Dark Lessons

by Julia Sykes

  “You were self-medicating,” she surmised. “Why?”

  I blew out a long sigh. “I think I have PTSD.” It was the first time I’d ever said it out loud. It wasn’t as painful as I’d thought it would be, especially not in Dr. Larson’s calming presence.

  “What makes you think that? Could you please describe your experiences?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and forced myself to think about the debilitating episodes. “It started the day of the Water Tower Place terror attack. I’d seen some fucked up shit as a Ranger, but I’d never had any issues from it. Not really.” Sometimes nightmares tormented me, but nothing like the waking panic that consumed me sporadically after that day I witnessed the civilian carnage.

  “And what kinds of issues did you start experiencing at that time?”

  “I’d feel… I’d feel like I was dying. Like I couldn’t breathe and my heart would explode. It would happen randomly, sometimes triggered by loud noises. Sometimes for no discernable reason at all.” The confession of my darkest secret was like poison being drawn from a wound. It was painful, but at the same time, I could sense that the darkness was leaking out of me ever so slightly.

  “I couldn’t function in the field like that,” I continued. “And once I got the pills for my wrist, I realized that the attacks weren’t as intense when they came. I started taking them whenever I’d feel the panic setting in.”

  “So your PTSD was triggered by what happened on the day of the terror attack. Can you tell me more about that day?”

  I flinched, not wanting to think about it.

  “You don’t have to go into detail,” Dr. Larson soothed me. “We’ll work on that over the coming weeks. Right now, I need to know why you blame yourself for the attack.”

  I blinked at her. “I don’t blame myself. I just saw what was left of the bodies, and…” I trailed off, my throat closing up to choke down the description of the horror I’d faced.

  “I think you do,” she pressed gently. “As you said, you’d faced violence before during your service. But this was different. Oftentimes, guilt plays a role in the onset of PTSD. Do you feel guilty, Jason?”

  “Of course I feel guilty,” I snapped. “I’d just joined the Bureau. It was my job, my duty to protect those people. I should have gotten there sooner. I should have seen it coming. They were civilians, innocents.”

  “So you do blame yourself,” she declared. “It wasn’t your fault, Jason.”

  “I know that,” I said, frustrated. “It was that anarchist fucker’s fault.”

  “Then why do you feel guilty?”

  “Because I failed them,” I barked out, the admission knifing through my chest. “I failed.”

  “So you feel like a failure because of another man’s actions that were beyond your control. The Bureau had no leads to the perp at the time. There was no reason anyone would have seen the attack coming, including you. But you feel like you failed. Why do you think that is?”

  My fists clenched at my sides. “I took this job because I want to protect people. I didn’t protect them.”

  “And why do you feel the need to protect them so deeply? Empathy is natural. But this sense of duty is more than that. It’s shaped your entire adult life: your decision to join the Army and the Bureau. Why did you decide to pursue this career?”

  “To spite my father,” I said bitterly before I could think.

  “Your father is the Deputy Director. Surely he’s proud that you followed in his footsteps?”

  I glared at her. “If you think I’ve lived my life trying to impress him, you’re dead wrong. He’s a bastard. I joined the Army because he didn’t think I had the guts.”

  “But this is about more than spiting him,” she said. “You said you felt the need to protect people. There’s nothing spiteful about that. Tell me more about your father. What was he like during your childhood?”

  I cut my eyes away. “I told you. He’s a bastard.”

  “He beat you.” She said it as plain fact.

  My gaze snapped back to hers. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But he did, didn’t he? That’s why you crave control. It’s why you feel the need to protect people, to be strong.”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about my father,” I said, my voice tight.

  “You came here because you feel like you’ve lost control over your life. You came here because your PTSD was triggered by a sense of personal failure and guilt. This is all linked to your relationship with your father. If we’re going to make progress, we will need to discuss him.”

  “I just want to get back in the field,” I declared. “That’s all I’m here for.”

  “And I’m not going to clear you for that until I know your PTSD is under control. I can prescribe anti-depressants, but they’ll only do so much.”

  “I don’t want any more fucking pills.”

  “They’re not addictive, but of course you don’t have to take them if you don’t want to. However, you won’t get control over your life again until you work through your trauma. An important part of that process is examining why you feel guilt over the terror attack and learning to forgive yourself, to accept that it wasn’t your fault. Dealing with your fear of failure and your need to protect those weaker than you is an important component in that. If you’re not ready to talk about your father today, then we don’t have to. But we won’t be able to start treating your PTSD until you’re ready to do the work.”

  I glared at her for a full minute. Damn her. I needed to get clearance to go back into the field. And she was telling me point-blank that it wouldn’t happen until I opened up about my daddy issues. Just thinking about him made me feel weak, pathetic.

  And I supposed that was something I had to deal with.

  Fuck.

  “You’re right,” I said hollowly. “He did beat me. But that hasn’t happened in a long time. I’m over it.” I could feel the lie on my tongue. It was so obvious now that I wasn’t over it. Not even close.

  When Dr. Larson simply continued to watch me expectantly, I sighed.

  “All right. I’m ready to talk. I obviously still have… issues. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back in the field.”

  I’ll do whatever it takes to find my control again.

  She gave me a soft, approving smile. “We’ll get you there. The treatment process for PTSD takes eight to twelve weeks. If you’re committed to it, I should be able to sign off for you to be reassigned to a field office in a few months.”

  Relief washed through me. My sentence here might be even shorter than I’d thought. Until Dr. Larson laid out a timeline, I’d worried I’d be trapped here for years, possibly forever. I could make it through a few months. One round of NATs and I’d be out of here.

  That brought my thoughts back to one particular recruit. Natalie. I’d have to make it through twenty weeks with her, training her but not touching her.

  There were so many other ways I wanted to train her, none of which involved hand-to-hand combat. She was inexperienced in BDSM, but she was obviously submissive at her core. I craved to introduce her to the world of Domination and submission, before some other bastard saw her for who she truly was and took her from me.

  Just the thought made me see red.

  “Jason? Are you all right?”

  I blinked hard and forced my attention back to Dr. Larson. “I’m just ready to get out of Quantico,” I said truthfully. “I need my life back.”

  And I need to get as far away from Natalie as possible, before I fuck up my life even more.

  Chapter 7

  Natalie

  Days had passed since my hot encounter with Jason in the showers, and the recruits had reached the end of Week One at the academy. This would be the last time I saw Jason before the weekend. It was time for his class to begin, and I was torn between both craving and dreading the sight of him. I ached for his nearness, but I knew that was wrong. I couldn’t allow him to touch me again, unless it was for the purpos
e of training.

  I knew myself well enough to recognize that I was hopelessly infatuated. It was stupid, but I couldn’t help it. For the thousandth time, I cursed myself for hooking up with Jason the night before training began.

  How was I to know? I reasoned. It hadn’t seemed like the worst mistake of my life at the time. In fact, while I’d been shuddering in his arms, it had seemed like the best decision I’d ever made.

  The whole situation was shitty.

  Deal with it. I wasn’t about to let a foolish obsession with one of my instructors ruin my aspirations. Not even if that instructor was the most intoxicating man I’d ever met.

  I didn’t realize I was shifting anxiously as I awaited his arrival until Trent entered my personal space.

  “I need a partner for the day,” he said, casually touching my shoulder to catch my attention. “What do you say?”

  I jerked away from him, scowling. “I’m partnering with Nate. I’m not interested. Maybe Elena is.”

  His cocky grin remained firmly fixed in place. “But you’re so charming. I’d rather partner with you.” This time, he trailed his fingers along my upper arm in a decidedly skeevy come-on.

  I grabbed his wrist and twisted. He cursed and turned his body away to alleviate the pressure, just as I’d planned. I jerked his arm up, and he fell to his knees.

  “What have I told you about touching me without my permission?” I asked coldly. “Don’t fucking do it again, or I’ll break your arm.” I applied more pressure, and he grunted in pain.

  “Let him up, Simmons.”

  Oh, fuck. I instantly recognized Jason’s booming voice.

  I released Trent and took several hasty steps back. “I’m sorry,” I apologized quickly. “I—”

  “McMahon,” Jason barked over me, his burning gaze fixed on Trent. “Get up.”

  Rubbing the residual pain out of his arm, Trent got to his feet. His hazel eyes fixed on me, glowering.

  “Eyes on me, recruit,” Jason snapped.

  My gaze darted to him, but he was still glaring at Trent. He hadn’t been addressing me.

  “Here,” he said to Trent, pointing at a spot on the floor a few feet away from him. “Now,” he commanded when Trent didn’t move fast enough.

  Trent hurried to obey, snapping to attention in response to the fierce order. He watched Jason warily as he took his place.

  “Try to grab my arm,” Jason told him coolly.

  Trent’s brows drew together. “Sir?”

  “Try to touch me like you touched Natalie, and see what happens.”

  “But I—”

  “Do it now, McMahon.”

  Trent’s eyes narrowed, and he lunged for Jason. Jason easily dodged, sliding to the side so Trent stumbled past him. He kicked Trent’s legs out from underneath him in one smooth, continuous motion. As soon as Trent was down, Jason pinned him, pressing his forearm against the recruit’s throat.

  “If I ever hear about you touching a woman without her permission, you will answer to me personally,” he growled.

  “But I didn’t do anything,” Trent insisted. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Jason’s arm pressed down on his windpipe, and he choked.

  “We don’t tolerate men like you in the Bureau,” Jason seethed. “If I hear of anything like this happening again, you won’t make it to graduation. Do you understand me? The only correct answer is ‘Yes, sir.’”

  “Yes, sir,” Trent gasped out when Jason eased up on his throat.

  Jason pushed up off him, his muscles still taut with suppressed violence. My shocked brain struggled to process what had just happened. Did Jason humiliate Trent because he’d dared to touch me? Or was it simply because Trent was a creep and Jason wouldn’t tolerate that sort of behavior toward any woman?

  “Pair up,” Jason barked at us, breaking the tense silence. Everyone rushed to obey.

  Nate was suddenly at my side. “Do you think Harper will try to kill me if I spar with you?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

  I forced a smile and turned my attention to him. “I think that was for Trent’s benefit, not mine,” I said, even though I wasn’t at all sure of that.

  “If it helps, I don’t swing that way,” Nate said. “Agent Harper doesn’t need to worry about me making a move on you. And neither do you. If anything, Trent’s more my type. If he weren’t a raging douchebag.”

  “You’re gay?” I asked, surprised.

  He rolled his massive shoulders back. “And proud. In any case, you don’t need to worry about Trent coming near you again. I’ll kick his ass. Although,” he winked at me, “I think you have that handled on your own.”

  I beamed at him. “Thanks for the offer, but yeah, I’d rather do the ass-kicking myself if he tries anything again. I’d love to break his prettyboy face if he keeps pushing the issue.”

  “I’d cheer you on from the sidelines, then.”

  “Thanks,” I said, genuinely grateful. Nate was proving to be a good friend. He had my back. He was exactly the kind of person I wanted in the field with me once I became an agent. “Let’s do this,” I declared, falling into a defensive stance. “We’re going to graduate together.”

  “You know it, partner,” he agreed, mirroring my movement.

  Smiling, we fell into our practiced motions. It took all my concentration to focus on my task rather than the way Jason’s booming voice rolled through my body. It became even more difficult when he made his rounds, pausing by Nate and me to observe us.

  “Focus, Natalie,” he commanded smoothly when Nate landed a hit.

  Focus. I remembered how he’d helped me aim at the dartboard, his hard body pressed against mine as he ordered me to concentrate on my task.

  A sense of calm settled over me, and I became hyperaware of every minute twitch of Nate’s muscles. My movements became fluid, confident.

  “Good.” Jason’s praise warmed my insides, but this time his voice didn’t break my concentration. Pleasure flooded me at his attention. Not only did I enjoy his nearness, but I was grateful he respected my wishes to train me properly rather than ignoring me.

  He moved away from Nate and me after a few more minutes, but I continued to perform perfectly.

  Despite my mounting exhaustion, I made my way to the gym that evening after dinner. I’d tried to study for a few hours, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how Jason had taken down Trent. Had he done it because he felt protective of me? Possessive?

  Or was it simply because Jason wasn’t the kind of man to tolerate assholes who touched women without their permission?

  Maybe both, although the prospect that he’d done it for me made my stomach flip. It should have made me feel like a damsel in distress, being saved by her macho hero. But I’d clearly had the situation handled on my own. Jason had only added to Trent’s humiliation. It’d been an act of righteous anger, not rescue.

  And I couldn’t help finding that sexy as hell.

  Focus. The little voice in my head sounded suspiciously like Jason’s.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I made my way over to one of the punching bags. A strange giddiness fizzed through my system, making me almost shaky. I needed to burn off my excess energy before I could study properly for the evening, so I’d work out some aggression before returning to my dorm room. Besides, I didn’t at all mind avoiding Elena. She’d been even nastier than usual since the afternoon. I wasn’t sure if she was angry with me for humiliating Trent or jealous because he’d initially chosen me as a partner rather than her.

  I decided I didn’t really care. Although I liked Nate, I wasn’t here to make friends, and it didn’t matter if Elena hated my guts. All that mattered was getting to graduation and earning my place as a field agent.

  The gym was mostly empty; it was fairly late for anyone to be out of their dorms. Two women ran on treadmills, and one of the more massive male recruits was lifting weights. I walked past them and headed for the secluded side of the gym, preferring
to work in quiet solitude.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only person with that idea. Before I could pull on my boxing gloves, an annoyingly familiar voice called my name from behind.

  “Natalie! Hey, wait up.”

  I turned and fixed him with my coldest stare. “What do you want, Trent?”

  He held up his hands, placating. “I want to apologize. I promise I’m a proper Texas gentleman. Give me a chance to prove it to you?”

  I rolled my eyes. Didn’t this guy ever give up? “Listen, Trent. I have zero interest in you. I’m not here for a relationship. I’m here to become an agent, just like you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to work out.”

  His jaw firmed, but his posture remained benign. “I’m not trying to hit on you,” he said. “I’m here to work out, too. I know from first-hand experience that you’re good at hand-to-hand combat.” He had the grace to manage a wry smile. “I need to work on that. Help me practice?”

  “You must be joking.” He really wanted to spar with me after how Jason and I had humiliated him just a few hours ago?

  “Not joking. You say you’re here to become an agent, but so am I. Let’s train together.”

  I took a moment to study him, attempting to ascertain his sincerity. He didn’t appear to be baiting me.

  “Okay, then,” I allowed. “Let’s spar.”

  I might not like Trent, but if this was his way of apologizing, I wasn’t going to hold a grudge. He’d learned his lesson earlier, both by my hand and by Jason’s. If he wanted to up his game, I didn’t mind playing the part of instructor.

  “We can practice what we learned in class today. You attack, I’ll block.” I wasn’t at all concerned about allowing Trent to go on the offensive. I knew I could handle him, and he appeared to be trying to make peace.

  I underestimated him. He began the smooth, fluid movement Jason had taught us earlier. I raised my arm to block, but he changed tactics in a flash, taking advantage of the opening I left for him. His fingers curled into a fist, and he landed a sharp punch against my ribs. I fell to my knees, shocked by the pain. I’d never taken a true hit like this. I’d only ever been in the one real fight, on the night I’d met Jason. And thanks to him, no one had laid a hand on me.