didn't speak he leaned over the table and continued, "I said that he must be very pleased by you, how you had gone to so much trouble to lay out the party and how you had clearly exceeded in meeting his every need."

Tom squeezed my hand and continued, "Then he said, 'speaking of which,' and called you over like some canine- as though it were a spectacle to be seen! Then you left the party with him and"-

"I know what happened!" I said loudly; ready to beg him to stop.

"Okay good, I was worried you had forgotten," he straightened up in his chair and asked, "Did he touch you?"

"What?" I looked at him, shocked he had asked such a question, as he placed another spoonful into his mouth, "You know what we did in there Tom, please, you've already made that much clear."

"I'm not a playing game here, it's a legitimate question, and I can only know as much as I've overheard. Did he ever touch you, or," he put up a finger as if to make it point, "Or did he just have his way with you?"

"What do you mean?" I felt confused.

"Did you get any kind of gratification from the events that unfolded Jenny, it's not a complicated question," Tom pushed. I had given up all hope of eating his food by this point, I felt uneasy and nervous, and this entire conversation was so personal to me.

"He didn't leave me," I said shortly. Tom exhaled as though I had given the wrong answer.

"Okay, so in the three minutes the two of you were gone, I heard Nelson huffing and panting and groaning and I'm expected to believe you climaxed? Somehow you orgasmed, in utter silence, to the slow rhythm of the bed thumping against the wall?"

"It isn't always like that," I insisted, "He was tired from work, you know how it is, and I'm a quiet girl."

Tom was finishing his meal, the same meal I had barely touched. It was clear that he didn't believe me, but what was I supposed to do? I looked at him tentatively and he looked back at me thoughtfully, weighing up everything I said and then poked his food with his fork.

"I don't believe you," was his final resolve, "But, I will help you if that's what you want me to do."

"You will?" I looked over to him with surprise.

"Yes, of course."

~

I spent that night writing out an apology message to Nelson. Tom helped me by proof reading it, and telling me how to word things, so that I wasn't pressuring Nelson into taking me back. I was so grateful to Tom that I thanked him until the words didn't sound like words anymore. An hour and a half later we had the final draft and I sent it off with horrible feelings of anxiety.

The next issue at hand was in making myself a better person. I had made promises in the email letter to Nelson that I would be better for him, and make a real effort to please him more often. Tom said that I shouldn't word it that way, that Nelson would think I was trying to offer sexual favours if he took me back, so I had written it as "make him happier" rather than to "please him".

I confessed to Tom that my main struggle was in always feeling anxious and worried about being displeasing. I wanted too much from Nelson when he needed personal time. I also asked too many questions when I should just be quiet, or smarter. Tom looked at me strangely what I said this, then exhaled and offered, "Jenny, there is nothing wrong with asking questions when you don't know something."

"But I talk too much!" I insisted.

"But I thought you said you were a quiet girl," Tom challenged my words. However, seeing the conflicted look in my eyes, he amended, "But you do talk a lot, I agree... kind of, except it's not necessarily a bad thing Jenny."

"But everyone likes different things right? And Nelson is a different person to you. Please Tom, if you can help me, please? I don't want to be without Nelson, it hurts too much." I spoke as honestly as I could without breaking down into tears again.

"Okay, look, here is what I can do," He thought for a second and then seemed to reach a decision, "I can teach you to be quiet when you don't want to be. I can also teach you to accept feelings of anxiety, or at least, recognise that you can work through them on your own. That you're stronger than you think you are."

"You can?" I looked at him as though he were presenting with me a miracle cure.

"Yes, actually I can," he reaffirmed, "Although usually I do this kind of thing under different pretences."

"What do you mean?" I wondered how any other situation would call for someone asking Tom to help them be smarter, or quieter, or stronger and how it would be different from this occasion.

"That, little one... doesn't matter," Tom stood up, "now eat your dinner, shower and be back in the lounge room before midnight." He scuffled up my hair affectionately and started washing his dish in the sink.

~

When I had finished showering, I slipped into a top and shorts, and made my way to the lounge room as I had been instructed. Tom stood up as I entered the room, and looked at me nervously; I had never seen him this way. He stepped forward, looked me up and down and said, "Jenny, I want you to know that before we do anything, I will never harm you."

"Harm me? Tom, of course you wouldn't," I shook my head with light bewilderment, "you're so kind hearted, why would you ever think that you'd need to convince me so?"

"Because," he mustered, "because, the things you've asked me to help you with are very specific, and the only way I know how to help you with them is also very specific."

"Well I'll do anything," I assured him, "I trust you, I know you wouldn't do anything bad to me, and it's going to help me get Nelson back."

"Jenny," he seemed worried, "I need to make sure, if you feel at any point that what I'm doing, uh, the methods I'm using to help you are somehow... well... if you'd rather I just didn't do anything at all- I will need you to tell me in very clear words."

"Well what methods do you mean?" I finally asked.

"Everyone is different," he stated, "Some people need more... stimulation than others to feel moved."

"Stimulation?" I further queried.

"It's... it's kind of psychology, behaviourism. Have you ever heard of Pavolv's dog?" Tom gestured for me to take a seat, and I did so, with him. I shook my head to his question and he continued, "There is backstory there, but, basically it comes down to classical conditioning. I can condition your brain to associate one thing to another."

"Will you have to take me to a doctor for that?" I asked with concern, which made him laugh.

"No, I can do all this right here in my home. Of course it's not like an overnight procedure, everything takes time." Tom reached out to hold my hand, "and you need to trust me, completely, know that I am not going to harm you."

He seemed to know what he was talking about, and I certainly did not believe he would ever harm me, so I said, "I trust you completely, and I know you would never hurt me."

"No, we must be clear here; I said I would never harm you," Tom explained, "and this is true. Harm means, to physical injure, and especially on purpose. Now hurt... hurt is a different word. It means to physically injure- which I would never do- because that would harm you, but it also means... to cause pain."

"Pain?" I repeated strangely, as if it were a new word in my vocabulary.

"Yes," Tom watched my every move, every gesture, trying to trace any sense of withdrawal or hesitation from me, "I mean to teach you to be quiet when you wish to make sound, and also to realise that you are stronger than you think you are. This can only be done if you give me allowance to cause sensation to you, to arouse emotion and manipulate you into desperately wanting to do those things you want to learn not to do."

"I... I'll do anything." This much was true. I didn't want to be heartbroken, and I didn't want to lose everything I had. I was already desperately wanting, and if feeling pain was going to make me a better person then that is what I would endure.

"If you are absolutely certain," Tom pressed on, "then I will do what I know how to do, but I also need you to be aware of the fact that this might not work. I can change things about you with your permission, but there are no guarantees on Nelson's end of this. He might not want you back no matter how you are."

It was a harsh reality, but it was definitely true. Nelson might have had his last straw with me. I looked at my phone to see if I had received any new messages from Nelson and realised that due to his silence, I had no other means through which to get him back. I could only change what I knew to be wrong, and hope that this would be the solution to his loss of desire for me.

"I understand."

~

It was a week before Tom touched me. That is to say, he didn't hold my hand, or hug me, or brush my hair again like he had when I arrived. I wondered why that was, and a small part of me wished for it back. But it was not as much as I wanted to have Nelson speak to me again. To my own disappointment he had not responded to my email, and I badly wanted for him to do so.

Tom came home from one for his book shops and sat on a lonesome chair, away from the couch and I, as though I were a stranger. I didn't think I could take it much longer, because the truth was I now relied on him for his friendship and his promise to help me. Perhaps I was so bad that I had even made Tom despise me and wish me gone?

"Tom?" I began, he looked up from his book with an expressionless face, "Did I do something wrong?"

He blinked a few times then shook his head and looked back at the book. I frowned in concern at his lack of reassuring words, "Tom, I feel like you are mad at me for something. If you want me to leave- I will! I don't want to upset you."

"You are worried that I'm mad at you simply because I haven't spoken to you?"

"Yes, am I wrong?" I quivered.

"What makes you ask me that, today? Is it because I wasn't home for a while?" He sat back with one leg crossed over the other and his book resting in his lap. I felt like I was being examined.

"I don't know... maybe. I was worried yesterday too, and you were home. Did I do something yesterday?" Tom put his book down on the coffee table and moved closer to me.