by Nicky James
“But you want it too, don’t you?”
He leaned back against me and angled his head, exposing his neck. Goddamn him, he was making things too easy, urging me forward. It was probably an action done from a complete lack of control, but I took the invitation and grazed my lips ever so delicately over the cord of muscle that ran down to his collar.
“You want it, don’t you?” I nudged him for an answer before flicking my tongue at the soft flesh exposed near his shirt collar. He gasped and reached behind himself to take hold of my thigh, clinging desperately. Digging his fingers in, he tugged me closer with a whimper that he couldn’t contain.
“I c-can’t, Rory. I really can’t. This… I’ll lose my job, and you need this. You need help. Krew is right.”
With more willpower than I had, he pulled from my arms and spun, more frazzled than I’d ever seen him. He panted and stared back at me through the darkness, searching my face like a man who couldn’t decide what to do next. He could deny his feelings all he wanted, but I didn’t need more than moonlight to see the evidence of his arousal tenting his pants or the lust brimming in his eyes. It made my own fired up libido pulse with more need than I thought possible.
“Rory, if I like you or not, it doesn’t matter. If I wanted this, it doesn’t matter. It can’t happen. Not so long as I’m your counselor.”
“Then find me a new worker.”
Mild hurt crossed his face, followed by a steady whirl of the gears shifting into motion in his smart brain. He shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still a client with the center. So long as you are a registered patient, I have rules I have to follow.”
I took two steps forward, but he brought his hands to my chest to stop my advance.
“I can’t ignore this.”
“You have to. Just like I have to.”
The hands on my chest balled around my shirt and he seemed to waver between wanting to pull me in or push me away. In the end, he shoved me back a step but not forcefully. It was more of a request I obliged because his determination was fierce, and I risked upsetting him otherwise.
At least I had my answer. The growing feelings I had invading my every nerve and sense was reciprocated—even if he wouldn’t act on them.
It didn’t matter. I liked a challenge.
Chapter Twelve
Adrian
I could still feel the heat of his mouth against my skin and had checked twice since my cab pulled up to see if my neck was damp with his saliva. The ghosting memory had caused a continual problem in the southern region of my body that needed to go away soon because I was only a few blocks from the government building where I worked.
The cab driver had paid no attention to my frazzled state of mind like it was a normal occurrence in his passengers. It was apparently also normal for them to yield shoulder bags as shields against potential onlookers who might notice said passenger’s erection that refused to go down.
I adjusted my bag on my lap, ignoring the way it rubbed against my perpetual problem, before leaning back and pinching the bridge of my nose. Everything had been going so well, too. Progress was being made, and I’d reined in my near suffocating desires for Rory the entire time I was at his apartment—until he’d mentioned Krew and his frequent visits. Then, for whatever reason, my personal feelings surfaced.
They’re best friends!
I was jealous, and if I wasn’t mistaken, Rory had picked up on it, too. Krew was outgoing and bubbly and far more open and free about his sexuality than I could ever be. Rory looked after his cat, who he obviously didn’t like, but he did it because they were close friends. Oh, and Krew wasn’t bound by stupid rules and regulations that didn’t permit him to fraternize with clients. Who was I kidding, they were probably sleeping together. But that didn’t explain why Rory was actively seeking more from me.
I was bitter and grumpy over some guy Rory had assured me was simply a friend. I had to pull my shit together. Just because he was the first guy who’d returned an interest in me in…oh, I don’t know… twenty-four years and I couldn’t reciprocate didn’t mean it was the end of the world.
My raging boner sure thought so.
By the time I was dropped off at the office building, I’d sufficiently calmed my issue enough I didn’t need to walk with my bag in front of me. I took the elevator to the third floor and slipped unseen past the handful of midnight staff to my personal space.
Sinking low in my chair, I closed my eyes while my computer booted, and I considered my evening. I needed a game plan. I couldn’t keep crossing lines with Rory. We’d made excellent progress earlier, and it was in his best interest he continued to seek help. After breaking down everything I’d learned, I was starting to piece together his phobia a little bit more every day. There was definitely a triggering incident at its root, but I had yet to pull that piece of information out of him. With our growing connection, I felt confident he’d eventually share. The challenge would be keeping everything professional.
And that was proving to be the bigger threat.
I pulled up his digital file and proceeded to break down everything we’d gone over that evening. In a side tab, I pulled up a behavioral psychology site I’d frequented lately which focused intently on the development of phobias. It explained how the brain could condition itself to behave a certain way based on interactions within the environment. It worked under the principle that people could be conditioned to respond a certain way with enough influence. Let’s say a man was bitten by a snapping turtle every time he went to a pond to fish. That man may develop a fear of his pond or all bodies of water, or more irrationally, a fear of fishing itself. His brain automatically links ponds to pain or fishing to biting turtles, and a pattern is set.
Rory’s responses to his environment were triggered by an undisclosed event. Whatever happened, I suspected it involved being burned in some way. Previously, I’d read people who suffered from Heliophobia had often developed a fear of sunlight as a response to having personally dealt with or had a close relative who suffered severe skin cancer. The brain then rationalized that no exposure was the safest course of action to prevent cancer. However, I didn’t feel skin cancer pertained to Rory’s case at all.
Sometimes, an irrational fear of sunlight could occur simply because the person experienced an unpleasant event which was unrelated to sunlight but occurred during a sunny day. The brain then links sunlight to that event, regardless of the rationale, and the phobia was born. If that were the case, then the cause for Rory’s fear could be anything.
The biggest triggering effect he’d shared was the sensation of his skin being on fire. Paralysis was also a biggie. Those two reactions, I suspected, were somehow linked to the event that had happened when Rory was in college.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard.”
I jerked my head up from my computer screen to find Alyssa hovering next to the open entrance to my cubicle.
“Hi, yeah, just puzzling something out.”
“Need a hand?” She helped herself to the extra seat across from my desk before I could respond.
“I don’t know. My brain is a bit scattered.”
She laughed and fixed her tight braid, so it hung over her shoulder. “You’re three hours into your first shift of the week. That bad already?”
If only I could tell her the half of it. “You ever had a client who was more interested in being your friend than talking about why they called the clinic to begin with?”
“Many times. It’s classic avoidance. Give it time, the person will eventually talk.”
“Yeah, he has. It’s just funny how everything I learned in clinical skills pre-practorium just flies out the window when I’m sitting in a session with him. Makes me feel completely unprofessional because I scramble and say all the wrong things.”
“That’s normal, too, Adrian. You know, with your client’s permission, you can ask someone who’s been here a while to shadow you during appointments and
lend advice. It’s not uncommon if you are struggling in learning to communicate with patients. Going from the classroom to the field is challenging.”
If only that were the case for me across the board. I’d had no trouble with the crisis line. The problem rested solely with Rory, and truthfully, I knew why. I studied Alyssa and wondered if I could simplify it, so it didn’t paint me as a rule breaker.
“Here’s the thing. It’s only this one patient. Because he was so resistant to talking, I worked at keeping our lines of communication open other ways, like I’ve been taught.” She nodded, understanding that method of practice because it was commonly used. “Because we chatted so much on a friendly basis, we inadvertently became friends. So now it’s harder to define those lines when we meet.”
“Hence the scattered brain tonight?”
“Yeah.” I chuckled and ran a hand through my hair. “I suggested maybe I pass his case off to someone else, but he didn’t seem to like that idea.”
“It’s probably not as bad as you make it out to be.”
Oh, no, it’s way worse. Like, “ride across town with a raging boner that won’t go down” worse.
I shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing with her statement.
“Here’s the thing. If you keep the friendship professional, it can actually help him. He’ll trust you more and share more readily than if he saw you as a stranger. Just insist on clear boundaries. If the friendship wants to grow outside those boundaries, then talk to him about options.”
At least I knew I wasn’t a complete idiot because I’d done all those things. In theory, all those things would work and made perfect sense, if I didn't want to desperately throw myself at Rory every chance I got. My conversation with Alyssa hadn’t helped at all.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No problem.” She rose and flattened her skirt before nodding at the phone on my desk. “I came by to remind you to connect your line to receive crisis calls.”
“Oh, shit. I forgot.”
“No worries.”
She disappeared into the maze toward where I assumed her desk was located. Truthfully, I hadn’t wandered far from my own desk on the midnight shift, so I had no idea. I kept to myself and tried to stay busy.
* * *
The week dragged. When I got home Wednesday morning, the house was pleasantly quiet, so after a shower, I made some food and settled on the couch to watch a bit of TV before heading to bed. It was a luxury I rarely got to enjoy since I spent most of my time locked in my room.
I put on the morning news and zoned out after a few minutes when my thoughts drifted to Rory. It’d been impossible to keep my mind off him. Since our parting moment on Monday night, it took all my effort to stay focused. His touch was seared into my flesh, and whenever I remembered the feathering impression of his tongue on my neck, I was instantly hard.
Embarrassingly, I’d watched more porn and jerked off more times than I thought possible in two days. The memories and resulting lust couldn’t be tempered. I was as hot and bothered as ever.
Forcing my attention away from Rory, I tried to follow the current political blunders taking place in countries I knew little about. It wasn’t enough to keep me awake, and I was asleep before I could decide to head to bed.
That was a huge mistake.
My dreams were filled with a redheaded, tattooed, celestial being whose sole purpose was to make me tremble in bliss under the workings of his magical tongue and mouth. I didn’t know anything could feel so amazing, nor was I aware that my moaning, vocal responses had pierced the veil of my dream and echoed into reality, drawing the attention of my three roommates.
I awoke to laughter and sounds that horrified me when I understood my cries of passion were being mimicked. In a panic to flee the humiliation that had befallen me, I knocked into Dylan who refused to move and acted more like a brick wall, foiling my escape. Toppling to the side, I clipped the end table with my hip, sending blinding white pain through my body. My glasses fell, and in all the frenzy, I crushed them under my palm when I tried to stand.
The three men who shared my living space were almost collapsed on the ground in side-splitting laughter without a care in the world that their sheer presence had mortified me to such a degree tears spilled down my cheeks. Even Marcus was there, laughing for all it was worth at my utter embarrassment.
It was one thing to deal with their shit, but to be witnessed experiencing pleasure I had never even known in real life was more than I could take.
As I stumbled blindly up the stairs, Calvin’s laughter-choked voice trailed after me. “Who was he, Adrianna? Come on, we want details.”
“Faggot,” Dylan spewed.
I locked myself in my room and collapsed on my bed to examine my broken glasses. The right lens was cracked, and the frames were significantly bent.
“Dammit.”
I didn’t have a spare pair anymore since I’d managed to break them a few years ago as well. Contacts irritated my eyes. I had a box of throwaways I’d bought two years back when I was determined to get rid of glasses for good, but it turned out after about two hours in my eyes they itched and bothered me to such a degree I had to take them out. With my luck, the ones I had left over were probably expired anyhow.
I checked the time and was grateful to see it was after nine in the morning. My eye doctor was open, so I placed a call to see if I could bring in my glasses and have them repaired as quickly as possible. Once I confirmed I could drop them off, I called a cab and slipped out of the house, blind as a bat, to wait for its arrival.
By eleven, I was heading home with a new pair of disposable contacts which they’d happily supplied—despite my issue—so I’d have something in case I needed to leave the house again. They promised to have my glasses repaired by the following afternoon which meant I’d need to call into work that night because there was no way I could work blind.
Another phone call completed, and I was too tired to think anymore. I rolled myself in my blankets, happy the house was quiet and empty for a change and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It was nearly six when I woke. Lying in the dark, I wondered what I was going to do with my night since I couldn’t go to work, was basically legally blind, and nothing was opened much past nine at night. Not even the library where I’d have liked to have done some more research into phobias. With my days and nights mixed up, it gave me a much clearer picture of Rory’s daily life. Except, his limitations included avoiding lit areas altogether. No wonder he frequented bars for something to do. What else was there?
I spent a few hours with my computer on my chest, pulled up as close to my face as I could get it, so I could see while I looked up all the information I could. In my exploration, I found a local psychiatrist, Dr. Kelby, who’d recently written an article about life crippling phobias.
In the article, she’d interviewed a patient of hers, Finnley Hollins, who suffered from Somniphobia. The article was incredibly fascinating. The man, Finnley, had gone most of his life with an intense anxiety disorder that revolved around his fear of falling asleep. Dr. Kelby explained the therapy practice they’d followed along with drug interventions that had worked overtime to control his reactions to sleep to a point where his life was less affected by his phobia.
It was a completely different scenario than what Rory was going through, but at the same time, there were a lot of elements that were the same.
After getting away from that particular phobia, Dr. Kelby went on to explore other patient’s phobias and the results of specific immersion therapy studies she’d been involved in over the past five years. That research was a much more plausible form of therapy for Rory and gave me the drive to do more studying where that was concerned.
I printed the article, both to have a reference and because I thought I might contact Dr. Kelby as a student seeking advice. I had a feeling I could learn a lot from her.
By midnight, I was bored sick. I’d exposed myself to ridicule
when I’d needed to go down to the kitchen for food, but Calvin and Dylan grew bored with me when I didn’t let their taunts get under my skin. It was only truly fun to badger me when I complained about it. That was something I knew in theory, but it wasn’t always easy in practice.
Marcus had stared from behind his work at the island. He’d neither involved himself in the ongoing name calling and teasing or defended me. Again, I couldn’t make sense of the man. There were days I wished I knew for sure if he was on my side.
Wide awake with nothing to do, I put in the disposable contacts the eye doctor had given me and decided to venture out for a few hours until they became too unbearable, and I needed to head home to remove them. I brought a book and thought I’d take a second shot at finding a late-night coffee house off campus.
As I wandered the same route I’d taken over a week back, my thoughts returned to Rory. I caught myself studying the few people I passed, searching for his face in the shadows, yet knowing I wouldn’t find him. There was no reason to believe he’d be out near campus again that night. For all he knew, I was working.
Besides, I shouldn’t have been wishing for such things at all.
On the main road of downtown, Cobbler Dr., I slowed my pace, undecided which direction to wander. There were a few coffee houses farther west but Bottoms Up and Rory’s house were on the east end. I flipped my head in both directions, knowing the right decision but unable to convince my feet to take the journey.
I headed east.
The entire time I walked, I blamed my latent sexual drive that had never been fully developed or nurtured while I was in high school. The same drive that burned in my core because someone had finally shown an interest in me. Not just someone, but Rory. A man I was incredibly attracted to and who I’d dreamt about all week.
My father was right about one thing, and it would be a cold day in hell before I admitted it, but sex made the mind weak. No matter how many arguments my brain made up, I couldn’t force myself onto a different path. I needed to see Rory again. Wanted to see him.