by Belle Aurora
I take a deep breath and process his words. On a shaky exhale, I meet his blue eyes and confirm, “But you’re not going to let me do that, are you?”
His eyes soften to match his tone. “No, baby, I’m not.”
I nod to myself before slipping off the bed and moving jerkily, limping toward the bathroom, doing my best to ignore the stiffness in my muscles and the ache in my heel. I turn on the light, and in the corner of my eye, as I move to shut the door behind me, I see Julius straighten and move to speak. But I already know what he will say. Before he has a chance to warn me, I leave the bathroom door open an inch.
From the moment our conversation ended, something shifted, changed between Julius and me. An informal understanding was met. I know where I stand.
Comply or die.
My gut coils in restlessness as I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my pants, push them down to my knees and sit on the toilet. As I relieve myself, I whisper to myself, “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
And my mind tips its head back and laughs.
No, you’re not.
Not even close.
Therapy.
Ugh. Gross.
Julius makes me go. Over the past four years, I’ve gone through about a hundred shrinks.
As per the conditions of our working together, Julius makes the appointments, and I go. No one said I had to submit completely, but Julius is convinced I need help with my quote daddy issues and sex addiction unquote.
Pfft.
Please.
It’s pretty great to be me. I fucking love my life. I mean, it could be worse. I could be back on drugs. I could be a prostitute again. I could still be shopping at Target.
Why doesn’t anyone consider how I feel about myself? He calls them issues. I call them a shitload of fun. But Julius is no nonsense, just as Twitch was, and I don’t have much of a choice if I want to remain in this job. So here I am, in the waiting room of Dr. Maura Sternson.
I’ve seen her only twice before. It normally takes a few sessions of playing for me to break them.
A sly smile spreads at my lips.
I’m feeling exceptionally lucky today.
But as I wait, I watch the fifty-something-year-old man flicking through his magazine. I mean, yeah, he’s kind of round in the middle and thinning on top, but he’s tall, and his sensible plaid shirt and khaki slacks have me wondering how bad I could turn him. The unattractive ones more than make up for it with enthusiasm, as though they’re thanking you for spreading your legs for them. They totally worship me.
I think he’d like if I’d call him daddy.
Just then, he frowns down at his magazine before lifting his gaze to me, as if he felt my eyes wandering over him.
My smile widens and, keeping eye contact, I wink at him.
The man’s brows rise ever so slightly, but still, he looks around. Finding that he is the only other person in the room, he turns back to me, and I chuckle softly, watching the pink flush start from the bottom of his neck, rising up all the way to his scalp.
Oh damn, I like him. He’s simply adorable. I must have him.
I fight a god-awful pout and stifle the scowl that threatens.
Fuck. I hate this place. I don’t want to go to therapy. I want to play. I want Mr. John Doe over there to come while I ride his motherfucking face. I—
“Ling?” Her soft, musical voice sounds and I’m torn away from my fantasy.
I shake my head lightly to clear it and give her the once-over. It’s much harder to smother my scowl this time.
This woman has got to be no older than forty, and there she stands in her brown orthopedic shoes to match her ugly taupe cord pants and a white plaid shirt. Plaid was cute on Mr. John Doe, who now escorts his frumpy wife out the door, his sweet flush still visible.
Plaid on her however…
God, she repulses me.
My void expression changes completely when I smile and stand. “Dr. Sternson. So nice to see you again.”
Her smile is polite. “Come on in. I’m sorry my last session went over. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced.”
Oh, Maura. So goddamn polite. “Not at all. It’s no problem, really.”
See? I can be normal too when I put my mind to it.
She waves her arm out, and I step inside her office, taking a seat on the soft caramel-colored sofa, crossing my legs at the ankles, the picture of perfection. For two weeks, she’s been trying to break me. Little does she know I am a diamond and cannot be broken.
Taking a seat on the identical sofa opposite me, she smiles and reaches back to place her long, mousy brown hair into a clip at her nape. “Can I get you anything before we start? Coffee? Tea?”
Dr. Maura Sternson takes a different approach to other psychiatrists, no doubt why Julius booked me with her. She likes to keep things casual, tries to get close to a person, breaking them down bit by bit until they’re a blubbering mess. Oh, never fear. Dr. Maura will be there, tissue in hand with a shoulder to cry on. She cures people, she told me on my first visit. Boasted her recovery stats and all.
What the hell am I doing here?
Good news, brain. Dr. Maura Sternson is going to cure you.
Dr. Maura Sternson is a cunt.
I tame a grin at my inner dialogue and wave her off with a small smile. “No, thank you. I’d rather we begin.”
“Of course,” she starts, but loses her smile. Leaning forward, closer to me, her look of concern is award-worthy. “Ling, you’ve been to see me twice now and we haven’t even scratched the surface of your issues.” She smiles once more, softly this time. “I think we should start by talking about why you try to instigate a sexual relationship with so many men.”
I correct her, proudly at that, “There are no relationships. It’s just sex.”
“Exactly.” She nods. “Why do you suppose that is?” When I don’t rush to answer, she goes on a Dr. Maura spiel. “Intercourse sure can be fun, Ling, but without the emotional support of a relationship, where do you see yourself in five years?”
I smirk. “I don’t even know if I’ll make it five years from now.”
Her expression dims. “This is what I’m talking about. You joke about the most morbid things. It’s a worry.”
I shift in my seat as the beginnings of anger start to boil inside me. “Would you prefer I cry about the morbid things in life instead?”
“No,” Dr. Maura states. “But talking about them and how you feel would help a lot. And we could start by brainstorming if you like. Let’s pinpoint where sex turns violent for you.”
I deadpan, “Could be when my dad and brothers started beating and raping me when I was five.” She tries desperately to mask the shock on her face, but I see it. And I rage inside. “Or it could be when I was sold to a whorehouse at six.”
Don’t you fucking pity me, bitch. I’m more a woman than you’ll ever be.
This is over. I’m ending this now. Fuck this hoity-toity asshole and her civility.
I glance over at her desk and see the black and white photograph of Dr. Maura, her Hispanic-looking husband and a lean, pretty teenage girl, all midlaugh. How precious.
It makes me want to ralph.
I jerk my chin toward the photo. “Your husband… is he your daughter’s father?”
She looks over at the picture and smiles sweetly. “No. He’s her stepfather. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” I smile. “You were telling me how sex is evil. Go on.”
She lets out a surprised laugh. “No, Ling. I wasn’t. Sex can be wonderful in a meaningful relationship between two people who love each other.”
Oh shit. She’s asking for it.
A dark smirk crosses me. “You know what’s even better?” I pause for effect. “Fucking a stranger down a dark alley. You don’t even exchange names. He pushes you against the filthy wall and it’s on. Like a mutt and bitch in heat.” I breathe deeply and rest against the sofa. “It’s invigorating.”
She looks disappointed
in me. “Ling, that doesn’t sound very fun.”
“Do you have sex with Bobby over there?” I ask, knowing full well this question will not be answered.
Dr. Maura blinks, surprising me with her response. “Of course I do. He’s my husband.”
I roll my eyes at her sweet disposition. “Yes, but do you let him fuck you.” I grin. “You’ve been a naughty girl. He puts you over his knee and smacks that round ass till it’s nice and pink.” I push some more. “Do you let him eat your pussy? Or is that too uncouth for you?”
Dr. Maura swallows hard and her voice quavers. “We’re talking about you, Ling.”
Adjusting on the seat, I sit up straight. “No, no. Let’s talk about you, Dr. Maura Sternson.” She’s in trouble now. “About your sad sex life and how your husband beats off every time you’re not home. Or about how you fake your orgasms to make him feel better about not being able to take you there.” My face turns mocking. “No, I know. Let’s talk about how women like me fuck husbands like yours down dark alleys. Or maybe about how your husband is at home spreading the luscious legs of your daughter and eating that tight little muffin of hers like he’s on an all carb diet.”
Dr. Maura’s face turns outraged, and she stands so fast that it amuses me. She points a trembling finger at me as she wears rage on her face for all to see. When she yells, “Shut your fucking mouth, you little bitch!” I know I’ve won.
Gasping at the realization that she’s just verbally abused a client, her eyes wide, she covers her mouth with a hand and rushes out of the room, a sob escaping her as she hurries past me.
I look around the empty office and rest back onto the sofa. “Was it something I said?” I take my purse and walk out of Dr. Maura Sternson’s office shaking my head and muttering, “And people think I’m fucked up.”
Four days have passed since my offer of cooperation to the San Francisco PD was made. And in that time, I’ve had a fight on my hands and points to prove.
Detective Deep-throat—aka Detective Jason Renley—has been on my ass every spare minute of his time, his threats laughable and cliché, trying his best to rough me up at my insinuation of his homosexuality.
Truth is, I knew the guy wasn’t gay, but for a dude who lived in a city of gay pride, I could scent his homophobia from miles away.
Best way to taunt a homophobe, as everyone knows, is to call him a fag.
And it seems he hasn’t forgiven me for it.
Imagine my surprise when Detective Renley threw me into a wall the day prior and moved to pitch his fist into my face when an unlikely champion had him down on his ass quick as lightning. Sergeant Dan Willem—the same sergeant who I asked if his wife plays with his asshole—got in the young man’s face and hissed out, “Chief says to stand down, boy, you stand down, hear me? Or do I need to bring you down a peg or two myself, Jason?”
Detective Renley’s face blazed a fiery red as he stood abruptly, getting close enough to the older man to show his irritation at the interruption without getting into his face about it.
The power struggle was thick in the air, tangible, but Detective Renley knew better than to disobey his superior and walked away without a word spoken.
Sergeant Dan Willem watched the younger man walk away and placed his hands on his hips, letting out a long sigh then turning to face me. “I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay, because quite frankly, I don’t give a shit if you are.” His cool green eyes assessed me. “But the chief wants you in one piece, so I’m going to make sure you stay that way.”
He waited a moment, blinking at me.
I didn’t get it. What the hell did he think was going to happen? That we’d have some witty exchange and become unlikely allies?
Please.
I wasn’t about to thank him. I wanted to knock his head in. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Sergeant Willem smiled coldly. “Seems you do, sunshine.”
He didn’t see the blow coming, and the immense satisfaction I felt when my foot connected with his knee, causing his legs to buckle, was like my own personal form of ecstasy. With a yelp, he hit the ground, and I didn’t look back as I moved to make my way to the chief’s office.
During the day, I’d been given free rein inside the bullpen, but at night, I was locked up in a cell, like a common criminal. These guys still had no idea who they were dealing with. If they did, they’d know there was nothing common about me. But I’d give them time to grasp the fact. They needed that time. I had no doubt it would be a shock for them to realize they harbored one of the most dangerous men in the world, and that man let some no-name po-po fucks lock him in a cell every night. I would humor them for as long as it took, but when push came to shove, I was no man’s bitch.
As I walked inside, the chief didn’t bother looking up from his paperwork. “We talked about this, Twitch.” With a shake of his head, he lifted his face and looked at me over the reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Three days and you’ve made it your mission to injure almost every single one of my men and insult all of my female officers. When does it stop, Falco? You’re acting feral, and I have to tell you, it’s concerning.”
Having not stepped outside this building for days already, I was quick to respond with a light shrug. “Cage me like an animal, and suddenly I become one.”
“I can’t let you go, son.” He set his glasses down and shook his head gently. “You know I can’t.”
A harsh laugh was forced from me. “You think you could stop me?”
Straightening in his chair, he observed me guardedly. “Actually, yes, I think we could.” Damn. The chief was getting cocky again. And that sounded like a challenge to me.
I always did love proving people wrong.
In the early hours of the morning, in the partial darkness of the semi-lit bullpen, I unlocked my cell with the key I had accrued from the very first day and walked out of the lockup that was acting as my current residence. I scanned the key card I’d stolen this afternoon from—I looked down at the ID—a cadet named Janet Nolan and made my way out of the back entrance. A small smile hit me as I wondered how long it would take them to realize I wasn’t there.
That night, I ate a juicy steak and baked potato loaded with sour cream, slept in a decent motel bed and showered without an officer watching my ass like I was about to shoot explosives from it. And it felt damn good. Silence was good too. But my leaving was never meant to be permanent, more of a lesson learned the hard way.
I wake early that morning, shower and dress then walk to a diner to get myself a coffee and breakfast before returning to the station. The young Janet Nolan at the reception desk stands suddenly with her mouth gaping as I enter. Taking my sunglasses off, I ask, “He in his office?”
She nods quickly, and I drop her keycard onto the laminated counter. Suppressing her shock, she steps forward to frisk me before buzzing me into the cop shop. I wink at her as I walk inside, my head held high, and already I hear the commotion.
“You goddamn moron, you just let him leave?” This has me pausing just before I make it to the chief’s office. I can’t place the voice. I don’t know this person. “Have you any idea what you let pass through your fingers? The information this guy might have had would be invaluable. And what do you do? Fucking taunt him!” A harsh exhale. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
The chief sounds tired when he responds, “It wasn’t a taunt. I thought it was fact.” He pauses before adding, “Never had anyone escaped the hold before. How was I supposed to know he would?”
A scoff of disbelief sounds. “Gee, I don’t know, Peterson. Maybe because”—his voice rises to a shout—“he fucking told you he would!”
“Shit, Ethan, they all fucking gloat. This is the first time it’s actually come to fruition. I didn’t know.”
Ethan, whoever the fuck that is, lowers his voice mildly. “You have no idea what you’ve done. Heads are going to roll, beginning with yours.”
For a split second, I think about walking away
just to spite the chief. It takes only that split second to remember the woman—the angel—with long brown hair and smiling eyes, and my need to get back to her has my pride fading fast.
Placing my hand on the knob, I turn it and step just inside the office, standing tall, making my entrance one of impact.
Both men swivel to face me, and they say nothing, just stare. A full minute passes and not a word is spoken. The chief stares hard, blinking in confusion, as if I were a mirage about to fade away at any moment.
I move forward and take a seat on one of the cushy guest chairs in the chief’s office before lifting my coffee to my lips and speaking to keep the mood light. “I would’ve got you a coffee, Chief.” I sip. “But I really didn’t want to.”
The exact moment he implodes, I see it. And it makes me snuffle a laugh under my breath.
His face turns bright red and the veins in his neck bulge when he moves to close the office door behind me. The second that door is closed, he lets loose. “Where were you? We had a deal. You help me, and I do what I can to help you. You do not leave!”
My shoulder bounces. “Those are your policies, not mine. Besides, you should know by now that I don’t follow the rules.” My gaze hoods. “I make them.”
This does nothing to quell his fury. “Goddamn it, you son of a bitch.” The chief comes at me, rage blazing red in his eyes, but the other man in the room places a solid hand on his shoulder to stop him. Chest heaving, the chief stills before changing directions, moving to sit behind his desk, flexing his hands in a nervous gesture implying he has the need to fuck shit up.
I glance at the other man before jerking my chin up at him and muttering, “And who the fuck are you?”
The man’s gaze meets mine a long, somber moment before his eyes crinkle in the corners, and I can’t help but feel he might be holding in a laugh. Holding a clear note of authority, dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a plain white shirt and black tie, his salt-and-pepper hair cut and styled neatly, with his black dress shoes so shiny you could use them as a mirror, I immediately dislike him. It’s not necessarily his fault.
