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Authors: Breanna Hayse
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attention.”
“In other words,” Dahlia sniffed, “you want me to become invisible.”
“In a sense, yes. Stop trying to gain attention, especially negative attention. Learn to become cheerful, supportive, encouraging, and independent. There is nothing Blake loathes more in this world than people who reek of desperation. Trust me, the negative, ‘ poor me’ attitude gets real old after a while and only succeeds in chasing away quality people. Who you are will draw the same quality kind of people that you are. Think about that. Bring her to my room,” Mrs. Alonso ordered. “I will be there shortly.”
The man placed Dahlia on a large brass bed covered with a soft hand-made quilt. She shivered despite the warm air blowing in through the window, and clung tightly to the blanket over her shoulders. The housemistress ’ words swam around in her mind, not lost in the midst of renewed stomach cramping and the unending burn to her overstretched bottom-hole. She looked up as the older woman entered, carrying a silver tea service.
“I thought it would be good for us to share some chamomile tea and talk some more,” she said, gracefully pouring the pale amber liquid into a clear glass cup and adding two teaspoons of raw sugar. Dahlia silently accepted, noticing the shaking of her hands as she attempted to steady the cup on her lap. “How are you feeling?”
“My stomach still hurts and…”
“Not that. I want to know what you learned about yourself today.”
“Other than you think I am a terribly selfish person and that I use people to get what I want?”
“Miss Covington, you can start this conversation without the bitterness.” Mrs. Alonso shook her head. “Be angry, but not with me. I merely provided the means to flush you of the poison you fill yourself with.”
Dahlia stared at her and then felt her face heat up. She glanced at the liquid swirling in her cup and inhaled deeply. “Thanks for the tea. It ’ s really good.”
“You are most welcome. Was that difficult?”
“No, ma ’ am.”
“Now tell me how you are feeling.”
“ I don’ t know… angry, ashamed, scared…”
“I would expect that after what you just experienced. Let ’ s get a little deeper into your needs. How did the loss of total control make you feel?”
Dahlia pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped the blanket tighter around her body as she clamped her jaw shut. Mrs. Alonso sighed and placed her own cup down. She reached into a drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a hair dryer.
“One thing most of us experience when we discover how helpless we really are in this world is that we need other people,” the older woman said and she began to run the warm air over the girl ’ s wet scalp and finger combed the pale blond curls. “Our pride inhibits us from asking. Do you know why?”
“Because we are afraid that our requests won ’ t be understood and that we will be rejected?” Dahlia half-stated, half-asked.
“That could be one reason. Another could be because we are afraid of the depth of our own desires. We have been taught by society to be ashamed of being different.”
“Are there a lot of people like us?” Dahlia asked timidly.
“More than you realize. The key is finding balance and that is where I will be your best friend and your worst enemy. Like pain, you will both hate and love me,” Mrs. Alonso said, putting the blow dryer down upon the bed. “Lie down on your stomach, hands underneath your body. Toss that blanket aside; you don ’ t need it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever I desire. Mind me, child. Keep your eyes closed.”
With some hesitation, Dahlia obeyed.
Chapter Five
Warm hands ran over her shoulder blades and down the length of her legs. Strong fingers covered with lavender-scented oil dug into her muscles, kneading and pulling the taut knots that riddled her body. The pressure of the massage increased as the fingers worked their way to her lower back
“In other words,” Dahlia sniffed, “you want me to become invisible.”
“In a sense, yes. Stop trying to gain attention, especially negative attention. Learn to become cheerful, supportive, encouraging, and independent. There is nothing Blake loathes more in this world than people who reek of desperation. Trust me, the negative, ‘ poor me’ attitude gets real old after a while and only succeeds in chasing away quality people. Who you are will draw the same quality kind of people that you are. Think about that. Bring her to my room,” Mrs. Alonso ordered. “I will be there shortly.”
The man placed Dahlia on a large brass bed covered with a soft hand-made quilt. She shivered despite the warm air blowing in through the window, and clung tightly to the blanket over her shoulders. The housemistress ’ words swam around in her mind, not lost in the midst of renewed stomach cramping and the unending burn to her overstretched bottom-hole. She looked up as the older woman entered, carrying a silver tea service.
“I thought it would be good for us to share some chamomile tea and talk some more,” she said, gracefully pouring the pale amber liquid into a clear glass cup and adding two teaspoons of raw sugar. Dahlia silently accepted, noticing the shaking of her hands as she attempted to steady the cup on her lap. “How are you feeling?”
“My stomach still hurts and…”
“Not that. I want to know what you learned about yourself today.”
“Other than you think I am a terribly selfish person and that I use people to get what I want?”
“Miss Covington, you can start this conversation without the bitterness.” Mrs. Alonso shook her head. “Be angry, but not with me. I merely provided the means to flush you of the poison you fill yourself with.”
Dahlia stared at her and then felt her face heat up. She glanced at the liquid swirling in her cup and inhaled deeply. “Thanks for the tea. It ’ s really good.”
“You are most welcome. Was that difficult?”
“No, ma ’ am.”
“Now tell me how you are feeling.”
“ I don’ t know… angry, ashamed, scared…”
“I would expect that after what you just experienced. Let ’ s get a little deeper into your needs. How did the loss of total control make you feel?”
Dahlia pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped the blanket tighter around her body as she clamped her jaw shut. Mrs. Alonso sighed and placed her own cup down. She reached into a drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a hair dryer.
“One thing most of us experience when we discover how helpless we really are in this world is that we need other people,” the older woman said and she began to run the warm air over the girl ’ s wet scalp and finger combed the pale blond curls. “Our pride inhibits us from asking. Do you know why?”
“Because we are afraid that our requests won ’ t be understood and that we will be rejected?” Dahlia half-stated, half-asked.
“That could be one reason. Another could be because we are afraid of the depth of our own desires. We have been taught by society to be ashamed of being different.”
“Are there a lot of people like us?” Dahlia asked timidly.
“More than you realize. The key is finding balance and that is where I will be your best friend and your worst enemy. Like pain, you will both hate and love me,” Mrs. Alonso said, putting the blow dryer down upon the bed. “Lie down on your stomach, hands underneath your body. Toss that blanket aside; you don ’ t need it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever I desire. Mind me, child. Keep your eyes closed.”
With some hesitation, Dahlia obeyed.
Chapter Five
Warm hands ran over her shoulder blades and down the length of her legs. Strong fingers covered with lavender-scented oil dug into her muscles, kneading and pulling the taut knots that riddled her body. The pressure of the massage increased as the fingers worked their way to her lower back
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