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Tiki torches burned on either side of the entrance to the large tent, and thick red tassels spread out from the bottom edge across the stone pavement around it. Jessica winced at the brick in her stomach as she approached. Smoking pot had gotten her through her last visit with Siddhi, the island therapist, but no intoxicant could quell her inner torment this time.
She paused outside the entrance, taking a deep breath.
“C’mon, Jessica. Just get it over with.”
Shaking her head at the ground, she stepped through the beaded curtains and into the incense-filled air inside. Siddhi sat in the center on a small, faded oriental rug.
“Ah, Jessica. So good to see you again.”
The warmth of her smile pried at the steel cage around Jessica’s heart.
Wipe that grin off your face, bitch, Jessica thought.
“Come. Have a seat with me.”
Jessica rolled her eyes as she stepped forward and took a seat in front of Siddhi.
“I almost didn’t come today.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I hate this shit.”
Siddhi chuckled.
“Untangling the mysteries in our souls is challenging work, but it is always worth the price we pay.”
Jessica groaned.
“So, what tortures have you concocted for me today?”
“I want to show you something.”
Siddhi reached behind her and pulled out a book.
“What is this?”
“The Canterbury Tales. By Geoffrey Chaucer.”
“Uhhh... ok.”
“Have you read them?”
“I was supposed to read them in my English Lit class back in college, but I had other priorities. Ya know? Like having fun.”
Siddhi grinned.
“Yes, I imagine those are the priorities of most college students. I want to show you something.”
She opened the book resting in Jessica’s hands and thumbed through the pages.
“Here it is. The Miller’s Tale. Read this part right here.”
Jessica sighed and let her eyes fall to the page.
“You know there’s a reason I avoided this stuff the first time someone tried to get me to read it.”
“Trust me, Jessica. It will interest you.”
Jessica’s eyes perused the words, and her eyebrows lifted.
“Wait. So, this Alison chick cheated on her husband Nicholas with this dude, John.”
“Yes, keep reading.”
After a moment of more reading, Jessica laughed.
“And they tricked the husband into believing a flood was coming just so they could fuck in his bed?”
“That’s right. Let me show you another story.”
She turned a few more pages.
“Ahh, yes. The Merchant’s Tale. Read that passage there.”
Jessica read for a few minutes. She smirked at the thought that such smut existed in classic English literature. Then her jaw dropped.
“This bitch May used her blind husband’s back to climb into a tree to fuck this Damyan? While her husband was right there?”
“That’s right. And when the god Pluto granted Januarie his sight back, he saw the betrayal, but his wife convinced him it wasn’t what it looked like. And Chaucer ended with the hint that she continued to cheat on her husband.”
Jessica shrugged and shut the book.
“Ok, so what’s your point? That I should have paid more attention in English Lit. Got it. Thanks for catching me up.”
“No, Jessica. That’s not my point. These are just two examples of a theme that occurs all over Medieval English literature. The people of that time believed women to be sexually insatiable and inclined to cheat on their husbands.”
Siddhi took the book back.
“Of course, the Church frowned upon it.”
“I’m sure they did.”
“But, Jessica, you are not as much of a freak of nature as you think you are. Modern views of women and sexuality have left you, and many women, with the idea that they are, or should be, far less sexual than men. But it wasn’t always that way. Did you think about the questions I asked you?”
“What questions?”
“The ones I asked you at the end of our last session.”
Jessica smirked.
“You know you got me totally fucked up in that session. I don’t remember anything we talked about.”
“I asked you if you thought you would cheat on your next partner. And if so, why?”
“Oh, well, that’s easy. Yes, I will probably cheat because I’m an evil bitch.”
“That’s too easy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What? You don’t like that answer?”
“No, Jessica, I don’t. Because it’s too easy to hate yourself. It’s hard... very hard... to learn to love yourself. Because of what you learned from your father.”
A sharp pang shot through Jessica’s chest, and her blood boiled.
“Don’t bring that son of a bitch into this! I didn’t learn shit from him!”
“Jessica...”
Tears formed in Jessica’s eyes.
“And thanks for the fucking history lesson, but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not in the Middle Ages, Siddhi. This is the goddamned twenty-first century where women get crucified for cheating!”
Jessica stood up and turned to exit.
Siddhi called after her as she stormed away.
“Jessica, they do, but what if they shouldn’t be? What if your truth is that you are a slut? And what if that’s ok?”
Her words stopped Jessica in her tracks. She spun around, her eyes burning through her tears, and she pointed at Siddhi.
“Quit pretending that I’m not a horrible person. I know what I am!”
Jessica’s chest inflated with the eruption of grief that Siddhi uncorked as she choked out her words.
“No one could love me! Not if they know the truth about me!”
“But what if someone could, Jessica? What if they do?”
“Who? Like Ron? Don’t give me that shit, Siddhi. Hope is a cruel joke, but I’m not fucking laughing. And I’m not falling for it. I’m not some starry-eyed innocent just waiting to have my heart broken by reality. I’m a whore, ok? And Ron doesn’t love me. He may think he does, but he doesn’t. He can’t.”
Jessica leaned forward towards Siddhi, annunciating her words as if they were blades slicing the air.
“I’m unlovable!”
She headed back for the door, her vision clouded by the swirl of tears. The back of her throat ached from the forceful pounding of her sobs against it. Siddhi’s mouth turned down, and her eyes saddened as she shook her head.
“Jessica, you learned that from your father.”
The words bounced off Jessica’s mental shield. Her teeth gritted in a fierce stance against the seeds that Siddhi tried to plant in her head. Just before passing through the hanging beads, she stopped, looked back at Siddhi, and hissed.
“You’ll see. When I’m done with this island, you’ll see exactly what I am. And then you’ll know that no one, not even Ron Stroker, could love a cunt like me!”
She tore through the beads, stumbled out past the edge of the pavement until she fell to her knees in the sand. Her head pounded from the crying, and her chest ached. She clinched a fistful of sand and squeezed it until her palms stung, and her words whistled through her gritted teeth.
“I’m going to fuck every man on this goddamned island!”
