by Amy Brent
I smiled as I felt my neck prickle with delight as his voice echoed off the corners of my brain.
“Here’s his card, Miss Conway,” the doctor said. “I’ve got the referral prepared. All you need to do is call and let me know whether or not to put it in.”
“Thank you, doctor. Really,” I said.
“Don’t wait too long on this, Melissa,” he said. “You’ve been through enough.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“You’re free to go whenever you’d like.” I watched him leave the room as the lights slowly came all the way back up. I squinted, holding the card to my face as I tried to make out the name on it. The numbers came into focus as the gold and blue lettering focused. It reminded me of his eyes that had sparkled in the fluorescent lighting of the staircase we always met in just after school.
Just before my parents expected me to be home.
But as the name came into focus, my heart dropped to the floor. The breath fled from my lungs as tears sprang to my eyes. I read his name over and over, telling myself it wasn’t real, that I was seeing things and my mind was playing tricks on me.
That he wasn’t still here.
“Brandon Black,” I whispered as a tear washed down my face.
Suddenly, all the memories fled my mind. Memories of his echoed promise and his body, writhing against mine in the school stairwell. Memories of his smile and his touch, how soft they were. How much it seemed like he cared. Memories of how we laughed together in the grass and how he would sneak me out late at night to watch the stars with me underneath the shade of the tree in my backyard.
All that was left at the forefront of my mind was the moment I saw him after college.
The moment he introduced me to his bride.
The moment I realized he broke the one promise that kept me afloat when my parents disowned me.
Brandon Black was the love of my life, and my doctor wanted me to see him for my depression.
Chapter 2
Brandon
“Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me good.”
Her fake tits were bouncing around in my face as I pinned her to the wall. Her come dripped down my dick, soaking my balls as I slipped in the wet spot on the ground. My legs flexed, causing her to moan out as I caught her before she tumbled. Her massive tits and puckered nipples were flopping against my face. She moaned again, and I could hear her giggling with delight as her reconstructed pussy gobbled down my cock.
“You like that, Daddy? Like that tight pussy?”
Fuck, I wished she would just shut up. My week had been rough. All my on-call patients had needed refills of their prescriptions and someone to talk to late at night. I hated fucking being on call for my own damn practice. But the people who worked alongside me needed their breaks every once in a while. Some went home to their wives and kids. Some took vacations and got themselves some sun.
Me? I liked to find drunk women in bars and fuck them senseless.
I felt her pussy clamping down around me as her legs locked around my waist. I pressed her harder and harder against the wall of the bathroom stall, my hands tugging at her hair, exposing her neck to me. I nipped and sucked up her neck, wanting her to pull the come from me. I wanted to spray her with it as her body gobbled me down. She felt so warm, and I’d had such a rough fucking week. Soon my hips were stuttering as I felt my orgasm shoot through me.
She shoved her hand between her thighs, trying to find her release as my cock twitched inside of her. I pulled out, spraying my come over the bathroom floor, soaking her thighs as she grunted fruitlessly. I didn’t give a shit if she got off. She probably did this kind of crap all the time on the weekends. If she’d been looking for a generous lover with a big cock, she’d only get half of that with me.
“What the fuck?” she asked as I put her down. “I didn’t finish.”
I tucked myself into my pants as I shrugged. My legs were wobbling with my orgasm and that heady feeling was back. Masturbating never gave me the kind of high that a nice, tight pussy could. Her face grew angry as she tucked her huge fake tits back into her dress, and I slammed out of the bathroom, headed back to the bar. A bit of the stress from this past week released from my shoulders, and I sighed when I saw it was officially ten o’clock.
I was no longer the psychiatrist on call.
I sat down beside Michael at the bar as he sipped the beer he’d ordered. The woman came storming past us, brushing up against me as Michael eyed her curiously. He looked at me with a smirk on his face before he shook his head and then raised his hand to the bartender.
“I think you need another drink,” Michael said.
Michael worked with me at the private practice I owned. I rented out the rooms in the building to the other professionals for a cheap price, essentially having the funds for the building fall back on them. Even with all the bills paid and nothing coming out of my pocket, their rent and usage of the building were still lower than it was anywhere else in California. Michael’s office was right next to mine—I didn’t believe in sitting on some perch in the sky—and we’d grown closer over the years he’d worked there. He wasn’t the kind of psychiatrist who just shoved pills down his patients’ throats, and that was a stance I could get behind.
He still wanted to help people. Just like I did.
“She any good?” he asked.
“Eh. It did its job,” I said.
“You left her high and dry, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Not my fault she didn’t rub her clit sooner.”
“You know, you should warn those women that you’re not a giver before you start.”
“Think of it as me creating more customers for us,” I said, grinning.
“You’re fucking terrible, you know that?”
“Only when I try. So, who was your worst client this week?”
“I had someone make a new appointment with me and start off by telling me he was recently diagnosed with cancer,” Michael said.
“Holy shit. He gonna be all right?”
“That was the beginning of the conversation. It only escalated from there,” he said. “What about you?”
“It was just rough. It was my on-call week, so I had scheduled patients as well as everyone else’s panicking patients. I’ve got one I need to check out. Called for three different refills this week. Not sure what’s going on with that, but I want to make sure someone isn’t abusing their prescription pad in my building.”
“Oh shit. Any idea who the doctor is?” he asked.
“Yep. I can’t talk about it, you know, confidentiality and all, but I’ll be talking with them after the weekend’s over. I can’t handle more bullshit today.”
“Oh, speaking of new clients. You know that one that we couldn’t get medicated for depression?” he asked.
“Yep. Any luck with finding something?” I asked.
“Fucking get this. Ketamine. There’s a hospital that allows their anesthesiologists to legally admit chronic major depressive individuals for actual ketamine treatments. Fully monitored, and the shit works wonders. That patient came into my office Tuesday and was acting like a completely different person. It could be a fucking case study depending on how these chemical test results come back.”
“I’ve heard ketamine is the new major breakthrough in treating those suffering from major depressive issues. I’ve a patient who’s two more drug prescriptions away from it. I’ll have to look into it, see if it can help them too.”
“It’s promising,” Michael said. “If you can, just send them now. It’s not worth making them suffer.”
“If you want to do a true case study, they have to exhaust all medicative avenues. But, if you’re up for it and want your name on something, you can use that patient I have as well in your studies.”
“Dude, thanks. Anything to help these people out,” he said.
“No problem.”
“My workload’s increased by twenty-five percent this week, too. Had a flood of new patient sheets co
me in, and I’m not sure how much more I can take on. I’ll have to rent out more rooms at the rate we’re growing just so I don’t work myself to death,” I said.
“Hey, it’s both good for business and bad for the way our world is going. Mental health issues keep us in business, but at what cost?” Michael asked.
“It seems like everyone’s coming to me for help, and I don’t know how to help all of them.”
“Even with the branching out you’ve done with the practice?” he asked.
“Yeah. The branches in New York, New Orleans, and here are doing wonderfully.”
“Well, you can’t beat L.A. Especially with the pussy you enjoy slaying,” he said.
“But, it feels like it’s almost not enough. I’ve got people going to the website and asking me if I’m going to open up a practice in Hawaii of all places. Hawaii! Apparently, people on our little island are struggling just as much as they are here,” I said.
“Well, do you have the funds to expand?” he asked.
“More than enough. But at what point do I admit I can’t help the world?”
“Never, Brandon. That’s when. Because the moment you do, you lose that fervor. That zest that helped you start this thing in the first place,” he said. “If your caseload is that great, I’ll take on a few new patients. I know my specialty is in depression and bipolar states, but if you don’t want to open another room to rent out, then that’s what it might take.”
“I’ve got a lot to think about this weekend before it’s back to the grind on Monday.”
“No wonder you were only chasing yours tonight,” he said, grinning. “But honestly? I feel kind of like I’m losing clients.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“My schedule’s seem, I don’t know, thinner and thinner.”
“Well, then maybe you should take it as a compliment. You’re helping people, and they’re feeling less and less inclined to come back and talk. You’re helping them cope and live their lives the way they need to,” I said.
“I know. I just … is it weird that I panic about that? I mean, I still need a job. An income. Right?” he asked.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d already noticed he was losing patients. They were coming to me and telling me they didn’t feel Michael was helping them. They didn’t want to keep wasting their money if they felt they could go elsewhere, and part of the new influx of clients was me taking on some of his cases I knew I could help. I staggered their appointments so Michael wouldn’t see them coming out of my office, and I transferred the others to different doctors on different levels of the building. For the most part, I had my psychiatry headquarters in L.A. sectioned off by levels. Each level held psychiatrist offices that dealt with specific ailments, but they all took on average, undiagnosed clients as well. It was a good system, one that worked for all of us and made me filthy fucking rich.
I didn’t know how to tell Michael that maybe he was doing something wrong with his practice.
With the way I had the pay structure set up, I wouldn’t take the hit if he didn’t do well. Because the rooms were rented in the building, he owed me for the space and the energy he used every month. My company absorbed the water and sewage bill, but the tenants paid for the space, their part of the internet, and their part of the energy. The rest of the expenses were individually billed, and the tenants worked as self-employed psychiatrists.
Once the buildings were paid off, which never seemed to take long, I began to rake in the big bucks from my company.
“How about this?” I said. “Take the weekend and compare your schedules. Look at the clients who have stopped coming to you and simply shoot them an email. Create a little survey for them to fill out, asking them for some feedback. If you’re doing well, no one ever tells you. But if you’re doing terrible, they’re all too keen on letting you know.”
“That’s a good idea,” Michael said as he threw back his beer. “I’m gonna go get a jump on that.”
“Let me know how it goes, all right?” I asked.
“Will do. Drinks are on me.” He tossed a couple of twenties at the bartender and thanked him for his time. I watched Michael leave, sighing as he walked out the door, but a woman crossing my vision caught my eye.
“Melissa?”
I whirled around and caught her walking away from me. Long dark hair trailed down her back, and tan skin wrapped around a beautiful curvy body. My heart pounded in my chest, and my blood rushed in my ears. Holy hell, it was Melissa.
She was back.
I downed the rest of my drink and made my way through the crowd. My hands began to sweat as memories flooded my mind. Memories of her virginal body beneath mine with her dark eyes screwed shut. Her tan skin ricocheting up my arms as she wrapped her hands around my neck. I can still remember how tight she was, giving herself over to me that night as she clung tightly to my body.
“Melissa!”
My hand dropped down onto the woman’s shoulder, and she turned around. Her bright hazel eyes met mine, and a stark disappointment dropped all the way to my toes. She looked nothing like Melissa. Her nose was too large, and her cheeks were too broad. Her neck wasn’t long enough, and her shoulders were too stout. She was smiling at me, her eyes raking up and down my form as I slid my hand down her arm, and I suddenly felt the need to bury myself inside of her.
To feel her warmth.
To forget the warmth I kept chasing.
“I could be Melissa if you’re into that kind of thing,” she said as the woman bit her lower lip.
I wouldn’t mind calling out her name again tonight. If only to allow myself to think I could ever have her again after what I did to her.
“Hello, Melissa,” I said as I grinned wickedly. “Fancy a ride in a convertible tonight?”
Chapter 3
Brandon
My head was swirling. It was only Wednesday, but I felt as if I’d weathered the battlefield. My mind was numb, and my heart was heavy. My patients were suffering, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it sometimes. I could medicate them to keep them complacent. To keep them from feeling manic or sad, but it never really made them happy. It was a wonderful day if patients came in smiling, but this week had not been one of those weeks.
It had been one of those weeks where I’d torn through a month’s worth of tissues in three days.
Raking my hands through my hair, I looked over at the clock. It was well past eight, and I thanked the stars for my nanny staying late again with Max. It was hard finding someone who could tolerate my wild child. He was all hair and limbs and very defiant. Even for a four-year-old. He was the best thing that had ever come from my mistake of a marriage to that idiotic Russian woman. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, marrying her so she could get her citizenship.
My son deserved better than that shit.
On the days I could get home, he was upset at best. On the days I couldn’t get home, there were times where I walked into a whirlwind of a mess. Even paying for a top-notch nanny meant she spent more time running down my boy and trying to raise him right than she did anything else, but if it wasn’t for her, I couldn’t work the hours I did. I couldn’t have built my practice. I wanted to build all of this up and then hire someone to take my workload. Then I could sit back and raise my son, be there for his formative years and watch the money come rolling in while I watched him grow.
Instead, I was pulling insane hours at the office and taking the edge off with alcohol and fake ass women.
If my patients only knew the wreck my own life had become.
I shut down my computer and grabbed my things. I knew exactly where I was headed and exactly what I was going to get myself into. My cock throbbed at the idea of some pretty little fake things squealing while my cock pounded her into the bathroom wall. I’d spray my seed on the floor, give her tits a few licks, and then pack myself up and go home. That was all the happiness I was afforded with the decisions I’d made.
All
the happiness I could’ve experienced had derailed the moment I married her.
She who shall remain nameless.
I drove to the bar and fixed myself up before I went in. I thought about asking Michael to come with me, but I honestly wasn’t sure I wanted to. He hadn’t talked to me about how the survey shit supposedly went, and I wasn’t in the mood to listen. I’d heard enough people bitch and moan about their lives, and I didn’t want to do it anymore.
