I look at Smith and he's dying right now. Right before my eyes.

I look at Quin and he's already dead.

"He didn't stop her," Chella says, pulling on my suit coat. "Do you hear me, Bric? He never stopped her."

"Marcella," the senator says. "Get in the car." We all look at the long black car across the street. "We can discuss this in private."

But Chella is still tugging on my coat, looking up at me with her big blue eyes, begging me to listen. "He let her take me all over the world, Bric. All over to these awful places."

"Why, Chella?" I ask. "What happened?"

"Marcella," her father roars. "I said-"

"You shut the fuck up," Smith interjects. "Right now! Just shut the fuck up!"

"You don't even know her," the senator barks back at Smith. "You have no idea who she really is."

"Well, I've only known her a month," Smith spits through his teeth. "What's your fucking excuse?"

"Do you know how it ended?" Chella asks me, pulling me back to her. She is tugging on my suit coat so hard, I have to bend down.

But then she whirls and looks at her father. "They came for me," she sobs. "She brought them to me. They had a knife and they held me down. They said-"

"Chella," I say, taking her in my arms. "What's going on? What happened to you?"

"They were gonna cut me, Bric. Cut me here," she sobs, pointing between her legs. "We were in Sudan for a mission with the church and I got a boyfriend when I was seventeen. But I had already lived through hell. My mother used to tie my hands to my bed when I was a kid so I couldn't touch myself. She called me a whore when I was nine. When I was ten she started taking me on missions. All over the world. To try to control me. She told me I was dirty. And if she caught me doing anything even remotely sexual-like climbing a fucking tree!" She screams this at her father-"she'd tie me up."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Smith says, rubbing her arm. Even Quin is back, holding onto Chella's shoulder.

"When I was just a little girl she used to put splints on my arms so I couldn't reach between my legs. And that day... that day in Sudan... she gathered up all the old women and they came for me. She begged them, Bric! She told them I needed to be saved and only they could do it. They held me down, Bric! They were going to mutilate me!"

She whirls around to face her father again. "And do you want to know how I escaped that fate?" She spits on him. Right in his face. "That boyfriend went and got his father and uncles and they had to threaten them. They told those old women I was the president's daughter and if they touched me the whole village would be bombed in retaliation."

She turns back to me, sobbing so hard I can barely understand her words. "They took me to the US Embassy and I got sent home. And then I ran away-"

But she can't take it anymore. She crumples, Smith catching her in his arms as she buckles over.

I swallow hard and look at her father. "You need to leave. Right now."

"I hope you die," Chella mumbles. She pushes Smith off her and stand to look at her father. "I want you to feel the way I feel. I want you to be held down and-"

A horn honks as a silver BMW pulls up alongside us.

"Get in, Chella," a woman says. The passenger side window is down. Chella looks at the car, then starts crying again as she runs for the curb, throws the door open, and gets in.

We watch in silence as she is driven away.

And then we turn back to deal with the senator, but he's already making for his car. Maybe to follow her? Maybe to escape the truth he was just handed by his very broken daughter?

No one cares.

"Why the fuck," Smith says, "did Lucinda Chatwell just drive up and take Chella away?"

"Because Lucinda is Chella's sex therapist." I sigh, just now putting all the pieces together. "She and Rochelle were seeing the same therapist. That's how all this happened."

"You knew about this," Quin says, his anger back. "Just like you knew why Rochelle left."

"I didn't," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose as I walk back towards the Club. "I didn't know any of that. And I didn't know that she got an abortion, Quin. I was just giving her options."

"Options," Quin seethes. "And you decided I didn't get to know about it? That was one of the options?"

"I didn't know," I say.

But I should've.

Chapter Forty - Chella.

"How are you feeling now, Chella?" Dr. Chatwell asks me.

I'm lying on her couch in her office. The lights are dim and the curtains are closed to keep the sunlight out. She gave me a light sedative. To help me cope, she explained.

"Very stupid," I answer honestly.

"Why?"

"Because you warned me." She did too. She told me it would be a very messy exit. And I don't think they come any messier than that. "And I refused to believe you. I thought I could handle it."

"Did something bad happen last night?" she asks in her calm voice.

"Not at first. At first it was..." I sigh, thinking about it. "Wonderful. Just how I thought it would be."

"Just like the fantasy you imagined?"

"Yes."

"And where did things start to go wrong?"

"I blacked out, I think. Near the end."

"Why?"

"It felt good."

"That's it?" she asks.

"It was perfect and wonderful. And it just felt... it felt..."

"It made you feel something?" she offers.

"Yes."

"What did it make you feel, Chella?"

"Happy," I say, trying not to cry.

"And why do you think that you blacked out at that point?"

"Because feeling good about sex is wrong."

"But we know that's not true, right?"

I nod, drawing in a deep breath. "It's the shame. The shame my mother made me feel about it all growing up. It's natural. And if consenting adults agree, it's normal, no matter how they like it."

She's silent, but I know her well enough to understand she's nodding her head at me.

After seven years of being on her couch, trying to work all this shame out of my fucked-up mind, I know her just as well as she knows me. And we've been over this a million times.

I am consumed with shame. My mother put it in my head for over a decade. She subjected me to relentless ostracizing and punishments. My father refused to stop her. And yes, it's all their fault... but I'm the only one who can make it go away.

"I don't think Smith, or Quin, or Bric are the problem here. Do you?"

"No," I admit. "They're not. I am."

"Do you remember the session we had just before Rochelle left?"

"We taped it."

"Yes. And we promised each other that we'd watch it together when things got bad. To understand why the two of you made these decisions."

"But Rochelle's gone."

"We don't need Rochelle to work on you, Chella. Do you want to watch it? So you can get some perspective? Remember why you wanted to play that game to begin with?"

I'm silent. I don't know if I want to see that tape. I don't know if I can handle it. I was so sure I was... cured. Even though I knew then, and I know now, I don't have a disease. I can't be cured because there is nothing wrong with me. It's all in my head. My mother's voice. Her disapproving looks and comments. Her- "We don't have to," she says in her conciliatory tone. "But you were excited. Remember?"

I nod, my eyes trying to close tighter.

"You were ready. And it was Rochelle who was crying that day, remember?"

"I know why now," I sob.

"Why, Chella?"

"Because they're really good guys. She didn't want to leave them. Not even Smith. She wanted things to be different and she didn't know how to do that so she had to leave to figure it out." I stop to breathe for a few moments. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize..."

"Didn't realize what?" she prods.

"I just didn't expect to like them."

"You thought it would easy? And you'd develop no feelings for them?"

"Yes," I say, barely a whisper.

"I like them too. But we need to move on now and decide what you're going to do."

"About what?" I ask, opening my eyes.

"Well," she says. "You told me you had two things left on your checklist that were needed to help yourself heal. From the past. You wanted to confront your father, which you did. Very nicely, Bric tells me."

"You talked to Bric?"

"He's in the waiting room right now. But let's concentrate on you for a moment more. You confronted your father with who you are and what happened to you. What your mother did to you. How do you feel now? Do you wish you hadn't done that?"

"No." I smile.

"Are you proud of yourself?"

"Yes," I say, sitting up. My head is pounding, so I massage my temples with my fingertips. "I wish I could say it all again, only this time not cry."

"I think the crying made it more effective. Because it was you showing him how badly you were hurting."

"True," I concede.

"And you needed to live that final sexual fantasy that you said, and I quote, 'makes me feel dirty.' Do you think it was dirty, Chella?"

"No," I say, lifting my head to look her in the eyes. "I don't. Not at all. It was... nice."

"Do you want to do it again?"

I shake my head. "No. It's not dirty, but it's very confusing."

She smiles at me. "I would agree. You know, I had a meeting with Bric the other day to tell him Clark and I were withdrawing our membership. We're ready to move on as well. In fact, we're leaving for Europe next month. We're going to spend six months just traveling and having fun."

"You bitch," I say. "What will I do without you?" I laugh, but I'm really not kidding. She's been my rock for seven years.

Lucinda just smiles at me. "You're done, Chella. You set out to heal yourself and now you've done that."

"But that was a catastrophe, Lucinda. It was a disaster. In public, for fuck's sake."

"Do you think these things end with a whimper?"

"But my longing?" I say. "It's still there!"