by Carter Blake
“So your classmates in school…how many of them left public school at your hand?” I ask.
“Oh, probably about twenty, maybe twenty-four,” he responds.
Interesting.
I write it down.
“And how did you influence them?” I ask again.
“Well, with most, all I had to do was change their grades on their report cards. Suddenly, they’re not getting the attention they need and boom, they’re out,” he explains.
“Ah,” I respond.
This guy is seriously loony. Does he understand I’m taking notes?
“If you’re going to lie, at least remember the story you’re telling,” I say, meaning to only think it.
Shit.
“I’m lying, huh?” he says. “What makes you so sure I’m not telling you the truth the whole time?”
“Well, I have it in my notes. I wrote down what you told me the first time I asked,” I explain.
“And?”
“And...your answers are different this time,” I say.
“Maybe I went to several schools. Maybe it was different in different places, Doc,” he returns, as matter-of-factly and condescendingly as he possibly can, his eyes gleaming and locking with mine.
His stare has me under a spell. I find myself becoming more lenient with him, entertaining the possibility that he might be telling the truth.
The intense gaze we share has me swaying my hips around in my seat, feeling just how wet I am sitting across from him. That charisma paired with those looks is such a dangerous combination.
“Are those panties still the same shade of blue as they were earlier, Doc?”
“I think we’re done for today, Mr. Covington,” I say, pointing the end of my pen up to the clock. “I’ll be reviewing my notes, and someone will get back to you.”
Using as much restraint as one can, I refuse to look at him at all as I stand from my seat and while I wait to be buzzed out by the guards.
“Alison,” he says as I exit.
The hair on the back of my neck raises, and I shuffle out as quickly as possible and make my way to my office, catching the quickest glimpse of him as I turn the corner.
He’s watching me, a charming grin on his face.
My heart pounds as loud in my head as my footsteps along the tile.
I throw myself into my office and land in my chair, breathing hard and trying to process what the fuck just happened in there. I decide that after I compile what little notes I have, I’ll take the rest of the day off.
I need to get out of here for a minute and get my mind off of this. Tomorrow, I’ll be back in, and I’ll be on my game. Especially now that I know what to expect.
Jaxon
It should’ve been another boring day in the joint for me. I was planning on making my own fun when I get a message—head doc wants to speak to me.
I remember him from my initial visit. He briefed me before the court hearing. The first day I saw Alison.
Who would have thought the cute, shy redhead in the second row would end up as my doctor?
Sometimes, it seems a proven fact that there is, indeed, order to the universe.
I don’t mind a visit with the old professor.
Well, I have no evidence he is a professor, but I like to give people nicknames. Like Lummox for instance. Helps me keep things straight.
The guards take me to the communal meeting room.
Not an official psych visit then. Something unofficial. That’s exciting.
They sit me down at the metal table in front of the professor and a skinny med student with pimples on his chin.
Oh, this is a learning experience for the young chap.
My smile is stretching my cheeks.
“Hello, Mr. Covington. Are you enjoying your stay here?” Prof gives me a hearty smile. I give him a look and a grin.
“It’s not up to my usual standards, but it’ll do.”
“It’s nice to see you are more open to talking with me today. Have you been making progress?”
I lean forward eagerly, my body language all loose and simpering.
“Yes, Doc! I gotta tell you, my eyes are open. That new doctor you sent to me—she’s a genius. I hope you know what you’ve got there. She really got my head right. My mind is clear as a bell. I see everything now… Really see, you know what I mean?”
He nods earnestly, writing in the book and showing the young pup.
“That’s excellent news, Mr. Covington. Really fantastic. We may even be able to get you moved to a better facility.”
“Oh…sure.”
It would look strange to protest.
“Dr. Hughes has mentioned that you’re a challenging patient. But from what you’re telling me, you’re finding the sessions most enlightening?”
I nod firmly.
“Absolutely. I have had a few psychs over the years—I’m sure you know that. The thing is, none of them ever managed to explain it quite like Dr. Hughes. There’s just a simplicity in the way she works. She’s gifted.”
“I see, I see, Mr. Covington. It’s interesting. How have you found getting along with the other inmates?”
As I sit back and smile, there seems to be an icy calm in the room.
I feel like half the others in there want to shriek in protest.
“No trouble at all, Doc. I’m even making friends. You know, some of these guys don’t know how to play chess? I got that sorted. Even have a few of them reading books.”
“Wonderful. This is the great hope of the legal system.”
He wants to go on, but a guard calls out to him. He walks over, exchanges a few words, then looks back over.
“Continue the interview please, Charlie…and please keep accurate notes. I have a call. I’ll be back shortly.”
As the prof leaves the room, my grin spreads over my face. Charlie looks uncomfortable but tries to smile back.
“First day on the job Charles?”
“I—ah…I’m on work experience.”
“Cool! So, you like shrinking heads then?”
He chuckles. Can’t resist my charm. Who can?
“Yeah. It seemed more interesting than toes or butts.”
I have a good chuckle at that, and Charlie laughs, too. Loosening up.
“So, what questions are you supposed to be asking me?”
“Oh, I think Doc just about covered it. It’s more for my experience. There’s a procedure to check on the patient to ensure the leading doctor is sympathetic to the patient, but obviously, you’re doing fine with Dr. Hughes.”
“Yes, I am.” I lean forward, conspirator-like. “Hey, Charles, do you smoke?”
He blushes furiously. “No, I mean, I’m not—”
I snap my fingers at a nearby inmate.
“Hey! You! Smoke!”
Trash-Face gets up from his blubbering old lady and quickly drops a smoke and lighter on the table.
“One for the kid, too”
“Is that legal?”
“Do I look like I give a fuck?”
I stare Trash-Face down.
Maybe he wants me to show his old lady how he got the name.
Trash-Face silently places another cigarette on the table and lurches back to his seat. I light up and so does Charlie, hesitantly.
He coughs like a barfing dragon and stamps out the smoke quickly.
“It’s alright, Charles. It’ll make a man out of you.”
He coughs a few more times, waving smoke away from his face.
“All good, Mr. Covington. Thank you for the offer anyhow.”
“No trouble Charlie, no trouble at all.”
I lean back on my chair, leaning one arm casually across the table.
“Say…Charlie.”
“Yes, sir—I mean, yes, Mr. Covington?”
I have to laugh. Nice save, kiddo. But you almost just called me ‘sir’.
I swear, I can make people submit just by thinking it.
“You work with Dr. Hughes, don�
��t you?”
“Yeah. Some. Not as much as with the big doc, though. We have had a few training sessions together.”
“Yeah, look, I’m not interested in her work. I know she’s good at that. Hell, she’s fixing me! Old Mad Covington.”
I grin as I take a long drag of the smoke, red embers flashing at the end of the length as I squint through the smoke.
“I want to know the little things…the stuff only friends know.”
I actually have a lot of info on her already. My boys work fast. I really just want to bend the little brown nose to my will.
I need the entertainment. Everyone in here is already worshipping me.
Besides, he may know a few tasty pieces no one else knows.
“Well, we aren’t actually friends. She doesn’t talk much to me. Or to anyone, really.”
“You don’t say. Anti-social then?”
“No, not classically. Well, by mental illness definition. She just keeps to herself.”
“Come on, man! You gotta know something!” I lean in, giving Charlie my best Trust me face. “Is she late to work? Does she sometimes forget to put on makeup? Does she wear a different perfume every day? What does she eat for lunch? How does she like her coffee?”
“Oh, I know that one!”
He’s excited to have something to share. Bless him.
“She likes it black with only a little sugar. I’ve been making everyone’s coffees all week.”
“You know,” I say, putting my smoke out, almost touching Charlie on the shoulder as I lean in further. “I also like my coffee black. Some people say only psychos drink black coffee.”
I give him a nod as if affirming the truth.
“No way!” He’s breathless, entranced by my presence. “Is that true?”
“Google it, my good man. Don’t take my word for it. All the world’s knowledge, right there at your fingertips. You young people, you don’t know how good you have it. In my day, you had to wait for the library to open if you wanted to know something. Now, you just swipe up…or left if you have a cheap phone.”
Charlie laughs, perfectly at ease. Little dickhead.
He’s never going to make it as a psych. I’ve got him eating out of the palm of my hand.
“There is something…” Charlie starts then stops, looking up and around, as if he wants to take the words back. I pounce on them.
“Something about…?”
“Dr. Hughes. I came into her office with coffee the other day. She jumped and made this big effort to hide stuff on her desk. First time she was ever rude to me.”
“Go on.” I could shake the little fuck.
“Well…the stuff on her desk that she tried to hide. I saw it.”
“Yes?” Get the fuck on with it!
“It was pictures of you.”
He looks at me, eyes searching my face, begging for approval.
Typical underdog. Needs the validation of the alpha.
I breathe out slowly, looking right through Charlie. This is something.
“Thank you, Charles. I mean it.”
I look him right in the eye and punctuate my words by pointing at him.
“This is very valuable to me. I look after my people. You need anything, anything at all, you just let me know.”
The buzzer sounds at the door, and the prof appears.
“Come now, Charlie. Grab those papers like a good lad.”
“I gotta run, mister…but thanks for the talk and—ah—everything.”
“Not a problem, Charles. Remember what I said.”
He nods as he bolts for the door.
Prof gives me a look, which I return with a grin and a wave.
This is good. This is very, very good indeed.
I feel my smile breaking out, and I have to hold in a self-satisfied chuckle.
Looking at pictures of me. Hiding them. Poring over them.
Panting over them?
Oh, god. Yes please.
Alison
It takes me three tries to open my apartment door. Three. And that’s not including the fact that I pushed the wrong floor in the elevator twice, much to the chagrin of the other passengers—an elderly couple who live three doors down from me.
However, once in my home, amid my familiar and perfectly ordered world, I still find myself flustered, unable to focus.
Locking the door behind me, I hang my purse on the hook by the door and drop my keys into the bowl on the small table beneath it. Then, I remove my kitten heels and place them neatly by the door.
I wonder what Jaxon’s face would look like if I wore my black stilettos to our next session. I can picture him in an instant, those piercing eyes watching my every move, his tongue licking those cruel lips as he takes me in from toe to top. For the hundredth time today, I feel a wave of heat flare through my body.
Would I be able to see how hard…?
Stop it.
Stop it this instant.
He. Is. Your. Patient.
Flustered and irritated, I bring my files and today’s case notes and drop them on the kitchen table. But I make no move to look at them. I need distance.
And I need to order my mind before I try to make sense of today’s session. I need to figure myself out first before I start trying to decipher the delicious enigma that is Jaxon Covington.
But as soon as the thought of him pops into my head, my mouth waters.
I have to shake myself to clear it.
I grit my teeth. Enough, Alison.
I take a deep, shuddering breath to steady myself, and I feel a bit better.
I’ve been obsessing. That’s all. I just have to do something to break the cycle.
I continue into my kitchen and begin pulling out the implements to make tea. I find the familiarity of the task soothing.
First, I take out the polished copper kettle and fill it with water then set it on the stove to heat. Then I open the cabinet where I keep the rest of my tea things and remove the heavy ceramic teapot, my favorite loose green tea, and a strainer. Finally, I grab my favorite mug—a diagram of the brain, created with all the words associated with it: the different parts, chemicals, and psychological disorders to be found within the mind.
By the time the water has boiled and I’ve left the tea to steep, my mind feels more settled. I feel centered and once more in control.
I take my cup and, pointedly ignoring the files on the kitchen table, move to the living room couch and pick up the Times crossword puzzle. With a contented sigh, I begin.
I normally give in to my obsessions. I’ve performed enough self-diagnosis to know they aren’t clinical, just a byproduct of a high functioning mind and an ability to hyper-focus. I’ve even found them incredibly useful when puzzling out a diagnosis.
People are a sum of their problems, and problems are puzzles, nothing more.
There’s always a way to figure them out. There’s always a solution. Always.
And, most of the time, when I let myself go, when I give in to the obsessive focus on the issue at hand, I usually find the solution quite quickly. I let my mind turn over and over, putting all the pieces of the person’s messy life on a cool, clinical table in my mind.
I detach and then I dissect. I analyze from every angle.
I take it all in and then I find the pattern. Because patterns of behavior lead to diagnosing the disease, and once the disease is determined, a method of treatment can be devised.
Most people are easy. Almost too easy. Where’s the fun in that?
Usually, within the first moments of a session, I have them psychoanalyzed, sorted, and solved. That is, until today…
I shake my head again and mentally chide myself. Not yet.
But it’s too late.
There he is again.
Jaxon.
I know that what I’m doing right now isn’t healthy; for once, my single-minded focus is more of a hindrance than it is help. I throw down the crossword and my pen in disgust, and then lean back on the couch
, gently rubbing my temples.
What I need is a fresh start. A way to wash this day off of me and start over.
I get up off the couch and make my way to my bedroom, unbuttoning my blouse as I go.
I’ll take a nice warm bath, listen to some music, and let myself totally relax. I’ll slough off the day and then I’ll restart.
Yes. It’s a good plan.
And when I’m clean and fresh, I’ll be able to be myself again: cool and detached. A.I. Alison—a moniker from medical school for the way I could be fed data about a patient and quickly process and determine the solution.
I liked it. Computers aren’t messy. There are no emotions involved.
Emotions don’t solve problems. The scientific process does. Careful and reasoned analysis does.
And, more importantly, Alison Hughes does.
I draw a bubble bath, turn on my favorite relaxation music, and slip into the tub, my red hair piled high in a bun on top of my head.
This is good. This is perfect. This is just what I needed.
I relax and let my eyes drift closed.
And there he is. Watching me.
Gone is the prison uniform. Instead, he wears an immaculate custom suit that shows off his coiled strength and lanky build to perfection. Everything about him is easy and practiced appeal.
But when I look at his eyes, I see their cold blue burn.
For me.
And then I can’t help myself. I brush my hands over my breasts and feel my nipples harden at my touch. In my mind, I’m sitting on my desk, facing him, when he gets up and stalks towards me, easy charm and a lithe, feral grace.
There’s an animal prowling just below the surface. I know it. I welcome it.
With one hand teasing my nipple, I imagine him sucking it into his lush, wicked mouth. Then I slide my other hand lower, teasing as I go.
Gooseflesh trails my touch, sending me shivering despite the heat of the water.
My breath hitches.
In my fantasy, Jaxon’s hand follows my own. He snakes it up my skirt, and his eyebrows raise, eyes dancing with mischief, when he realizes I’m not wearing any underwear. But then I see him shudder when he feels my slick pussy—hot, wet, and throbbing for his touch.
I want him.
I spread my legs for him and for myself, my fingers rubbing soft circles over my aching swollen clit. And then he’s there between my thighs, teasing me with his tongue, mimicking the movement of my fingers. And I watch him from my perch, getting a thrill from this powerful, seductive creature paying homage to my body on his knees.