Broken Enagement

by Gage Grayson

  I’m just delighted to know that she’s mine. Something in me has changed.

  I’m just not sure what it is.

  I’m still the same power-loving, masochistic guy. But I know now there’s one human being on this planet that I’ll never hurt—ever. She’s sitting right here gripping my hand so tight its like a lifeline to the drowning.

  She turns suddenly and kisses me, arms going around my shoulders, one hand in my hair. I pull her close to me, feeling her hot breasts rubbing against my chest. She wriggles forward, legs going around my waist as she presses me back against the seat.

  She stops kissing me and buries her face in my chest. I hold her tightly as she shudders.

  “Let’s just not move,” she whispers. “Let’s just stay here.”

  I stroke her back. “That would be a sight, wouldn’t you think? A limo out front of the prison would get investigated sooner or later.”

  She giggles, squeezing me around the waist before sitting up and looking into my eyes.

  “You’re funny, you know that?”

  I laugh. “Sure, okay. I do try to make a joke whenever I can.”

  “No, I mean it. You’re funny and smart. Sharp. I’ve been evaluating people of various types of mental anomalies all my life. You aren’t like them. I’m starting to think there’s nothing actually wrong with you at all. Except for an enhanced state of charisma that has given you a bit of a god complex. Coupled with ridiculous amounts of money—it’s bound to create a separation of reality.”

  “Babe, I don’t know about all that. You’re the shrink, remember?”

  She laughs, stroking my face.

  “I have to give my professional opinion. What kind of shrink would I be if I let a little cock get in the way of my diagnosis?”

  “Little cock?”

  I give her a stage-show shocked face with wide eyes and open mouth, and she giggles again.

  “Okay. Huge cock.”

  She kisses me. Ali mumbles against my mouth, “Great big fucking amazing cock.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  I kiss her back, my hands going up to the small of her back as I crush her against me.

  We both dive into the kiss, desperate with lips and tongues.

  We both know this has got to end. We don’t want to let it go.

  With a sigh, she slips off my lap and opens the door. I step out into the chill pre-dawn light, looking up at the huge building.

  “Home sweet home.”

  Alison turns to me, grabs my hand.

  “Don’t say that. You aren’t meant to be here. I read the report. You didn’t lay a hand on that senator.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Absolute truth.

  Fuck, I love telling the truth. Most people don’t believe it. It’s fucking awesome.

  “Jaxon…”

  She’s holding my hand, looking into my eyes. I stare back at her, grasping her other hand, waiting. I know what’s coming.

  I don’t want anything to disturb this moment. “I love you” during sex doesn’t count.

  They’re an effect of a biological response. Endorphins. They can’t be trusted.

  But now, lucid, and calm. This is the one I want to hear. I know she does.

  I can tell, just by the way she moves, that she loves me.

  I’m a part of her just like she’s always been a part of me.

  From the first glimpse. But now, once the words are spoken, it becomes real.

  By speaking a thing out loud, it becomes more solid. Not just in your mind—a thought that could drive an action.

  No. Once it’s spoken, it’s a part of reality, seen and ratified by others who live in their own realities.

  Then, it can’t be taken back.

  She squeezes my hands. A small smile turns the edges of her mouth.

  “Jaxon, I—”

  She startles against my chest like a frightened animal at the sudden click and footsteps behind us. I crush her to my chest, looking up in fury. Who dares to ruin my moment?

  It’s the professor! Well, fuck me. The click I heard—and, the other I hear right now—is the prepping of an assault rifle. I grin at the sight of the weapons.

  What can I say? I enjoy violence.

  “Doctor Gardener!”

  Alison’s voice is part surprise, part horror. She didn’t expect to get caught out like this. I let out a high-pitched laugh as I hold her against my chest.

  Alison looks up at me sharply.

  “Doctor Gardener, you can’t do this!” she implores him. “Jaxon is well. He’s so much better. I can rehabilitate him, I promise!”

  “Step away from him, Alison, please. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Her hands grip me tighter, even though I’ve let her go. The big armed guards are eye-balling me, and I’m giving it right back to them.

  “You can’t!” she cries.

  “Alison, step away now. I don’t want you to get hurt. We must take Jaxon in.”

  “But…”

  “Honey,” I grip her shoulders and shake her, turning her to face me. “It’s okay. Just go inside with Doctor Gardener. I’ll be fine, I promise. They’ll just take me inside—where I was going anyway. I’ll take all the blame. It was my car that took us out—I got the guards to let us out. Okay?”

  She’s starting to cry and that makes me kind of mad.

  I glare at Prof over her shoulder.

  “But I took full responsibility,” she gasps, “I told them—and they let me—”

  “Ali!” I exclaim, bending my face down close to hers, whispering right against her mouth.

  “I love you, Ali.”

  “And I love you.”

  Ah, there it is. My moment all fucked up and running hard with anxiety.

  Oh, well. It’ll be more memorable for all of that.

  “Just go inside now. I’ll be okay, I promise. We’ll see each other in a few hours. I promise. I bribed the guards. I did it all. You did nothing.”

  She shakes her head violently, denying it all, denying the situation, every damn fucking thing that’s trying to tear us apart when we’re clearly supposed to be together. I’m mad, yes, but I’m also patient.

  That she loves me is all that matters.

  I found her. She found me.

  I have all the evidence I need that the universe is on my side, and I’m going to win.

  I push her away gently, and she turns her back on me. Back straight, looking past the professor, she marches across the carpark.

  “Just come here Alison,” Prof offers her a kindly hand, which she coolly ignores.

  She walks right past them into the building. Something in that cold, emotionless stance reminds me of me. So I’m grinning like a maniac as I raise my hands above my head, twinkling them like I’m making stars on an early morning kid show.

  “Who’s gonna come get the mad hatter, huh?” I let out a sharp laugh. “Come on, I’m surrendering.”

  The larger guard takes a step forward, pointing his gun at me.

  They really think they are going to need two assault rifles? I’m that dangerous?

  The idea turns me on a bit.

  “Hands behind your head, Mr. Covington.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  I place my hands behind my head and wait for him to approach. I’m calm as they surround me and walk me back into the building.

  Patience. All I need is a little patience.

  Alison

  I’m standing over Doctor Gardener’s desk—funnily enough, looking at the little plastic brain that comes apart into many pieces. It seems like a lifetime since I was in here, trying to give up Jaxon as a case.

  “You can’t blame Jaxon for this, Doctor Gardener. The fault is all mine. I had therapeutic reasons for doing what I did—”

  “Alison, sit down.”

  Reluctantly, I do so. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like anything he has to say. Seeing Jaxon manhandled by those guys with automatic rifles really jangled
my nerves.

  “I have you sitting here in front of me now, saying this is all your fault.” He sits behind his desk like some kind of god on an altar, giving off an air of lofty intentions his energy just doesn’t back up. “Meanwhile, we have Jaxon Covington downstairs claiming he’s responsible for this whole affair. Who exactly am I supposed to believe?”

  “Jaxon is my patient. I undertook a standard field exercise in order to test out a therapeutic hypothesis.”

  Doctor Gardener raises an eyebrow. “Do go on, Doctor Hughes. This should be interesting.”

  I take a deep breath. Here it goes. I’m certainly not going to tell him that my wants and needs overwrote my good sense just because I wanted to be alone with Jaxon.

  I had a half-hearted story in mind for the guards—which, funnily enough, wasn’t even needed—but now, I’m going to have to stretch that sketchy explanation out into something medically viable.

  “Mr. Covington has been progressing well in our sessions. Though seemingly incapable of telling the truth when it comes to his ongoing behavioral trigger, he has become calmer about discussing it each session. I observed on more than one occasion actual sympathy, compassion, and remorse, which wouldn’t be present at all in a true sociopath.”

  “Interesting, Dr. Hughes. You seem to have uncovered levels to this patient that I couldn’t.”

  I think he might be mocking me. Fuck it.

  “I wanted to see how Jaxon behaved when he was free of the prison. I wasn’t expecting him to conduct himself so well, right from the beginning. Not all the people we treat have access to his resources. I thought the results of my hypothesis might be hindered by his ability to engineer any situation he liked, simply because of his status and wealth.”

  “You’re no closer to convincing me of your intent, Doctor Gardener.”

  “Look, my intent doesn’t matter. I’m telling you. Maybe I can’t possibly explain properly what my motivations were. It’s irrelevant. What is relevant is that I saw him overcome his trigger.”

  Doctor Gardener raises an eyebrow. “Go on. That’s interesting. Explain the circumstances, please.”

  “As I mentioned, he set up a limousine and dinner reservations. Charm and influence as well as charisma are well known tools of sociopaths, so none of this would be unusual. However, overcoming the mental trigger at this stage of life is almost completely unheard of. I know you’re aware of this.

  “At dinner, someone lightly called him ‘Jack.’ As you know, this usually results in a complete psychotic break. At this point, I saw anger in him, and yet he controlled it.”

  “One instance is hardly a habit or new behavior pattern, Doctor Hughes.”

  “I’m not stating one instance. I have seen him bend to the pressure of his trigger right here in this building. He wasn’t able to overcome his trigger at that time, but I was able to reach his mind.

  “Afterwards, he acted with complete sincerity and compassion towards his victim. I have spoken to this person, and he tells me Jaxon’s apology and offer of reparation was genuine. They have almost become friends. I think this instance was a vital stepping stone in him finally overcoming his trigger.”

  He’s staring at me with his arms folded across his chest. He looks like he doesn’t believe a word of it.

  “He has overcome his trigger, and I’m prepared to demonstrate this under any circumstances you name. You cannot let him stay here.”

  “Oh, he won’t be staying here.”

  “Oh?” I’m actually hopeful, fool that I am.

  “No. He’ll be transferred to maximum security, as per the protocol for escaped prisoner.”

  My guts go cold. I can’t react for a minute. I’m on my feet before I even realize it.

  “You can’t do this!”

  “I’m not doing it. It’s out of my hands. It’s procedure. He escaped; you assisted him. You could be in a lot of trouble for this, Dr. Hughes.” He looks at me sternly. “I have no choice but to question your integrity. I feel you may be biased.”

  “It’s my fault, really,” he sighs. “I knew how inexperienced you are, and yet I still pushed this case on you. I thought you could handle it.”

  I’m so angry for a moment, I almost completely lose control. I know that won’t do me any good. Jaxon, either.

  “I have observed a marked improvement in Jaxon’s behavior.” I make my voice slow and steady and very quiet to keep myself in control. “I have rehabilitated a patient which was believed to be beyond recourse. I have measurable results. At this point in time, you’re literally endangering this patient’s life and full recovery by allowing him to be moved to maximum security.”

  “I could have you investigated by the medical board,” I threaten. “I could tell them how Jaxon Covington was rehabilitated to the point where he became a fully functional human being, a valuable member of society, and you destroyed him by sending him to maximum security.”

  “You would need evidence for that, “he speaks pompously, but I can see the doubt in him. “You can’t just make wild accusations about me to the medical board.”

  “Right off the top of my head, I can think of three people in this very prison who would speak up on Jaxon’s behalf. I have video evidence as well.”

  Okay, that’s a stretch, but it wouldn’t be hard to get the footage from the restaurant.

  “I’ll devote every last minute of my days to stripping you of your license under the grounds that you have willfully damaged your patient—who you have duty of care over, I might add—simply because you had an unhealthy obsession with me and objected to my close relationship with my patient.”

  “That’s preposterous! You can’t even suggest such a thing!”

  “I think the medical board might come down in my favor. I’m prepared to take that chance. Are you?”

  We stare each other down over the desk. It’s like the air is so hot it could ignite.

  He blinks. I don’t.

  He sighs, sitting down at the desk.

  “I’m willing to admit there may be more to this, that I need to examine further. If he truly has overcome his trigger, that’s a significant achievement for him, and for you as his doctor.”

  He pinches his nose under the glasses, pulling over a release form.

  “I’m going to release him—under strict supervision and not just your care—to be further evaluated. One of the only reasons I’m doing this is because Jaxon Covington has supported this city so well over the years. We want him to be back out there and cleaned up—part of the reason I gave him to you.”

  He looks into my eyes as he hands over the paper. “Well done, my dear. It’s really not how I would’ve done it, but my faith in you isn’t misplaced. If you hurry, you should be able to catch them before they leave.”

  I bolt from the room, as fast as my favorite black heels will carry me.

  Jaxon

  I haven’t heard from Alison. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on.

  Benny’s been let out. My other guys are very quiet, trying not to provoke me. I keep asking the guards what’s happening, and they keep putting me off.

  I’m starting to get really fucking mad. I didn’t feel like an animal in a cage before, but I do now.

  I pace my cell. None of the comforts I’ve provided for myself do any good. Since those new guards showed up, I have a feeling the situation is going down the fucking drain.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m still completely sure of myself. That’s the only thing in this world you can be sure of: where you stand, what you need to do.

  Anything else is a waste of space in your precious mind.

  The door darkens, and I snap my head up to see who’s there. It’s those two fucking meatheads that were with the Prof. There’re four of them now.

  “Well, look at you pretty ladies all dolled up. Where are we headed, girls? I didn’t bring my tux.”

  No one even cracks a smile. Tough crowd.

  They come in, the guards that run my show looki
ng hard at the floor. They don’t want me to see the deception in their eyes. I’ll make sure they get it—every single one of them.

  Don’t they know who I am?

  I breathe deeply, trying to get myself under control. Trying to remember the certainty I had yesterday morning, holding Ali in my arms.

  We are meant to be. This is just a test of my strength and faith.

  I say nothing, keeping my eyes down as they chain me. I let myself go limp and compliant as they fasten the cuffs tightly on my wrists.

  I don’t notice the walk through the building. I have that sense of dislocation, which occasionally happens—like time has become fluid. Reality isn’t real.

  As the door opens, sunlight breaks across my face, stinging my eyes. I throw my hands up.

  “Don’t you know sunglasses are a basic human right?” I snap at them. No one even looks at me.

  Two guards in front, two behind. All I can see is their hard posture. They look like mannequins or something unreal. Stage actors.

  As we walk across the lot, I see we’re heading for a large, heavily armored truck.

  “What’s happening? Hey! What’s happening?”

  They don’t answer. As we get nearer the truck, two guys head to the front, and I hear locks clicking. One comes back and opens the door. It’s one of those really overdone type of trucks, all hard, grimy metal with benches to sit on, with built-in loops for the chains to go through.

  I plant my feet, head held high. I eyeball the nearest one. He’s wearing sunglasses, the fucker. How I’d like to smash them into his fucking eyeballs.

  “I have a right to know what’s happening. I’m not moving until you explain to me what’s happening. I demand my right to legal counsel.”

  The two behind me don’t move or speak. One is still up in the cab. Mirror Glasses pulls out a clipboard and pen.

  “Your right to legal counsel ended after your initial hearing. This is a matter of security. Standard procedure for a prisoner that escapes from jail. You’re being transferred to maximum security, Mister Covington.”

  There’s something in his expression I don’t like. It’s actually making me feel a bit anxious. Something’s not right here.