"Aaron—" That's when I felt it. The pain. It radiated from my scalp as Aaron yanked on the hair he'd wrapped around his wrist.
"It's wrong, Violet." He jerked down so hard, my neck arched to the side, blaring pain. He jerked me toward him as he moved, dragging me, forcing me on the bed.
"Aaron, wait, ple—"
"Shut up!" he shouted over me. I laid awkwardly on my side with my neck arched, his fist still wrapped firmly around it, my scalp screamed out in pain. "You don't get to talk." He shook his head back and forth quickly. "No more. Not from you. Violet, my one letter – No!" he shouted and let go of me, backing up multiple steps. His gaze flickered all over me, the bed, around the room. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "You're not mine." He shook his head some more. "You're not." But there was something tortured in his gaze.
"Aaron." I took a deep breath and slowly sat up. Fear had won out inside me. How quickly the situation had changed in just a matter of moments. It became crystal clear to me that I had made the biggest mistake of all. Richard had been right. What was I doing going to see a patient in the middle of the night? I had become careless. I was in a room alone with a patient in Ward Z without his chains activated. A violent merciless, mentally unstable criminal stood before me. It didn't matter how attractive or interesting he could be, he was here for a reason – so quickly I was able to forget that.
I inched my hand down toward my pocket where the remote sat, the one that could activate the chains.
"No, don't you do that. Don't look at me like that. Like I'm some sort of a mistake. Like you were wrong to come here." He paced back and forth, his long legs eating up the space in the room. My iPod laid discarded, forgotten on the white tile floor, the fall didn't stop the song, and 'My December' continued to play. Aaron's mantra, a musical bubble around us. "You don't get to do that!" He yelled the words at the top of his lungs, so loud they drowned out the music. "You don't get to regret me. That's not what you get to do. You don't get to. You don't get to. You don't get to!" He shook his head. "Why are you like this?" He stopped pacing and stared at me.
I swallowed, inching my hand lower still. "Like what, Aaron?"
"Like—" he gestured at me "—this, fucking arrrggh!" He moved toward me, grabbing stack of books piled next to his bed and threw them against the wall behind me.
My hand had almost reached its destination when he lunged at me. Just inches away when Aaron's hard, sinewy body landed on top of mine and pressed me back against his thin mattress. The back of my head hit the cold, hard wall. Stars flashed in front of my eyes just as Aaron's lips came down on mine. The warm, wetness of his mouth surprised me more than the pain of my head. I had expected pain – for him to take the remote from my pocket – for him to do anything except kiss me. But he did. He kissed me. Our mouths melded together as if they had done so many times. As if they were supposed to be together.
I had expected only rough, destructive interludes with Aaron, but this proved me wrong. In spite of all the aggression he had displayed moments before, his lips were kind, gentle against mine, perhaps a little desperate, but pliant against my own. I'd never been kissed like this – like I was some sort of fragile flower, one that needed to be caged, protected, and yet taught some sort of lesson all at once.
Scorching heat spread across my body. I didn't know how he did it, or what it was about him that could change my emotions so quickly, sending them flipping and flopping through my body like a tornado, but he had made an art of it. His lean body caged mine awkwardly, half against the wall, half against the mattress a book wedged in between. The uncomfortable twist of my back made my bones screech out in pain, yet, in spite of that, I clung to him. The slow creep of my hand down toward the remote that would yank Aaron away from me and chain him across the room had ceased. One hand buried in his hair, the fingertips brushing hard against the scar along his temple and above his ear. The other ran up and down his stomach, the skin there jumped in reaction, as if it was thrilled with my touch.
The thin sweater I wore seemed suddenly feverishly hot, like some sort of parka and I desperately wanted it off. I wanted to be skin to skin with the hulking man who imprisoned me against his bed.
"I'm going to be inside you, Violet. Over and over and over until there's nothing left of either of us. Until your skin bleeds and you're nothing with me or without me. Until you're everything." His words were a thick rumble against my lips, nearly sending me over the edge.
This was what I wanted. What I'd needed for a long time. His touch. His body. All around me, all over me. It was wrong, but I was beyond caring, beyond doing the right thing. How could something that felt so right, be wrong? It couldn't be. This was where I belonged – with Aaron, in his bed, with the words in his skin, pressed against me.
"Aaron," I moaned his name against his mouth. He kissed me harder; he seemed to devour me, his hands fumbling with my shirt.
"Violet." My name sounded broken on his lips. Not a moan or plea, not the deep rumble from moments before. It was something else. Something that sent fear daggering its way through me, down to the deepest places inside me. I felt it then, his hand. He had found the remote. Before I could stop him he jerked it out of my pocket, breaking our kiss. I didn't have time to panic, to stop him.
He jumped off me, the remote in hand. A look of acceptance covered his face, there was something bitter about it. "You're not mine."
"Aaron." I held my hands up. "Wait. Let's talk about this."
"There's nothing to say Violet." He shook his head hard. "This is wrong."
Something inside me wanted to laugh, to fall over on Aaron's twin mattress and giggle until I cried. Oh, the irony. I was the doctor, the one who should have been ethical, thoughtful, careful, of breaking through the forbidden doctor-patient barrier, and yet here he was claiming this was wrong. Not me.
"It doesn't feel wrong," I whispered.
Something in his gaze wavered, though instead of giving in, he looked broken, utterly shattered, as if I had just given him the most tragic news he'd ever heard.
He pushed a button. His body twisted and contracted in pain as fifty thousand volts of electricity pumped into his bracelets. A fail-safe taser on the remote. I'd forgotten about it.
"Aaron!" He fell on the floor immobilized. I scrambled over and yanked the remote out of his hand. "What the hell? Why—"
"Leave." His voice barely held above a whisper. "Now."
"But—" I could feel it then. The embarrassment. It shouldn't have reared such an ugly head, but it did. Aaron Whitman could have had sex with me right there on his twin-sized mattress. I would have let him. He could have used me, could have forced me to take him out of this place. He could have done so many things. Yet, Aaron chose to shock himself into a stupor. He chose that over me.
The remote and my iPod hung loose in my hands as I left Aaron's room and made my way out of Ward Z. My back twinged, remembering the pain from just minutes before, but it was my ego and feelings, bruised and smashed up by Aaron Whitman, that hurt the most.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Have you ever been in love, Violet?" Aaron asked.
Richard paused in mid-scrub on the small shower area. It was a Tuesday. Something Richard reminded me this morning when I got in. My days ran together. It had been almost a week or more since I'd seen Aaron, since I'd left his room while he writhed on the floor after shocking himself.
"Love?" I repeated. My gaze jumped to the word in his skin, unbidden. My fingers itched to reach for it, in spite of everything that had happened. I'd spent all week licking my wounds, trying to lift my bruised ego and feelings out of the gutter. It took awhile, but it wasn't until this morning that I finally resolved myself to the fact that I shouldn't be embarrassed. He was my patient and I had a job to do, regardless of anything else.
"Yes. Love." He watched me, his gaze perceptive as always, and yet unreadable. The urge to look away danced beneath my skin, but I fought the feeling, maintaining eye contact.
Don't let him see how much he hurt you, Adeline.
"I don't know." I took a moment to consider his question, an opportunity to ponder anything but what happened last week. My ex, Anthony, popped into my head. His brown eyes empty, absent of their warmth. Warmth that had been gone for a long time. He'd been sleeping with one of our friends, a waitress from the restaurant on the corner of Peppermint Street - my favorite restaurant. They served tiny little fortune cookie sandwiches that were cream-filled and delicious. We had only gone there on special occasions, like birthdays and our anniversary. She'd even been our waitress the last time we'd gone only a few months before our break up. Apparently, it had been going on for months. He'd been pushing me away for ages. But it turned out, I was the kind of person to hold on to a bad thing, even after it was more than over. Even Anthony was tired of waiting for me to take a hint - to let him go.
"You're an adult. You should know." Irritation laced Aaron's voice. He sat in his chair, chained. I hadn't watched him all week on the surveillance camera. I hadn't had the courage to walk into that room.
"It's a complicated question," I said.
"Hardly."
I tilted my head, listening to his hum. He seemed frustrated, irritated.
Join the club, asshole.
"Define love." I stood with my back against the wall by the door. I wouldn't sit. The distance was good.
"Can such a thing be defined?" he asked.
"It's a word, Aaron. All words can be defined." I added, smirking.
"I suppose so." He cut his eyes at Richard who had gone back to cleaning. "But what is the difference between love and sex?"
The word sex on his lips sent my mind back to last week with Aaron's body on top of mine.
"I'm going to be inside you, Violet. Over and over and over until there's nothing left of either of us. Until your skin bleeds and you're nothing with me or without me. Until you're everything."
Heat bloomed in my cheeks, across my chest.
Way to go, Adeline. Way to not let him affect you.
"You tell me. Is there a difference between love and sex?" My gaze was glued to him, remembering the way he touched me. Images of him on the surveillance camera resurfaced in my mind. The way he touched himself. Relentless. Uncompromising. And yet his lips had been soft when they touched mine, pliant, giving. I chewed the inside of my lip.
"Love is a feeling, an emotion, a knowing." His fingers tapped faster than normal. "Sex is the opposite. It's uncertainty. A bodily function. It can be given and taken."
"And love can't be given and taken?" I asked.
He raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps, but love takes longer to be given and to be taken."
"There are emotions tied to sex though, are there not?" I asked.
"For some." His eyes seemed to burrow into mine, like he was trying to tell me something.
"This is pretty deep," Richard said, standing. He chuckled.
"You don't think it's a serious subject, sex and love?" Aaron asked, still looking at me.
Richard looked at me and rolled his eyes, giving me an easy smile. It was his signature smile – one he gave me everyday. I'd had him over two more times this week, though not necessarily because I invited him. He had just shown up on my doorstep, once with cookies and the other time with, strangely enough, a cold pizza. Being with Richard was easy, simple, uncomplicated. It was nice to have a friend. Richard was kind, normal, unobtrusive, the only uncomplicated aspect of my life at this point.
"Shower's all clean and Ryan replaced the sheets. Should be good until next week, bud," Richard said, ignoring Aaron's previous question. He winked at me and picked up the bottle of bleach off the floor, heading out the door.
I moved to follow Richard, exhaling a deep breath.
"Stay, Violet. I need to speak with you." A chill ran down my spine. There was something in Aaron's voice that both excited and scared me at the same time.
I waited until the door closed behind Richard before meeting Aaron's gaze.
"You didn't answer my question," Aaron stated.
"What was your question?"
His face turned hostile. "You're thinking about him."
"Who?"
"You tell me."
I glanced at the door. "Who? Richard?"
"Richard." He said the name as if it had some sort of secret meaning. "Who is he to you?" Aaron's gaze flickered all over my form.
"What? He works here." The words were a gasp from my lips.
"Of course he does." He flexed his fist, squeezing it repeatedly, while the other hand tapped so quickly, the typical rhythm was almost completely lost in the haste. "Of course he fucking does!" The words were a shout absorbed into the soundless white walls around us. An extreme outburst, different from the typical Aaron I knew.
"Richard is my friend, Aaron. Not that it's any of your business." I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Is that where you've been all week? Is that why you haven't been in to see me?"
I narrowed my gaze. "Again, that's none of your business."
"He's nothing compared to me!" The words were a shout, threatening to pin me against the wall. "You're mine, Violet."
I watched as he seethed. His gaze was everywhere. No escape. And just like that, my body flushed, my skin prickled. My body, the ultimate betrayer.
I moved and approached the table, my legs seeming to have a mind of their own.
"Is that so?" I asked.
"Don't even act like you don't know." His gaze frantic, panicked. He pulled against his electronic chains, restless.
"Like I don't know?" I gave a harsh laugh. "Seems I recall the last time we saw each other you were claiming the exact opposite." I had promised myself I wouldn't bring it up. I had planned to pretend like last week hadn't happened – that it hadn't affected me.
I fingered the remote in my pocket, remembering his hands on me, how they felt, warm, hard, soft, punishing, forgiving all at once. I could push one button and he would be free of them. Free to touch me. Free to do whatever he wanted. Then I remembered what he chose last time.
"Why would it matter if he wants me?"
"You're mine." He spoke more quietly now. "He can't have you, Violet, because you're mine."
"Am I?" I toyed with him.
"I have something of yours," he said.
I blinked. "What do you—"
"In my pocket."
"Your pock—"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"Let my hands free and I'll show you."
I frowned at him. "Not a chance." Bitterness swam through me. "I haven't forgotten what you chose last time you had the opportunity."
"What I chose, Violet?"
I narrowed my gaze. "Yes, what you chose."
He chuckled seeming almost normal for a moment. "I had no choice."
I raised my eyebrows. "That sounds strange from someone who just a week ago, sitting in that very chair, told me that there is always choice, most people are just too dumb to realize it."
"With you, Violet, for the first time in my life," he paused, his gaze flickering over my face like he was trying to commit every inch to memory, "there is no choice."
"What does that even mean?" I hated the hope in my voice.
"Just let me show you." His voice dropped an octave. "Free my hands."
I pulled the remote out of the pocket in my coat.
"I can't."
His fingers tapped his song. I could hear the melody in my head. "You can, Violet. Please."
I pushed the button, releasing his hands. His feet were still bound.
I shouldn't have.
It was against basic protocol, I knew that now better than anyone. During this past week I'd found an extremely dusty manual at the bottom of one of my desk drawers. All patients were to have their electronic chains completely hooked into the table whenever a staff member was present. There was no excuse. No valid reason they could be unhooked in anyone's presence but their own. As it turned out, there was
another option that hooked the inmate into the wall if maintenance had to be done on the table. There was absolutely no reason for a patient to be unhooked – under no circumstance. Even in the event of a serious disaster, the patients in Ward Z were to be left behind. Death, the manual said, was to be their fate – better death than their freedom. The words had sent a shiver down my spine when I read them, though I couldn't imagine leaving any of them behind, especially Aaron.
However, it should have been enough to keep me from releasing Aaron's hands. Hell, last week should have been enough to keep me from doing it. I had always followed the rules – until Aaron Whitman. These past couple of months I had discarded my diligence, for carelessness. Even as I pressed the button on my remote, a squishy matte under my fingertip, I knew it was wrong. I knew I was smashing the rules from the large shards I'd created into tiny microscopic pieces.
Unbidden, exhilaration flooded my veins.
I watched as he moved his hands, running one through his dark hair. The other snaked into his pocket as he hummed.
Is there actually something in there?
He came back with a ring.
My ring.
I glanced down at my hand. I didn't wear much jewelry. The tiny little butterfly ring, a gift from my father when I was a child, was the only ring I always wore. It only fit on my on my pinky now.
"How did you—" But I knew – last week, his hands had been all over me— "How did I not notice?" I shook my head and glanced down at my bare finger. "I would have noticed."
"Would you?" He held it between us. "And yet I've had it this whole time."
I stepped forward, leaving the remote on the other end of the table. "I want it back. Why did you take it?"
"Because you're mine. Isn't that already obvious?"
Confusion seemed barrage me with its bullets. "I don't believe it is." My eyes lasered in on the tiny butterfly. The wings were made of opal, they glittered their pearl color under the stale lights. My father had given me the ring just a few weeks before my friend Maria had been run over. He worked at a pawn shop and someone brought it in.
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