Broken Enagement

by Gage Grayson

  I can’t stop thinking about the violence I’ve witnessed from him. It’s not the medical science…the human civility washed away by the violence of the ape that lives in our bones.

  No, that’s attractive. It should be my medical focus.

  No. I don’t care about that.

  I care about how seeing him exert his strength onto another human being—a bigger, stronger human being—gets me wet and aching.

  I want to see it again. I’ll deny this—even to myself—but part of me wants to see that again. I’m a smart-enough psychologist to know that my conscious mind is working right against my ego right now.

  My conscious mind is trying really hard to justify this, both medically and emotionally.

  My ego’s hungry and wet and gasping, wanting to see those muscles tight and hard as they tear apart their enemy, their victim.

  Stop thinking like this, Alison.

  I take his hand, trying to impress my giddy feeling onto him. From the way he smiles, I think he feels it.

  He feels something. It’s there behind his eyes—in the darkness lurking at the edges of his expression.

  I turn and laugh at the stars. I’m fucking mad. Jesus God, I’m as mad as he is.

  I can’t even let him know that! I’m that much of a twisted, fucked-up mess.

  Suddenly, I feel shaky and slippery inside. It’s hard to catch my breath. I tug on his hand and pull him toward my car.

  He has this smile now, like he knows what I’m thinking.

  He can’t possibly. I try not to think about that. I know sociopaths are such good, cold readers that nothing escapes them.

  But so am I. It’s part of my job and my training.

  Still, the only time I see Jaxon’s true intent is when he’s violent. Other than that, a few small glimpses.

  Obviously, I want to know that he can control his violence. I know how brutal psychopaths and sociopaths can be, especially to those they claim to love.

  Do I love his violence because that’s the only time I see the true Jaxon, with no mask? Is my desire to see him control it only a flimsy mask that protects my deeper self?

  The quest for the superego and its perfection. Fuck it, fuck it all.

  I don’t care.

  I make a conscious decision to enjoy this night. I’m going to act like a high school kid on a date. Fuck it, fuck it all.

  I’m here, he’s here, the night feels young, and I’m letting go.

  As we approach my car, Jaxon’s grin gets wider. I move over to the driver’s seat, getting out my keys. He shakes his head.

  “Do you really want to take your car?”

  “What choice do we have?” I look stupidly between my keys and his face.

  He gives my hand a tug, and I follow him around the back of my car to the next lot.

  There’s a limo—a goddamn fucking limousine parked next to my car. An immaculately dressed driver steps out and opens the door.

  “Good evening, Dr. Hughes. I’m pleased to drive you anywhere you wish to go.”

  I’m stunned.

  Completely.

  The surrealism of the night so far increases tenfold. If I felt like a kid going to a dance before, now I feel like a princess about to be swept off to a ball.

  “But…I don’t know where to go.” The words are out before I can think.

  It’s so late. I didn’t think. Surely there would be some clubs or bars open.

  I don’t want to get into that scene. Not at all. But especially not my first night alone with Jaxon.

  I’m trying desperately to think of somewhere nice that might be open when Jaxon laughs.

  “What’s so funny?” I look up at him.

  “Your face, honey. I’ve never seen anyone look so puzzled.”

  “I’m just…I mean—”

  “Ali,” he says with purpose, putting his arms around me. “Did you really think I would organize a limo without also organizing dinner reservations?”

  “But how? How could you do all this? I didn’t even know I was coming here until an hour or so ago!”

  He shrugs, giving me the cheekiest grin. His black hair curls across his forehead, his eyes sparkling with his own mischief.

  Reality seems to just roll away and disappear like a thick cloud of fog over the ocean. I’m not in the real world anymore.

  I’m in Jaxon’s world. His and mine. I’m still shocked, confused, and really, really curious…but I can’t say no, can I?

  A big smile stretches across my face. I reach up around his shoulders and kiss that mischievous grin, running my fingers through that curly black hair.

  “Alright then, Mr. Covington. Since you have the night all planned, I’ll leave the finer details to you.”

  “Step into my chariot,” he says, stepping closer to the car, somehow making his prison jumpsuit look like a tailored suit.

  I want to pull off some funny line, but I know I can’t—I’m still too shocked. I slide into the limo, and he gets in after me.

  The driver nods as he shuts the door, getting back in the front. Jaxon asks the driver if all went well with the reservations. The driver nods and says we’ll be perfectly on time.

  On time…how did he even know what time?

  The feeling of being a princess going to a ball intensifies. It’s so beautiful, but the future looms with the reality of returning to prison with Jaxon.

  I shut that firmly out my mind and look up into Jaxon’s eyes. Just looking at him makes me smile.

  I’m a princess, on an adventure, with a handsome prince—who’s somehow magic—and the inevitable future isn’t going to interfere with this magnificent moment. The endless moment of now.

  The only place anyone can truly be happy.

  Jaxon

  Everything’s been very carefully prepared. I’ve had these instructions in place for some time now, ready for this opportunity. Fortune favors the prepared.

  One of my favorite tailored suits is waiting for me in the limo. I wriggle out of the jumpsuit and into my clothes, enjoying Ali’s eyes on me as I do. I take my time doing up the shirt, letting her see my hard body slowly covered by fine gray silk.

  I love that look in her eyes. Hungry.

  Her mouth seems to get even redder in the dark light. As we pass under streetlights, the shadows flicker over her.

  My dark goddess. My queen. My love.

  I’m tempted to take her right here in the limo. But after my earlier reservations about pushing her too hard, I decide to let her choose the time. I’ve always had excellent control of my lust—do you know how easy it is to get snared by hungry shark bitches?

  Jesus.

  Anything with a pussy thinks it can fucking own you. That’s why women have always just been toys to me, not even possessions. I seriously don’t get that.

  Even if a man could possess a woman the way his male strength implies he can, why would you want to? Savage, ugly, trickster creatures.

  Use them and throw them away. They’re disposable items, not junk that you keep cluttering up your space.

  I don’t see Ali as a woman…at least not in that sense. I’ve always considered myself to be something other than human.

  I’m quick. I’m clever. I dominate people just by the use of my body language and energy.

  Alison’s like me. She’s elevated above the herd. She’s a perfect being.

  We were made for each other.

  I pull on my dark jacket and fix the collar and cuffs. Damn, this feels good.

  I love the smell of the limo. I love the feel of crisp, well-laundered fabric against my skin.

  Ali’s looking at me in a whole new way. What a difference clothes make!

  We pull up into the curved drive of one of the most lavish restaurants in town.

  “Jaxon! We can’t stop here! I’m not dressed!” She gestures at herself—the clothes, her usual skirt, jacket, and blouse.

  I kiss her lightly on the side of her head, loving the scent of her hair.

  “
You look fine, darling. Perfectly fine.”

  “But I’ve been wearing these clothes all day!”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. Truly. There won’t be many patrons at this time. Trust me.”

  I get out and hold out my hand for her. She steps out, looking in wonder at the wide high wall of windows. I was prepared to pay any price they asked to stay open just for us.

  As it turned out, they were open late anyway for a few private meetings like my own. They did charge me a handsome fee for wanting a table at this time. There’s a big difference between rocking up at midnight and lingering over dessert until then.

  We stride up to the front doors where a little man with a moustache and a very fine black tux nods and gestures on our approach.

  “Mr. Covington and the lovely Dr. Hughes. How lovely to see you again, sir.”

  “Thank you, my dear chap. I assume all is prepared?”

  “Indeed it is, sir. We’re happy to provide you with anything you desire. Right this way, please.”

  As we stride through the massive place, footfalls soft against the thick, velvety carpet, Alison looks around, wide-eyed.

  There are expensive artifacts and large fish tanks with very rare specimens decorating the area tastefully. The walls are patterned with fine hangings, and the windows are icy clear—not so we can see out into the immaculate gardens, but so others can look in and glimpse the privileged few.

  He sees us to our table in a private nook. The table’s set with a few perfect roses in a crystal glass. The lace napkins are a clean white.

  A waiter hurries up with menus, and Alison reaches for one.

  “No, no, my good chap. That won’ be necessary. We’ll have the entrée of garden salad with the house dressing. Main for the lady will be a fine fillet of lamb, medium rare, with roast vegetables. I’ll be having steak, rare, with crispy fried sides. For dessert, I’ll have the house special chocolate cake, and my lovely companion will have the vanilla honey ice cream.”

  I glance over as I say this, seeing her eyes go wide with surprise.

  “Oh, and my good fellow, see that two Pisco sours are sent over as quickly as possible.”

  The waiter nods and scurries off.

  “Jaxon, how did you know? Lamb is my favorite, and I always choose roasted vegetable for my side. As for the Pisco sour, that’s a drink my dad loves. I only drink it with him when we go out at home because most bars don’t know how to make it. How could you possibly know all this?”

  I grin and shrug, reaching out to take her hand. I stroke her softly with one finger as we gaze at each other.

  The salads and drinks arrive, and even though the quality’s exceptional, I’m so distracted by Alison I can barely eat.

  I want to see how she reacts to everything.

  I’m finally getting to see her out in the real world—my world—instead of in controlled conditions. I can tell she’s impressed.

  As they clear away the first course, a sommelier arrives with a special list. I know Alison likes fresh, dry white wine. I engage the fellow in a lively discussion.

  For this time of night, he’s very upbeat and jovial. I would like a deep red. Damn, I’ve missed good wine!

  Alison says, “It’s fine. I’ll have red.”

  I tell her, “No way. I know what you like, and I’m going to find something we both like.”

  “Jaxon.” She laughs. “You don’t have to buy two three-thousand-dollar bottles of wine. We can both just have a glass.”

  I look at her, flabbergasted, eyes wide.

  “You can buy wine by the glass?”

  She giggles, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but laugh, too.

  “Honey,” I begin. “To be perfectly serious, I never buy wine by the glass. It’s cheap. It’s bad for the restaurant, too—which I should know, as I own a few. It also implies to whoever your companion is that you’re not making an appropriate time commitment.”

  I lean forward, clasping her hand tightly. “If I have to sit here for four hours finishing both bottles, then so be it.”

  She nods, grinning in pure delight. I don’t think she’s ever been the sole focus of someone else’s attention before. She’s just glowing, blooming, blossoming.

  And this is just the beginning.

  The wine waiter laughs, too, and I look at him sharply. He doesn’t notice.

  “So, Jack, what’ll it be?”

  I feel cold tension take over my body, and my joyous smile disappears, quickly replaced by an icy cold grin. I grip the steak knife in my right hand, and I’m ready to spring out of my chair. Who does this fucker thinks he is?

  Alison puts her hand on mine. She looks right into me, unsure at first, and then her face goes solemn. Her eyes are so sad, and for a moment I forget everything.

  I forget about my fit of rage over this stupid, awful fucking nickname. I forget about the knife in my hand, ready to jab this fucker in the jugular—all because Alison Hughes is giving me puppy dog eyes.

  The sommelier’s prattling on again, but he’s in another universe now.

  Results. Everything’s measured by results. Since Alison’s the only being in the universe anything like me, I have to give her measurable results; otherwise, she’ll think she’s doing the wrong thing.

  She’ll pull away, stop loving me. She’ll listen to all those voices of doubt crowding her mind.

  She must see changes in my behavior, or she’ll change hers.

  I grip the steak knife hard in my hand, taking a few deep breaths. I close my eyes for a second, and I feel Alison grip my hand. I open my eyes, and she’s looking right into me.

  She nods, just slightly.

  I flip the steak knife in my hand, placing it carefully back on the perfect white tablecloth. I take another deep breath and look up at our perky wine waiter.

  “Give us the bottle of dry white the lady suggested,” I say evenly, with great difficulty. “Forget the red for now. I’m in a mood of acceptance tonight. The lady can have it any way she wants it.”

  Her eyes light up with joy as she squeezes my hand. The waiter disappears to get the wine, and our main courses are delivered. The food smells amazing.

  That’s one thing I truly hated about prison—shitty food. I’ve missed fine restaurants, and not just for the quality of the food, but the delicacy of its arrangement.

  Ali smiles at me, happiness rolling out of her in waves.

  “I’m so proud of you, Jaxon. You see? Getting you out of there was the right thing to do. You’re getting better already. All you needed was trust.”

  “And love,” I whisper, watching her beautiful eyes. “Only your love.”

  Alison

  As my head tilts up, I’m graced with a beautiful star-filled sky. What a perfect sight for a perfect moment.

  I have an affinity for constellations. I studied astronomy for a semester in college, and I really had an amazing time learning about them. I see Cassiopeia, Orion, and a few other minor, less well-known constellations in the sky right now.

  I’m relaxed and enjoying myself and this gorgeous view of the dark sky littered with bright stars.

  “It’s a pleasure to have you here with me, Alison,” Jaxon says.

  I bring my head forward, facing him, and I give him a beaming smile, much like the one he’s already giving me.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Covington,” I say cheekily.

  “Oh, my. Please, doll. Call me Jaxon,” he responds.

  “Jaxon.”

  I can tell a shiver courses down his spine as soon as his name passes my lips. He’s absolutely ecstatic to have me here.

  What a strange night it’s been that’s led us to this point.

  “You know, I must say, Jaxon,” I start, watching his face as his name exits my mouth, seeing pleasure in his body language, “I’m impressed with you this evening.”

  “Impressed? Well, perfect,” he comments. “Tell me, Alison. Is it my lovely home? The large hot t
ub? Or the drinks?”

  He takes a sip of his beverage, awaiting my reply.

  “Oh, honestly, it’s none of the above, I’m afraid,” I start. His face draws a certain level of confusion that I just find adorable. “It’s how you handled yourself earlier.”

  “Oh, that. Well, that was nothing, love,” he says, trying to play off the action.

  The modesty he’s showing is also an incredible feat on its own. I’d never met someone so narcissistic in my life in the old Jaxon.

  “No, Jaxon. It was absolutely something!” I assure him. “You managed to stop yourself from murdering someone that flipped your worst switch.”

  He’s blushing at this point. There’s that loveable, overly confident man coming to the surface.

  “And with my witnessing the altercation and seeing you back yourself down, I can actually deem you as rehabilitated. I’m so incredibly proud of you and how far you’ve come.”

  “Ah, Ali. I can’t wait to make that official,” he comments.

  And I’m sure. I couldn’t imagine being locked up in prison, just sitting around waiting to get the fuck out. I’d be restless, too.

  Just like he is. And that his anger hasn’t gotten the best of him while he’s been left in a cell to fester is noteworthy.

  Diagnosed psychopath or not, any man that goes to prison leaves humble, but with some goddamn anger issues like no one would believe.

  The statistics on this are incredible. Seeing it all the time solidifies it, but someone unfamiliar with the environment might just be shocked.

  So I’m just flabbergasted and over the moon about Jaxon’s progress. I knew tonight was a great idea.

  “You know, Jaxon,” I start.

  “Yes, dollface?”

  “Nevermind. I shouldn’t.”

  His lips curl into a smile, and he lifts his glass.

  “Of course you should. Tell me. You know you want to,” he encourages me and takes a sip of his drink.

  “It’s just…I guess a small part of me’s just the littlest bit disappointed I didn’t get to see you in action again,” I admit.

  “In action…you wanted me to stab that dumb motherfucker?”

  “I think a small part of me did,” I admit, my cheeks now hot and rosy from my confession.