Vouloir

by J. D. Chase

  I could kill Bernie. She almost blows it. I have to hold the door open and hiss at her to get her arse inside. Thank fuck nobody hears or sees us. But then, like the blind leading the blind, we still have to find the right recovery room. Easy you’d think, since every door is labelled. Not so when you realise that there’s more than one in the block. Of course, we only realise this when we go blundering in to the first one and find that a) the nurse is not Bernie’s friend and b) the patient is an old boy who sees us peering down at him and asks if he’s in heaven.

  We shoot out of there, the sound of the nurse’s angry cries following us. Needless to say, Bernie has passed the bricking it stage and is now jabbering on about losing her job. I hope she doesn’t get hysterical because I’ll be forced to slap her. And that kind of thing is not conducive to friendship. Okay, so neither is breaking just about every rule in your workplace but she’s as keen to help Dan as I am and nobody’s forcing her to do it.

  I decide that once we’ve found the room and she’s spoken to her friend, I’ll send her packing. Bernie’s phone rings. I work out that it’s her friend, wondering where the hell we are. She gives directions and it turns out that we’re only a handful of doors away. I tell Bernie to tell her friend that I’ll be visiting on my own. She frowns at me but does as I ask. Then I send her scurrying away as I prepare to face the music.

  I step inside and I’m greeted with a smile. Bernie’s friend is lovely. She leads me to the bed where Dan is still full of anaesthetic but she informs me that he’s coming around. Then she retreats to a work station—enough distance to respect my privacy but close enough to monitor Dan.

  I look him over. I instinctively go to take his hand but the fresh bandages remind me that it’s probably not the best idea. Instead, I stroke his hair and ignore the tugging of despair I feel in my heart. Not to mention guilt.

  Yeah, I gave him my card and he didn’t call. I thought he would, if he got desperate enough. They say pride comes before a fall. Well, that should teach me. I thought I’d got him on side enough to trust me. I’d got it wrong. We obviously didn’t bond enough for him to trust me. I feel like banging my head against the wall. Kids like this should be forced to have therapy with me. I know that’s never going to happen but I want to keep them safe. I want to keep all of them safe.

  I see his lips move as though he’s whispering. I can’t make out whether he’s waking or dreaming. I say nothing. I just keep stroking his head and beating myself up.

  I smile when he opens an eye experimentally. I don’t lean in. I always think that would freak someone out. When the other eye opens too, I whisper, ‘Hey.’

  He stares at me but I don’t know whether he recognises me or has even heard me. The nurse comes over and checks this and that and then retreats. She seems happy enough.

  ‘Water,’ he croaks and immediately, the nurse is at his side with a beaker of water and a straw. He takes a couple of sips and she retreats again.

  He’s looking more alert by the second so I try again. ‘Remember me, Dan?’

  His eyes focus on me. He studies me and then frowns. ‘Yeah, lately you show up whenever I fuck up.’

  I can’t help but smile but then I realise he’s not talking about fucking up by attempting to take his life. No, he’s talking about his failure to succeed.

  ‘Okay so maybe you do need a stage two FG—a real fairy godmother,’ I try.

  Without opening his eyes, he mutters, ‘Good idea. She can wave her wand and stop the do-gooders from interfering.’

  Shit.

  ‘If you can’t do that, you may as well go. Isn’t there some place you’d rather be?’

  Ouch. I’m dismissed.

  But his words give me an idea.

  ‘Yeah, but . . . hmm, can you keep a secret? I’m supposed to be meeting someone. At a special kind of club. I think you’d like it there.’

  His eyes open and he regards me scornfully. ‘A loony bin?’

  I can see the nurse out of the corner of my eye. She’s listening in but trying hard to appear not to. I know I need to choose my words carefully here. I wish I had the luxury of not being overheard. What I’m doing is enough to get me kicked out of every professional body that I’m a member of. Extenuating circumstances don’t mean a thing if the shit hits the fan.

  ‘No, Dan. Everybody there is sane. And safe. And everything is consensual.’

  His eyes widen sharply. He gets the reference. Then he narrows them suspiciously.

  ‘Is that what you expect me to believe? That you go to a club like that? Just how stupid do you shrinks think I am?’

  I shrug. ‘I’m not a shrink. But I could make you feel stupid.’

  He gives me a withering look. He doesn’t believe me for a second.

  ‘Can you sit up a little more?’ I ask.

  He gives me that teenage look that says, ‘I really can’t be arsed.’

  I shrug again before turning my attention to my finger nails. I need to visit the nail salon as soon as I can fit it in. I try to get my nails done every ten days or so. Deep-red gel polish. I’ve been so busy lately that it’s slipping to every two weeks—if I’m lucky. My interest in my nails and disinterest in him works.

  I see Dan slide up the bed, just a fraction. It’s a compromise but I’m happy to take it. I slide my bottoms down to my ankles and lift up my top. I wish I had a photo of his expression. It’s priceless. I look over to the nurse who hastily turns away. I’ll bet hers is priceless too.

  I gather the scrubs and cover myself again. ‘I thought we had a deal, Dan. You have my number.’

  He looks suitably chagrined. ‘I thought about it . . . ’ he whispers.

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  He studies the ceiling for a couple of minutes. ‘I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t believe you could relate to . . . ’

  ‘To what?’

  He looks me dead in the eye. ‘To people like me.’

  I nod. ‘Yeah, I can see that. There aren’t enough health professionals in the world practising the lifestyle. And those that do probably hide it.’

  He nods. ‘They wouldn’t want to get a reputation for being a freak in the workplace.’

  I smile. ‘Bingo. So you do have a brain in there. Do you think you could start to use it?’

  He shrugs. ‘Maybe if you told me a bit about this club.’

  ‘Kid, I’ll happily tell you all that you want to know. I’m FG there too.’

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘Fucking Gorgeous?’

  I laugh, lean in and whisper, ‘Femdom Goddess.’

  I see his eyes widen and the cogs of his brain start to move. We’re on the same wavelength now. We have a shared dirty secret.

  ‘Maybe you are my fairy godmother,’ he says.

  I pull a face. ‘I’ve never believed in fairies. No, I’ll be your guardian angel. With black wings . . . white has never suited me. Far too innocent.’

  He grins and nods his acceptance.

  And just like that, the bonds of trust begin to form.

  I spend the next few minutes filling him in on Vouloir, being as discreet as I can, until he’s begging me to take him there. I have to be careful. He’s above the age of consent but barely. And I’ve always kept my NHS work and the club separate. I contemplate a compromise—maybe agreeing to take him to a different club. But then I see his bandages and my stomach flips. My gut tells me that it’s worth the risk. His life is worth any potential professional fall out.

  I make sure that the nurse isn’t looking and I jerk my head in her direction and put my fingers to my lips. He nods his understanding. I wink and I say, in a loud enough whisper for the nurse to hear, that I’m sorry, it wouldn’t be appropriate because professional restrictions prevent it. Then I wink again and nod my acceptance to his request.

  The nurse comes over and tells us that it’s time for me to go. It seems that Dan’s time in the recovery room is almost up. I ask to speak with her privately. It makes Dan scowl in suspicion b
ut I give him a wink and he relaxes.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ I ask, once we’re on the other side of the room.

  She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

  ‘Oh come on,’ I urge her. ‘Nothing can get you into more trouble than my being in here. That kid has tried to take his life three times now. Twice this week. I’m his only hope. NHS cutbacks won’t fund my private therapy. That’s why he’s in here today. The system is failing him. Do you want to fail him too? Do you want that on your conscience?’

  I feel mean but it is necessary.

  ‘Obviously he’s to be kept in overnight. The psych team will see him in the morning and do an assessment but there’s talk of consulting with his parents in the morning with a view to detaining him under a Section 3.’

  I’m not surprised. The Mental Health Act exists for a person’s own safety, as well as the safety of others. The problem I have is that if he’s detained, I won’t be able to get near him. But with three suicide attempts in recent weeks, it would be difficult to appeal against it. Of course, the upside of him being involuntarily detained means that it will be near impossible for him to take his own life. The downside is that the experience may fuck him up mentally and emotionally even more than he is now. He may not be suicidal when he eventually gets out of there but he’ll be a long way from fixed, since they won’t have a clue. He’ll figure out that he just has to say the right things and take the medication. And because of those glorious NHS cutbacks, he’ll be allowed to leave.

  ‘Which ward is he being admitted to?’ I ask her.

  She looks nervous. Rightly so. ‘Ward 15, I believe.’

  ‘Thank you. Now this conversation never happened.’

  She nods and I continue, ‘Of course it didn’t. Because I was never here. Whatever happens, I will deny being in this room tonight. I promise you that. I appreciate the risk you’ve taken and I will stand up in court and lie if I have to. I’ve never seen you before in my life.’

  She smiles with relief. ‘Thank you.’

  I walk back over to Dan. ‘Listen Dan. Do you have any idea what might happen next?’

  He nods. ‘The shrink told me yesterday that I was lucky I wasn’t being detained under the Mental Health Act. Sectioned, my mum called it.’

  I nod. ‘Do you understand what that entails?’

  He shrugs. ‘Kind of.’

  ‘It would keep you safe,’ I point out.

  ‘No. I’d just die a little more. On the inside. Whether they lock me up or send me home, I don’t know which would be worse.’

  My heart breaks for him as I hear the emotion wrapped up in those words.

  ‘Can’t you do something?’ he whispers, tears forming in his eyes. ‘I wish I’d called you. I wish I’d known.’

  I close my eyes. Believe me, kid. Nobody wishes I’d told you what I was, who I was, more than me. But I was dressed for the hospital, not for the club. I doubt you’d have believed me.

  In acceptance of my words, he nods sadly.

  And I know in that moment exactly what I’m going to do. I have no idea how I’m going to do it. I just know that I am.

  ‘Kid, I’ll do whatever I can. I promise you that.’

  ‘Can’t you take me with you now? Take me to that club? Please?’ He’s begging now and my heart breaks for him, just a little more.

  ‘Dan, I can’t. Your wounds need to heal and—’

  He shouts, ‘My wounds are in here.’ He points to his head then hisses from the pain in his wrist.

  The nurse comes over saying it’s time for me to leave. Her tone is more forceful now. She’s getting worried.

  ‘I’ll do what I can. I promise you. I’ll be doing all that I can,’ I pledge as she ushers me towards the door.

  ‘No you won’t. You’re just the fucking same as the rest of them,’ he spits, his face contorted with the pain of rejection and despair.

  ‘I’m not, Dan. Please believe me. I’ll show you.’

  But the door’s being closed in my face and I know it would be foolish to make a scene.

  I make my way out of the maze that is the theatre block. I garner a few suspicious looks. Hardly surprising since tears are streaming down my face, not to mention mascara.

  I pull the scrubs off and toss them into a bin. I feel infected just wearing them. Infected by the system that lets down kids who are ‘different.’ I could never be a part of it. Not that they’d ever let me.

  I find my phone and call Bernie. She’s now off duty but thankfully, she’s still in the building.

  I meet her in the staff restaurant for a coffee. She grabs a bottle of water and some tissues and attempts to clean up my face. Frankly, it’s the least of my worries.

  I tell her what happened. She pulls a face. ‘Are you surprised? They should have detained him yesterday.’

  She sees my face.

  ‘Oh come on,’ she says. ‘Are you saying that letting him out so that he can slash his wrists is any better than detaining him? Even if they’d referred him to you, you wouldn’t have had time to see him. Not even you could have stopped this one.’

  I nod. I know what she’s saying is true. But if there were properly trained and experienced professionals within the system . . . I sigh. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. So is stating the bleeding obvious.

  ‘He’s being admitted to Ward 15. Will you be around in the morning?’

  She nods. ‘Yeah, but I doubt I’ll have much to do with him. Because he’s seventeen and in need of long-term care, my hunch is that they’ll sign him over to the adult mental health team. If they do, I’ll not have an excuse to be around. I only deal with children and adolescents. I can argue the toss but it does make sense to avoid a tricky handover just a few months down the line. Besides, even if he isn’t, he’ll be guarded in case he decides to remove the stitches in order to bleed out.’

  I wince and hold up my palms to stop her from elaborating. But I know all she says is a distinct possibility.

  ‘I’ve got to get him out of there, Bernie. I’m not sure what’s worse—him being with young kids or with adults. You know what it’s like in there.’

  She slaps her hands over her ears. ‘I’m not listening to this. Don’t do this to me. I know you’re upset but you do what you can. You’re not superhuman. And you can’t flout every single rule that doesn’t suit you. And I won’t be an accessory to whatever hare-brained scheme you’re coming up with. I mean, what the hell will you do with him, assuming you managed to get him out of here? Which you won’t. Are you going to take him home to stay with you?’

  She laughs at the absurdity of her suggestion. Of course she does. It’s crazy talk. But then she doesn’t know I’ve got The Kid at home. Nobody does.

  She lets her hands fall and she takes mine in hers. ‘Listen, if he’s detained that means he’s safe for the foreseeable. We’ll find a way to make sure you know when he’s released and you can take him on as a client then. We’ll sort it out.’

  I know what she’s saying makes sense.

  But I hear his voice breaking as he says, ‘I’d just die a little more. On the inside. My wounds are in here.’

  My tears start to fall again. This time they’re angry tears.

  I don’t care what Bernie says. I’m saving that kid. I’ve saved one—taken from under the noses of the local constabulary. I can save another.

  I CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW I’m feeling right now. I’m almost walking on air as I head to Vouloir. Despite not getting to sleep until it was almost dawn this morning, I’ve felt amazing all day. I awoke mid-morning, thanks to my mother’s determined vacuuming. Talk about morning wood—I had a monster hard-on. And I’d had it for a while, judging from all the precum that was smeared across my stomach. I lay there and stroked my cock for ages. Not hard, but nice and slow, picturing all the sights from the night before. And although I was stroking gently, I came so hard. Man, spunk was everywhere and my cock felt alive. Electrified.

  I showered—when I said it was eve
rywhere, I meant it. I washed my hair twice. I went for a run this afternoon and smashed my 20k personal best. And what’s more, every pretty girl I passed, I smiled at. I looked her in the eye and smiled as I ran past. It felt good. Better than good.

  Then I showered again. As I washed it, my cock got hard. Okay, so I was stroking as much as washing. I was thinking about those women from the playroom last night. Just thinking about it makes me so fucking horny. My knees buckled when I shot my load and I had to grab the wall. That’s never happened before. My therapist is fucking incredible. I feel so different already. I might even pluck up the courage to tell her tonight. I feel like I could achieve anything I put my mind to today. I feel invincible.

  I enter the club with a smile on my face. My skin is tingling. I’m so pumped up for this. I have a feeling that I’m going to take the next step tonight. I know what I want and it’s time to start taking it.

  I hop onto a barstool and order a beer. I look around. There’s no sign of La Veuve Noire and I can barely contain my excitement. I’m about to head into the BDSM lifestyle. And I cannot fucking wait.

  Ten minutes later and I’m still sitting here. Alone. I must look like a meerkat; my head whipping around every time there’s a noise or movement. I finish my pint and ask the barman for a refill. Oddly, this is the first night in a while where I don’t want to drink myself stupid. I’m drinking out of boredom. I could be watching the girls dancing and stripping but I’ve no interest. I just want to tell my therapist what it is that I want and then get started. If she ever turns up.

  I pay for my beer, and it occurs to me that she’s well known here.

  ‘Have you seen La Veuve Noire tonight?’ I ask.

  He nods. ‘Yeah, she was around not too long ago. She took a phone call and went racing out, leaving her JD untouched.’

  My heart sinks. ‘How long ago, exactly?’

  He shrugs. ‘I dunno. About half an hour?’