Girl On the Edge

by CD Reiss

  When had he taken my perfume? And why? Did he know he’d be gone for days?

  I put the bottle back and put the padlock back in place, touching the door with my fingertips. “I’m sorry.”

  Across the room, the door opened. I peeked around the lockers to find a cleaning person wheeling in a yellow bucket.

  “Hello?” he called. “Anyone in here?”

  “Just leaving,” I said, smiling stiffly as I walked by.

  * * *

  “Did you find the key?” Wilhelmina asked blithely, as if nothing was wrong. She could see into my heart and all was well there.

  “I realized I had it.”

  “Ah, better watch, doctor. When the mind starts going, the body’s sure to follow.”

  I laughed a little, but it was more from uneasiness than humor. “Do you know where he is?”

  She slid a clipboard into a cubby. “I think he’s in five.” She took a quick inventory of my posture, my hair, my coat and pajamas, the look of emotional desperation that must have been all over my face, using a skill they didn’t teach in nursing school but a large number of nurses had. “It’s a viewing theater, if you want to take a look.”

  “Um, sure. Okay. Yeah. Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  I didn’t know what insight I expected to get from watching him. Something was still off. My perfume didn’t change that. But Wil led me to the upper floor viewing room where med students watched the procedure. I sat away from them, letting the narration from their instructor fade into the ambient hiss of the air conditioning.

  From above, I saw him and the other attending move together with an efficiency bordering on grace. They cut a woman open and spread her ribs. I flinched. It was hard to watch.

  But still, my husband did his job, isolating a living, beating heart.

  The lead turned away from the table and looked up at the med students. Her voice carried over speakers to the little room as she spoke a language I hadn’t been trained in med school to understand. My eyes were glued to my husband anyway. He was still working, though I couldn’t discern what he was doing. When the lead surgeon said his name, it cut through the jargon.

  “Doctor St. John here is assisting, but he’s been lead on this procedure a few hundred times.”

  Caden looked up to salute the students.

  He saw me and froze.

  We didn’t move as the other doctor continued. His eyes betrayed nothing. I was wrong to be here. Wrong to distrust him. Wrong to worry. He had his hands on a living heart. Of course his detachment bled over.

  I waved and tried to smile.

  He nodded and got back to work.

  * * *

  He called after one in the morning. I was in bed, watching the clouds cross the setting moon over the brownstones across the street.

  “Did I wake you?” he asked. The vocal deadness was still there. Maybe I’d have to get used to it.

  “No.”

  “Did you enjoy the surgery?”

  “Better than Cats.”

  He laughed a real, true, guttural laugh and I almost burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I disturbed you.”

  “You didn’t disturb me.”

  “I missed you.”

  He sighed. It wasn’t an annoyed sigh or a sigh of boredom, but a final exhale of breath after the realization that what was started wouldn’t be finished. It was an acceptance of defeat. “You know how much I miss you? I stole your perfume so I could smell you when I’m on the cots.”

  “You’re not that far away.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t offer an explanation as to why he couldn’t sleep at home, or why he’d decided to stay away for days. I was owed that.

  “Are you coming home now?” I asked.

  “I need to be here.”

  “You’re pushing it, darling.”

  “I know, baby.”

  “I’ll be at Jenn’s opening tomorrow at five. The masks.”

  “I thought you saw it last week.”

  “It’s been in previews or something. Ask her when you see her. Don’t come if you want to sleep in. But if you sleep in, you sleep here.”

  “Is that an order?”

  It shouldn’t have to be an order, but I couldn’t read him well enough to know if he was being playful or if he was offended at having his leash yanked.

  “Consider it an order.”

  Chapter Ten

  CADEN

  There was no starving it while Greysen was in my life. The Thing hovered back in the ambience until I thought of her, then it smiled. When she beeped me, it made its presence known. And when I recognized her voice, I felt it listening.

  Leaving her was not an option. Cutting her out wouldn’t make me sane any more than pretending the Thing didn’t exist would. I needed her. Before her, I had been made of broken glass in a padded bag. Everything looked fine on the outside, but I’d been cutting myself. She opened the bag and put the shards together.

  I loved her too much to choose this Thing over her. That much I was sure of. But outside the OR, I couldn’t think clearly. Couldn’t create a solution or make a decision in the thick swirl of jealousy and panic. Every thought walked a razor’s edge between sanity and insanity, and the edge kept moving until I didn’t know which side was which.

  Every day, it got worse. Even if the Thing wasn’t fully present, I felt its pressure against the skin of my mind, pressing against the membrane like a fist punching a latex wall. When I woke in a sweat, the pressure increased, and when she called, it burst through. My emotions were getting sucked into the black hole of this nightmare and I couldn’t shake it. The glue got stickier every day.

  The treatment wasn’t a cure, but I craved it.

  It was a perversion.

  To quell the Thing, I had to hurt Greysen. I had to fuck her like a fighter. Mark her like a vandal. Break her like a champion.

  I could make her come over and over while I did it too. That satisfied every part of me and made the Thing howl. It separated me from it. Severed the tie.

  If I could take advantage of that opportunity long enough to talk to her, maybe we could fix this. All I had to do was get over the humiliation of not being in control of my own mind.

  * * *

  I had a million excuses to avoid the opening and only one reason to go. The reason was Greysen. So I went.

  Seeing my wife in a public place meant I could put off the inevitable long enough to change my mind, chase her away, talk myself into some other course of action. By the time I got there, I had my full mental facilities only by way of making sure my emotions were not engaged.

  When I saw her standing in a little black dress and heels, her fingers curved around a wine glass, I felt something.

  But desire wasn’t an emotion. Possession wasn’t an emotion.

  I kissed her cheek, and as expected, the Thing jumped into the space between us.

  I wasn’t angry as much as I wanted to battle it and win.

  Combativeness wasn’t an emotion either. Or maybe it was. I didn’t care.

  “Congratulations,” I said to Jenn. When I kissed her cheek, I kissed her cheek. No third party slid in on the action.

  Tina approached and introduced herself, as expected. I smiled and shook her hand. Same thing as Jenn. Nothing jumped between where we touched.

  “I’ve been wooing your wife,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “It depends on what kind of wooing you’re talking about.”

  “Professional wooing,” Greysen said.

  “Did they legalize that?”

  Tina laughed. Greysen slapped my arm playfully then looped her hand inside my elbow. The Thing felt good about that but couldn’t find a way in through the fabric.

  “I hope you don’t have to work as hard as I did,” I said. “She drives a hard bargain.”

  Tina clicked my glass. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “I’m sure no one will have to work as hard
as he did,” Greysen said.

  “Sounds like quite a story.” Tina sipped her water.

  “Not really,” Greysen said. “My unit went to Balad to assist the combat support hospital. I had to assess their fitness—”

  “She decided I was unfit.”

  “I did not!”

  “You did.” I looked down at her, checking her status. Raised eyebrows. Relaxed mouth.

  I wanted to fuck her everywhere. Hard. Later. I would have to. Nothing was getting starved tonight. Not my hunger for her and not the Thing.

  She smiled. If I wasn’t fooling her into thinking I was all right, I was at least charming her into believing it. Good.

  I turned back to Tina. “She said I was overworked. She said I needed rest or I’d make a mistake.”

  “Which did you do? Rest or make a mistake?”

  “Neither.”

  “Of course,” Greysen chimed in. “He beat the odds. It’s what he does.”

  I nodded, satisfied that she thought that. Winners had an easier time winning.

  Danny came by. I shook his hand. He kissed my wife in an appropriately platonic manner. “It’s like a fucking hospital reunion. I try to get away from you people at night.”

  “Do your patients know you have such a potty mouth?” I said.

  Greysen slipped her hand into mine. I took it away.

  “Half of them can’t figure out how to use a potty. So no.” His orbicularis oris tightened slightly above his left lip. A sneer of a smirk so faint I would have missed it if I wasn’t paying attention so coldly. Or maybe that was the reason for the sneer in the first place.

  “We’re going to look at some masks, if you don’t mind,” I said.

  “Have at it.”

  I took Greysen to the side where we could see a mask painted blood red and clamped with a vise. The patient’s story was typed onto a framed piece of paper next to it, but I was sure I knew it. We slid sideways to the next one. It had been painted by a skilled hand in Islamic geometric patterns.

  “This is nice,” I said, but had no follow-up. I usually had reasons to like things. I couldn’t find one.

  “You should see this one over here.”

  Again, she tried to hold my hand, and again, I took it away.

  “Caden.”

  “Which one? This one?”

  “What’s happening?”

  She had a hand on each of my elbows, but I couldn’t look at her. She was too earnest. Too honest. And all I wanted to do was rip that black dress in two and shove my dick inside her. I wanted to fuck her mouth so deep she choked. Get my cock so far up her ass I—

  “I think he used a stencil—”

  “To us,” she said. “What’s happening to us?”

  All I had to do was say, “nothing,” but I still couldn’t lie.

  Both hands in my pants pockets, I bent so only she could hear me. “I want to be fucking you right now.”

  “No. No, that’s not true.” Her eyes filled. They sparkled so brightly when she was about to cry. She blinked. One fell.

  Reaching inside my jacket, I snapped my handkerchief open and handed it to her.

  She didn’t take it. It was poison. Electrified. A pat on the shoulder from a clinician. A slap in the face from a stranger. I didn’t have the sense or the will to hold her or whisper reassurances, because the Thing was punching through again, and resisting it took everything I had.

  She brought her right toe behind her left heel, spun on the balls of her feet for a clean about-face, and forward marched out the door.

  * * *

  I caught the cab door before she closed it and slid in next to her, barking the 87th Street address to the driver.

  “Greysen, listen to me.”

  “Why were you assisting on a surgery you’ve led a hundred times?”

  I looked at her as if she was crazy, but she wasn’t. Not even a little. “Kate was out sick and Eleanor needed me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You can ask her.”

  “Are you having an affair?”

  “What? With Eleanor?”

  “With anyone.”

  “No!”

  “So what is it then?”

  I needed to know what she was perceiving without me dropping hints. “What is what?”

  “You’re the same as you were at the fundraiser, but worse. You’re so cold. You won’t touch me. It’s like you’re somewhere else and I can’t take it. I can’t take it.” The last three words rumbled deep in her throat. It was sexy as hell.

  I let my desire for her out of its cage, and it filled me like a balloon. I thrust my body in her direction, leveraging myself on the window behind her.

  “You’re going to take it.” I spit the words like a threat. “You’re going to take more of it than you ever took before.”

  She swallowed. The tears dried up, but not the feelings that caused them. “It’s not that easy.”

  “No, it won’t be. I promise you that.”

  * * *

  I had a raging hard-on the whole way home. When we were alone in the foyer behind a locked door, she put her jacket on the hook. Her lips were parted and I’d bet my medical license she was wet.

  I let go of everything. My defenses. My armor. My rage. My fear. When I reached for her, I didn’t hold her. I took the edges of the neck of her dress and pulled, tearing it open at the center seam.

  She gasped. “Stop.”

  I had to stop. I felt something then. Relief.

  I could stop.

  She stood with her hands on her breasts, holding the dress up. “What’s happening?”

  “You wanted me to touch you. I’m going to touch you. I’m going to touch every inch of you. I’m leaving nothing on the table.”

  “There’s no one else?” Her arms relaxed and the dress fell a little.

  “No. Never.”

  “Why do you get like this? Like tonight? Like a few weeks ago?”

  “Because I need this.”

  That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I couldn’t think about the whole truth. Not with her torn dress and her pheromones invading my mind.

  “Take it.”

  She let her dress drop. Black lace bra. Garter. Stockings. A ribbon of underwear. She must have been expecting something tonight.

  Oh, how the Thing screamed incoherently when it saw my intentions. How it quivered in fear and impotence.

  I grabbed her, pressing her body to mine, mouthing her cheek, her lips, her throat, her ear. I nipped her shoulder but didn’t bite. Not yet. The Thing was there in the connection, but it was scared.

  “Upstairs.”

  I watched her go, gartered ass waving as she climbed. Alone for a second at the base of the stairs, I put my hand on the bannister to steady myself.

  “You ready?” I whispered. “I’m going to fuck her so hard you disappear forever.”

  For the second time, the ambient hush of its voice made words.

  I’ll never leave her.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  I spun, a slave to my sickness, flipping from the man I was to the man I am.

  To ring that throat.

  To hold her high.

  To own her completely.

  I lost it. In a swirl of me, her, my love, my control, and the Thing I couldn’t name, screaming out and away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Greysen

  I had bruises on my left wrist where he’d held me down. He had been more gentle with the right side, which had never really recovered from the break I got in basic training, but the left took what was left over. I couldn’t let patients see it.

  The first time he fucked me with brutality, we didn’t talk about it. I woke up thinking he’d been half asleep and it wouldn’t occur again. Three weeks after that, he’d done it again, pushing me harder, demanding more, taking me to the edge over and over.

  Last night, two weeks after the last time, he did it again. He’d fucked me in the ass, in the shower
afterward, on the floor. He’d been rough, and the rougher he got, the more I came.

  I wanted him to push me hard. I liked it. But this was slipping out of control.

  There’s a name for this.

  It was spring. Long sleeves would be too hot, and the AC in the office was spotty. I rummaged in my drawer and found a loose coil of bracelets. I slid them over my bruised left wrist. That would have to do.

  I checked myself in the mirror. I looked fine. No one could see the bruises or the soreness between my legs. No one could see the aches or the pleasant, peaceful satisfaction.

  Masochist.

  The word shot through my mind, and for the first time, I let it. I mouthed it in the mirror.

  Masochist.

  “Where are you off to today?” he asked from the bathroom doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest. His pajama bottoms hung low on his hips, the waistband cutting across the V-shaped indent of his pelvis.

  “Collecting data for the Tina thing.” I leaned over the vanity and put on lipstick.

  “Are you okay? From last night?”

  “Uh-huh. Are you?” I snapped the tube closed.

  “Yeah.” His nod was serious. It was not an enthusiastic agreement as much as a simple affirmative.

  “You seem more animated.”

  His arms unfolded. I’d startled him. “Animated? What’s that mean?”

  I faced him. “The coldness is gone.” I put my hand on his chest and drew it through the patch of hair in the center, down to his abdomen. “Is something going on you want to talk about?”

  “No.”

  I shrugged. I wouldn’t normally gesture like that any more than I’d roll my eyes. Normally, I’d acknowledge his feelings without validating or dismissing them. But I didn’t feel normal. I felt a little less in control, a little more impulsive. Less like a professional psychiatrist and more like a wife who knew her husband’s boundaries.

  “You on call today?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He took my hand and kissed inside the wrist. “I’ll call you.”