Curing Erica's Phobia Ch. 05

"Juan! The airport!" She tried to pull free from Eric. "I need to be there. You can't fool Juan, I need to be there or he'll know." She had meant to sneak out, to get to the airport somehow. To get to Juan, so maybe he wouldn't kill her, would only punish her. How had she forgotten all that? Where had her mind been these past hours?

"It's too late. The flight's already left. Erica, either we fooled him or we didn't. That's not your job. Your job is to remember. That's the only interest Juan had in you. To make sure you didn't remember. But you have the key. The secret number that Da gave you. Maybe he still uses that. Or maybe we can trace it back, trace it to others in his network."

She shook her head doubtfully. "It was a long time ago."

"It's not just the number. It's names, places, faces," Joann interjected. "Remember when Juan gave you the concussion? You said he was mad about an accountant. Someone who visited you at Da's house, brought you books. He must be around somewhere if he'd done something to piss Juan off."

"You also hinted that Da gave people access to you when they did him favors," Eric reminded her. "You may have seen any number of his associates."

"You mean fucked, don't you? I wasn't exactly on a first name basis." She was finally able to yank her hands free of Eric's grip.

"I think we need to give Erica time to rest," Templar suggested.

She looked at him, incredulous. "You tear me wide open and now you're concerned I get rest? I'm going for a walk." She knew she wouldn't be able to get past Eric, so she tried to shove her way past John, but he was off the stool in a flash, his arms wrapped gently but firmly around her. Erica moaned, the sound coming from some place deep inside, some place of unbearable pain. "I don't want to remember anymore, I don't want to talk anymore, I don't want to rest. I just want to be left alone to wait for Juan. At least he'll put me out of my misery."

Templar raised a warning hand before Eric could reprimand her. "What about a hot shower, Erica? Just to take a break, catch your breath. If you stop now, you'll have the nightmares again. You don't want that, right?"

"I don't intend to sleep ever again," she snapped, trying to pull free of John's hold.

"Let's try the shower idea for now," he suggested calmly. He nodded at Joann, who stood and took her hand. Erica sagged and John slowly released her into Joann's care. The agent led her toward her bedroom, Erica following obediently, too obediently, to Eric's mind, but as soon as the door closed behind them, Templar was in his face. Even behind the closed door, Erica could hear his deep voice scolding Eric. "I suggest you remember who the psychologist is here!" She couldn't hear Eric's reply as Joann pulled her into the bathroom, but the tone didn't sound at all contrite.

Joann started the shower and turned to Erica. "Do you need anything?"

Erica shook her head. "I'll be okay. I just need some time."

"Good. I think I better go referee between those two hardheads out there."

Erica watched her go, then turned toward the mirror as steam began to rise from the shower. She could feel the pressure rising inside her. Steam that needed to escape, but there was no vent. She rubbed her arms, then rubbed harder. In the mirror, she watched the steam, rising above the glass shower doors and she knew what she had to do. She opened the shower and found what she needed, bringing it back to the counter. The cheap plastic razor smashed easily with a blow from the hairbrush. With a little effort and some cuts to her fingers, she had a blade free. She laid it on the counter and watched it, as if it might escape should she take her eyes off it for even a minute. She quickly stripped, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor then retrieved the blade and climbed into the shower, sinking to the floor of the tub where the water beat down on her head.

She knew how to release the pressure. A small cut here, a small cut there. It didn't take much, a few drops of the rich red blood, quickly washed away. She just needed that little release to be able to breathe freely again, to relieve the pressure on her lungs, her heart. She watched the drops of blood form, then dilute. The steam rose up and the blood washed down. When one cut stopped bleeding, she made another one, her forearm, her thigh, her calf, each small cut giving her a little more relief, and she imagined each drop was a memory washing away. There was a knocking somewhere, easy to ignore. She laid her head back against the wall, closed her eyes against the cooling water. Katarina. Such a musical name. She liked the sound of it, heard the sound of it from her mother's lips once more. But then she heard someone calling her other name and she was forced back to a world that was closing in around her.

"Erica!" Joann was shouting her name and pulling at her. The blade slipped from her fingers and she grabbed for it as it headed toward the drain. Joann caught her wrist in a strong grasp, trying to pull her out of the tub, but Erica wasn't cooperating and she was dead weight for the petite FBI agent. Joann was trying to tug her over to where she could get her arms around Erica's chest and pull her out of the tub. Erica was staring at her hand where she was clasping the razor blade too tight. Blood was flowing between her fingers. She knew she should let go, but she didn't want to lose the blade. She might need it again; would probably need it again.

Then stronger arms were pulling her from the tub, lowering her to the fluffy bath mat, prying her fingers from around the blade, even as other arms wrapped a towel around her. The blade was replaced with a washcloth, her fingers wrapped around it, held tightly by others. She followed that hand up the arm to its owner. Eric was looking at her with concern. "I told you I needed to go for a walk," she said simply.

"I should have listened better," he agreed. "We're going to need some Band-Aids," he told someone behind her.

"It's just little cuts," she protested.

He raised her chin. "Do you know how much paperwork it would be if one of them got infected?"

She flashed him a ghost of a smile. "I'm sorry. I had to let it out."

"I know. But I'm pretty sure this is one of those coping mechanisms that Max didn't think was working so well for you. Let's see if we can figure something else out for the future. Now let's look at your hand." He gently unfolded her fingers from about the washcloth and examined the cuts then showed Joann as she returned with a first aid kit from the kitchen. "Doesn't look too serious to me. What do you think?"

She turned Erica's hand this way and that, then shook her head. "I don't see anything deep enough to do real damage. We'll wrap it up tonight and check again in the morning."

"Do I get a vote?" Erica asked.

"No," they both replied at once. Eric wrapped her fingers back around the washcloth. Joann pulled her robe from a hook behind the door and Eric helped her to her feet so she could shrug into it, then Eric steered her out to the bed where they both proceeded to apply ointment and bandages to her cuts. Joann wrapped gauze around her hand then went to the outer room, presumably to report to the others.

Erica looked at Eric with huge, sad eyes. "I don't want to remember any more tonight. Please."

He looked at her for a moment, then said, "Stay here." She watched as he went into the bathroom, no doubt to collect sharp objects, then out into the main room, closing her bedroom door behind him. She tiptoed to the door, but all she could hear was the low murmur of voices. She went to the bedroom window instead and looked out. Mostly all she could see was trees and other buildings, but there was a bit of the Sound and she could imagine being out there on the water, in the dark. It looked so peaceful and far away from the pain of her current reality. Yet, in some way she didn't understand just yet, it felt like her pain was receding ever so slightly. A tide going out, perhaps to return as a tsunami named Juan.

Eric came back into the room and paused when he saw her standing by the window. "Max is going to his hotel. He's jet-lagged anyway." He waited a beat. "You know the window is alarmed, right?"

She shrugged. "I figured. I guess I'm used to being locked in rooms."

"Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to sound that way."

She turned to look at him. "It's okay."

"Do you want to come back out here? You didn't eat hardly anything." She shook her head. "Okay, well, I'll leave you alone then."

"Eric?"

He turned back. "Hmmm?"

"I... don't want to be alone. I'm afraid to sleep. I don't want to get you in trouble, but..." Her voice trailed off.

"Erica..."

She glanced at him, then quickly away. "It's okay," she said with a shrug, crossing the room to sit in the only chair with her knees pulled up to her chin.

He rubbed his face and sighed, heading back out into the main room. She heard arguing then, but didn't try to make out the words. She simply hugged her legs tighter. The more uncomfortable the position, the less likely she would fall asleep.

When he returned to the room some time later, she was sitting in much the same position, save on the floor by the window with her back to the wall. "Erica?" he asked, his question open-ended.

"The chair hurt my butt," she replied, not really caring if that was the question he wanted answered.

"I want you to sleep."

"No," she said softly, too drained to put any force in it.

"What if I hold you?"

She looked up at him where he still stood by the door. Neither the soft night light shining in the window, nor the brighter lights from the outer room reached her eyes. They were only dark shadows in her pale face. "That's not what I want from you," she finally said, resting her chin on her knees again.

"What, then?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"I want you to show me again, that it doesn't have to hurt."

He crossed the room and knelt in front of her. "I've shown you that, Erica. You've been letting us touch you all day. Even Dr. Templar touched you. You have the proof you need."

"That isn't... That wasn't... Oh, never mind, it doesn't matter," she said pushing herself up against the wall.

Eric rose with her and grasped her lightly by the shoulders when she tried to turn away. "Talk to me. What are you worried about? What is it you really need?"

"Am I broken forever?" she whispered, her head down, her hair falling forward to shadow her face even more.

He laced his hands through her hair, pulling it back, tipping her face up toward his. "I think I proved you weren't broken at all."

"But what if you're the only one who understands, who can make me... give me pleasure?"

"Woman, you do wonders for my ego," he said with a smile. "But I'd be lying through my teeth if I tried to tell you I was the only one."

"I'm afraid that eventually I'll want... things like before."

"You'll want what you want, not what you've been conditioned to think you want, and that will be okay, whatever it is."

She smiled faintly. "I think you're talking in circles."

He smiled in return. "Wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of that. Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer."

"What?" she said, looking up to search his eyes.

"Have you ever touched yourself? Brought yourself pleasure?"

She looked down sharply, shaking her head more in denial than negation. "We'd be punished if we did," she whispered. "Anyway, I couldn't... I couldn't..."

"You couldn't come? Because the pain was gone? That's what you're really worried about, isn't it? Why you think you can't come unless there's pain? When they wanted to punish you – Juan or Da or whoever, they wouldn't let you come, right? And they promised even more severe punishment if you made yourself come, if you touched yourself. Erica, it was the fear of punishment that prevented your pleasure, not the lack of pain."

She was still shaking her head, staring at the floor, then suddenly she was in his arms. She let out a soft gasp of surprise. She looked up into his face to see a warm, if somewhat cocky smile. "I'm going to give you a little demonstration," he said, carrying her over to the bed.

"What are you doing," she asked softly.

"You'll see," he answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Or to be specific, you'll feel." He twisted, lifted, turned and, like magic, he was on his back on the bed and she was atop him, her back to his front. Her knees were bent, her feet on either side of his legs.

"Eric," she complained, but with a smile in her voice.

"Undo your bathrobe belt," he whispered. She sighed in exasperation at him, but her fingers were obeying, pulling at the knot. When she had it undone, and the sides of the robe were slipping apart, he took both of her hands gently in his, guiding them from the flat of her tummy, slowly upward toward her breasts. "Relax," he whispered, as she tried to watch what his hands were leading her hands to do. She laid her head back next to his, her silken blond hair flowing like water over his neck and shoulder. "Just feel," he instructed, as he guided her palms to brush gently over her nipples. She giggled as the gauze on her hand tickled and teased that nipple to hardness, so he moved that hand to the other nipple, too, until it hardened.

He guided her fingers to pinch and twist, pulling at the firm nipples, listening to her breathing quicken, feeling the slight arching of her back as a particular sensation shot from nipple to belly. His hands drifted down to rest lightly on her ribs, just below her breasts while she continued to explore the novelty of her own flesh and the network of nerves seemingly devoted to pleasure impulses.

"What feels best?" he murmured next to her ear.

"When I twist," she replied shyly, and he nodded, having already discovered that in his own explorations of her incredibly sensitive body.

After a couple of moments, he grasped the unbandaged hand and moved it slowly down her belly, circling her navel, feeling the dips and curves between her hipbones, the soft mound above her pussy. As he guided one of her fingers between the lips to dip into and explore the moist hidden valley, he took the other hand and teased her nipples more with the soft textured gauze that wrapped it. She gasped as sensations shot back and forth between her hands, hardening her nipples even more and swelling her clit as it sought attention from her delving finger. When she found the hypersensitive tip of her clit she arched almost completely off him and he tightened his arms against her sides to keep her from sliding off.

"Explore," he whispered. "Feel inside and out. Spread your moisture." When she dipped two fingers into her entryway, he nudged them deeper, was rewarded with another gasp. "In and out," he prompted, applying just enough pressure of his own to guide her rhythm. When her breath quickened, he pulled her hand back, positioning a finger on each side of her clit, pressing slightly. "Rub up and down here, just so, faster and faster." When she had the rhythm, he moved his hand to her free breast, tugging on her nipple, demonstrating for her other hand, just how he knew she liked it. Only a moment later, he felt her begin to shake and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, the way she'd asked him to before. She was arching and writhing against his hold, her strong thighs closing tightly about her hand, trapping it as she moaned in self-induced orgasm, shaking and arching with each wave until even Eric began to wonder if it was more pain than pleasure. As the tremors faded away, she began the soft humming he had grown so fond of in such a short time.

"Erica?" he asked, when the humming faded away. "Can you sleep now?"

"No," she answered rolling away, but she didn't go far. She was reaching for his jeans, her hand brushing against the steely hardness of his cock hidden by the material. He caught her hands and gently pulled them away. "I can't leave you like this," she argued.

"Yes, you can," he said softly. "This was about you and only about you. You aren't broken and you don't owe me anything."

She laid back on the bed. "Because I'm not a whore and I'm not a pain slut," she said without emotion. He rose up on an elbow to look down at her, ready to scold her yet again for her self-deprecation, but she caught him off guard with a smile. "Thank you," she whispered. "But I still want you to stay."

"Then I will."