Broken Enagement

by Gage Grayson

  “Dr. Hughes? Is everything all right in there?” A sharp voice rings through the door.

  I glance at Jaxon to see him kneeling next to the guard on the floor, whispering quickly into his ear. He nods at me. I open the door.

  “Yes, everything is fine. We had a minor incident—”

  “What kind of incident?” the guard snaps, interrupting me.

  He pushes his way into my office and takes in the scene. I’m just about to respond when Jaxon beats me to it.

  “Old Bear here had some coffee go down the wrong pipe,” Jaxon says, slapping the wheezing guard on the back, causing him to cough again.

  “I told him he should lay off the cigs,” the guard bellows. “Damn things are killing him!”

  He grins. “They’ll get ya one way or another. If the cancer doesn’t eat ya, your lungs will. Easy does it, buddy,” Jaxon says as he helps the first guard to his feet. “Remember what I told ya, right?”

  I can’t believe it, but Jaxon winks, and his assault victim nods.

  The new guard looks incredulous. “That true, Larry?”

  The other guard, Larry, nods again. I doubt he can speak yet.

  It takes a minute of clearing his throat, but then he responds. “I was in here, waiting with the inmate for the doctor to arrive, I had some coffee, and it must’ve gone down the wrong way. Couldn’t seem to catch my breath,” Larry says. “Ja—Mr. Covington here helped me out. I’m grateful,” he finishes with a last look at Jaxon, who waves his hand in dismissal.

  “Don’t mention it. I’m always happy to help my friends.”

  I turn to the new guard and read his name tag. “As you can see, officer…Hanks. Everything is under control. Now, if you’ll excuse us, this is a closed session. You may wait in the hall to escort Mr. Covington back to his cell after our session concludes.”

  My face is a bland mask of professionalism, completely devoid of emotion. Officer Hanks scratches his neck, but sees that there’s nothing more he can do.

  “All right, Larry?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Larry says.

  He and the other officer make their way out.

  Jaxon clears his throat. “Oh, and I’m sorry about the mess, Dr. Hughes.”

  I must look confused, because he nods his head in the direction of the rug, where there is indeed a spilled cup of coffee seeping into the surface.

  I respond as if I’m under a spell. “Not at all,” I say. “I’m just happy you’re quite recovered. Thank you both. And Larry, we can speak more in a moment.”

  Smiling slightly, I see both guards out and then shut the door as soon as Larry sits down on a nearby bench to take his post. Only then do I start shaking.

  I lean my back against the door and begin to slide down, my legs no longer capable of holding me up. Jaxon darts forward to grab me, but I put my hands up in front of me.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  He glares at me, a mixture of frustration and anger, but he doesn’t move forward.

  I close my eyes and take several deep, cleansing breaths, nearly regretting my own words.

  My body is screaming at me, begging my mind to let him touch me, in any way. When I again feel like myself—completely in control—I stand up straight and open my eyes.

  I narrow them on Jaxon. “I have just put both my personal and professional credibility on the line, Mr. Covington.”

  At my use of his surname, he looks a little hurt. Good.

  Though my heart is still pounding and I can feel the slickness of my arousal with every step, I make my way to my desk chair and fix him with a cold stare.

  “What. Just. Happened?”

  Jaxon

  I know my own mind again, even through the cloud of rage. When I amp up like that, it usually goes to a red haze.

  And then bad things happen. Bad things that make me feel good.

  Alison’s done a great job calming it all down. She doesn’t seem too calm herself, but she has Bear and the other guy completely at ease.

  “I’ll take full responsibility. He’s calm now—I can tell. I’m his doctor.”

  Officer Hanks lumbers off slowly. I take a few steps back, so I’m in Alison’s office.

  These guys are all on my side, anyway. That might be why I didn’t get beaten senseless. They have a greater loyalty to me than to the other guards.

  Bear stumbles into his seat, getting himself back under control, pressing himself up against the wall. Alison shuts the door hard, places her hands on her hips, and faces me.

  “What. Just. Happened? Jaxon? What was all that about?”

  “Did you hear how he spoke to me?” I snap. “All I tried to do was be nice and—”

  I stop mid-sentence. Her eyes are clouding up, and she’s folded her arms now. I need to be smart about this. I can see she’s a bit shaky, and I don’t know if its fear…

  There’s something about her red lips that makes me think it might be more than that.

  I take a deep breath, clenching my fists briefly, then relaxing through the arms and spine.

  I do this consciously. As I do, I run a hand over my face, willing myself to let go of the tension. As I pull my hand back down, I let my shoulders stoop and my face relax.

  “Hey, buddy,” I say as I open the door and move into the doorway, making sure to keep my distance from Bear for Alison’s sake. I meet his eye through the red streaks on his face.

  “I’m really sorry, man. Honestly, it’s cool. I’m sick, you see. That’s why Dr. Hughes is here, after all. I’m a work in progress. I’m really sorry.”

  She smiles, standing to the side of me, looking between me and Bear. Her arms are still crossed, but she looks more relaxed.

  This would be an affirmation of not just her skills, but her influence over me. She doesn’t just want to feel like a hot-shot doctor—she wants to know she has power over me.

  She has no fucking idea how much.

  “Say, how would you like it if I arrange for you to meet up with some of my guys?” I ask. Bear looks up at me like a confused dog.

  “You know, all that stuff I was talking about before? I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” I tell him. “You can buy your lady some nice things, spoil her. Heck, I can even get you those cruise tickets.”

  Alison is beaming now. She’s going soft all over, and even though her arms are still crossed, she is lightly stroking her own arm with a finger. I think she wants to be touching me.

  “What do you say, pal? I’ll make it all up to you. Just for losing my cool.” I grin at him, and I know it’s probably not friendly-looking.

  I can’t help it. Sometimes my true intent leaks out.

  “We’re okay, aren’t we?”

  Bear nods, hand on his nose. “No problem here, Mr. Covington. None whatsoever.”

  He leans against the wall as Alison instructed him to do earlier. I doubt he’s going to wait out the session—probably just wait for her to shut the door before he wanders off to medic. Let’s just hope he remembers to send someone else to pick me up.

  I turn and look at Alison. She gestures with her hand, and I go in and take my seat in front of her desk. She goes to the other side and sits down, quickly picking up some papers.

  The ‘click’ of her shoe on the carpet. She must lightly slide it off with her toes, then slip it back on. I find it adorable.

  I wonder if it’s something that developed later in life, or something she’s always done. Like people who stick their tongue out while they’re concentrating, like kids coloring with crayons.

  “I’m very impressed, Jaxon. That was some excellent progress you showed there.” She looks up at me with a very wide, bright, honest smile.

  It lights her eyes. I bring my hands up to my chest, lightly massaging my right hand with my left.

  The right hand has a nice red mark from hitting something, though I’m not sure what. I’m not actually hurt, but it seems the thing to do. She looks at my hand and frowns.

  “Are you okay? D
o you need medic? I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

  “No, no.” I wave her suggestion away. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing. Self-inflicted by my own stupidity. I can take it.”

  She smiles again, and it’s more than her smiles have been before. Really warm and full of emotion but…somehow calculating.

  It kinda turns me on.

  “Do you feel like explaining what just happened?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s complicated. I just felt he was against me for a second, and I reacted before I could think.”

  “Don’t you see these fits of emotion as a weakness? An insult to your intelligence?”

  She looks up at me, and her eyes are a very clear green and are very serious. She’s saying all the right words for a psych. All the right questions.

  But her tone is all off. I can’t quite puzzle it out.

  Suddenly, I’m sure that even while she’s trying to tell me my violent outbursts are a weakness, she’s thinking about it.

  She’s thinking about watching me pound into that big stupid fuck.

  It’s like our minds are connected. Our bodies are puppets in some fucking bullshit Brady show where they have to say and do the right things…

  But our minds, our souls are joined beyond, in a realm where those things make no sense. Where the masks society forces you to wear are not shields or weapons, but hindrances.

  I keep massaging my hand.

  “I don’t think my intelligence has anything to do with it.”

  She raises her eyebrows, and I realize my remark could be taken several ways. I have a laugh, and so does she.

  “Okay, I see your point,” I say. “But very intelligent people are still prone to fits of emotion. Sometimes, less able to handle it than the rest of humanity with a lower IQ.”

  I lean forward on to the table, looking at her intently.

  “Take you, for example. Smart. Very intelligent. Yet you experience emotions you don’t know how to deal with.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, I think it is. Every time you see me act violently, you seem to get more curious about me—even though it’s your job to help me control my outbursts.”

  She frowns. “What do you mean ‘more curious’?”

  I shrug. “It’s just a theory. I don’t claim to know you so well that I could tell the difference. To me, there just seems to be a change in your stance, like something…draws you to my violence.

  “Are you interested in the place where intelligence meets aggression? In how a very controlled, smart person can completely lose their humanity in a number of seconds, all because of a certain trigger?”

  She’s staring straight at me. Her eyes are focused on mine. Her cheeks are just slightly pink.

  She licks her lips. “That’s not uncommon for people practicing in psychiatry or psychology. You are an interesting case, Jaxon.”

  My smile grows wider. “You’re interested in me?”

  “Very interested,” she says softly, and now she does blush, properly. She can’t continue to meet my gaze and looks at the desk, shuffling her papers.

  “Are you always going to avoid moments like that when we share intimacy?” I let my voice leak out, child-like, plaintive.

  When she looks back up, I’m a bit crumpled in my chair, looking hurt. It’s real, but I am milking it a bit. I think she’ll respond.

  “Intimacy?”

  “Yes. Whenever we have a moment of complete understanding, you deflect me. You distract yourself. You’re smart. You’re also a master of the mind. Surely, you know what deflection like that means. Or at least suggests.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her cheeks are flaming, but she’s trying to pull herself under control.

  This is good. I decide to antagonize her a little.

  Let’s see if I can get her to have an emotional outburst. I’m not sure she’s ever had one.

  This could be the key to unlocking this sacred tower, the path to my princess’ heart. Get her to feel. Strip away the hard mask she wears too close to her skin.

  Show her what it feels like to feel.

  “I’m sure you don’t.” I smile back at her and wait for the next question to come. I can tell by her body language that she is aroused—I think I know it better than she does.

  Alison

  What am I doing?

  The phrase plays over and over again on an endless loop in my head, but it doesn’t change a thing.

  Isn’t that the definition of madness? Doing or saying the same thing again and again and expecting a different result each time.

  Is that what Jaxon Covington has driven me to? Madness?

  I pause briefly to shake myself, trying to physically jar the thought of my own insanity from my mind. The guard manning the metal detector gives me a funny look.

  “All right, ma’am?” he asks.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I respond, removing my office keys from my wrist and putting them in the basket. “Just the heebie jeebies.” I shrug and give him my best approximation of a warm smile.

  He smiles back and nods sagely. “This place’ll do that to ya.”

  He waves me through the metal detector, and I pass through it like it were a gate into the unknown. Except I know exactly where I’m going.

  Though I’ve yet to determine if Jaxon Covington is my own personal Heaven or Hell.

  I retrieve my keys and continue on my way to the guard station to submit my request.

  Again, I don’t know what I’m doing. I tell myself this is an absolutely necessary session after the traumatic events of yesterday.

  Sometimes it takes our minds hours, if not days, to fully comprehend a trauma. Or even years, or a lifetime. In fact, some people never do, which is a key factor in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

  With another surreptitious shake of the head, I bring myself back to task.

  The point of this surprise visit is to determine if Jaxon has processed the events and his actions, but to not allow him the time to formulate the answers he thinks I want to hear. By throwing him off his game, I’m hoping to elevate my own.

  This is a necessary step in his treatment, I remind myself for the 137th time. It has absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to see him. Nothing at all.

  I pick at invisible lint on my white coat and then rap on the door to the guard station. A young, fresh faced officer smiles at me.

  “What can I help you with, Doctor Hughes?” he asks.

  He does his best to be discreet, but I see his eyes slide up and down my body. Unbidden, I think, He better watch himself. Jaxon wouldn’t like that at all.

  I ignore his appraisal and clear my throat.

  “I’m here to collect Jaxon Covington for his session.” I keep my face neutral, even though my palms feel slightly clammy. The guard frowns, but then smiles at me again.

  “Sure thing,” he says, as he knocks on the door frame before heading in to get the paperwork.

  I turn away for a second and let out a silent, shuddering exhale. The butterflies in my stomach are doing loop-de-loops at the thought of the look on Jaxon’s face when he sees me.

  “Hold on a sec,” the young guard says, jerking me from my reverie. “It says here inmate Covington had his session yesterday.”

  I give him a bland smile and nod to this. I came prepared. “That is correct. However, I’m attempting a new technique in the hopes of compelling a more genuine response.”

  I see his eyes glaze slightly, but his slight frown remains firm, and he hasn’t handed over the necessary paperwork yet. I’m not sure if I should throw around my authority or not.

  In an instant, I decide against it, because either they will deny me or they will have to seek permission. In either case, there is a very good likelihood it will be run by Dr. Gardner, and I don’t really want him sticking his nose in.

  Instead, I brighten my smile just a touch and give him a conspiratorial lo
ok. Then, I lower my voice so he has to lean down to listen. “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you, but I’m trying to insert uncertainty into the dynamic to elicit a truthful response to my patient’s trauma.”

  I pull away slightly, my eyes wide and imploring. I put a touch of anxiety in my voice. “I’m on a deadline. I need all the help I can get.”

  As soon as the word ‘help’ is uttered, he leans back with a smile.

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Just sign here.”

  I do as I’m told, and he initials next to my name. Then, with a word and a wave at the other guards in the station, he steps down next to me. “Here, I’ll escort you to him. He’s in gen pop, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you on the way there.”

  I smile blandly and mumble a thank you, and we proceed on our way.

  When we round the final corner to the main common area, his back is to me. I slow down and pause just at the edge to observe him.

  I’ve never really seen him in his natural habitat, though I don’t think prison is his natural habitat, either. What I mean to say is that I’ve only ever seen him in controlled environments when he knew to expect me.

  He knew I was watching and acted accordingly. This time, he doesn’t.

  No one has noticed me yet, so I gently grab the guard’s arm and put a finger to my lips. He winks conspiratorially, but pauses with me. We both remain silent so as to not draw attention.

  Jaxon slouches easily in a chair, back still to me, and looks, for all intents and purposes, like a king holding court.

  Though it’s surprisingly difficult, I shift my attention around the rest of the room to find all the inmates ebbing and flowing in the natural current of his charm. You can almost feel the gravitational force of his presence. They are rocks—dull lifeless hunks of planets while he…he is the sun.

  And then, just like the inmates I have just maligned, I find myself inescapably sucked into his space. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop myself. The pull is a deep ache low in my belly and groin, pulsing fire in my blood.

  Once again, time seems to slow as I walk towards him, and I realize I got it wrong.

  I am the sun—a swiftly rising star—and he…he is my black hole. I currently stand on the precipice, staring down the point of no return.