Anarchy

by Carmel Rhodes

  “Oh, come on, don’t be angry,” she pouted. The air in the closet was damp. The faucet over the mop sink dripped not too slow—not too fast—just a steady, drop, drop, drop, that would drive a sane man to the brink. Not me though, I lived on the brink. I thrived there.

  “Angry?” I chuckled. “I’m not angry. I’m your doctor, and it’s my job to make sure you leave here with the tools to cope with your disorder. I’ve been taking it easy on you because I like the way you taste, but no more. My reputation is on the line. Now, do as you’re told.”

  Simone’s eyes clamped shut, and her mouth dropped open like the obedient little whore she was. I pulled a little blue and white pill from my pocket, and balanced it on the tip of my cock before shoving it, pill and all, down her throat. She gagged and my balls tightened at the sound. “What the fuck was that?” she mumbled around my dick. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

  I held the other pill in front of her face. “You asked me to feed them to you. I figured you could wash them down with cum.”

  She pushed me back, angrily swiping spittle from her lips. “I told you, I don’t like the way they make me feel.”

  “And I told you, it’s my job to make you better, baby. Hands behind your back. Eyes closed. Mouth open.”

  “Damien.”

  “Dr. Cooper,” I corrected. “Now, put your fucking hands behind your back.”

  “I hate—” she started but I cut her off with my dick and the second pill.

  “Swallow it.” Her throat contracted around my length and I nearly came on the spot. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

  “You’re an asshole,” she coughed.

  “I never said I wasn’t.”

  “Why did you make me take them?”

  “Because, I want you well.”

  “What happens when I leave here?”

  I pondered her question. I’d thought about it. Her inevitable discharge from Meadowbrook. My pending divorce. If we were in a fairytale, we’d live happily ever after, but we weren’t. We were in the real world, and in that world, our relationship was illegal. I was a predator, one who was technically married. “Why don’t we just focus on getting you healthy first. Promise me you’ll try this my way, and we can revisit this conversation at the end of your stay.”

  “Okay,” she nodded. “You’re the expert.”

  —6—

  Riot

  New York- Four years ago.

  “Same time next week,” I said, closing the door on my last appointment of the day. My phone buzzed wildly on my desk and I jogged back to retrieve it. The name on the display read, Central Park Geisha. I felt the smile forming on my lips before I could stop it. “Natasha,” I breathed into the receiver, “I’m glad you called.”

  “I told you, my friends call me Asha,” she giggled.

  Her little giggle made my dick twitch. Her little everything made my dick twitch. “Is that what we are Natasha, friends?” The chair behind the desk groaned under my weight. Five-thirty on a Friday evening, and I was chatting on the phone like a lovesick puppy, instead of kicking off another coke fueled weekend. The dragon was disappointed in me—hell—I was disappointed in myself. It had been seven months since Aspen. Seven months of wading through every Simone knock-off New York City had to offer and I was bored, more so than usual. Natasha was unlike any woman I’d ever pursued. Quiet. Demure. I typically preferred someone with a little bite, but after Aspen—after Simone—no one compared. She ruined me. I needed to purge my system of the She Devil. I needed something new.

  “I’d like to be,” she whispered.

  “Try again, Natasha.”

  “You’re never going to call me Asha, are you?”

  “No, never, but how about I take you to dinner and we can call it even?”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got class until eight.”

  “Are you a student?” I asked, because I had a firm, don’t fuck college girls policy in place ever since I woke up naked on the lawn of a sorority house in upstate.

  “No.”

  There was a pause on the other end. It stretched on so long that I double checked the line to ensure I hadn’t dropped the call. “Are you there?”

  Another minute rolled by before I heard the uptick in her breathing. “You’re going to laugh at me,” she groaned, and I could picture her nose wrinkling in embarrassment.

  “I would never.” My chair squeaked as I turned to stare out the window. A thick fog covered the glass, obstructing the view from my fifteenth-floor office space. Rising, I made my way to the window. My fingers danced lazily over the condensation, mindlessly tracing patterns in the fog.

  “I’m a SoulCycle instructor,” she said, and it was my turn to pause. Fucking SoulCycle and there be happy, be healthy bullshit. I’d be happier without a bicycle seat poking me in the ass, SoulCycle aside, I’d still fuck her.

  “I should have known you were a yuppie when I found you running in Central Park,” I teased.

  “Says the man who rents office space in the Upper East Side.”

  “Touché. What time do you think you’ll be done finding your soul?” My hand resumed its journey along the glass. The city below resumed its bustling.

  “You know, for someone who is so anti-SoulCycle, you sure know a lot about it.”

  “It isn’t my fault. You guys literally wear it on your backs.”

  “The fault, Dr. Cooper, is not in our stars but in ourselves.”

  “A SoulCycle instructor who quotes Shakespeare? Or was that a John Green reference?”

  “Either. Both. Great writing inspires great writers,” she challenged.

  That peeked the dragon’s interest. Natasha had a bit of a backbone, and oh how we longed to break her, to tear her down and rebuild her in our likeness—in Her likeness. “Have dinner with me.”

  “Okay,” she sighed, “pick me up at nine.”

  I ended the call and glanced at the window in front of me. Simone was smeared into the glass. The woman haunted me, but nothing changed. Simone and I could never be. Monsters didn’t make love, we were too busy making war.

  I wiped away the subconscious reminder of Her and went home. After a shower, I dressed, fastened my yellow-gold Rolex President watch around my wrist and ordered a car to take me to Natasha’s brownstone an hour early. My skin buzzed with anticipation. Every tall, raven haired woman who passed her stoop caught my eye. I was excited, a little jittery, but most of all, relieved. For the first time in months, I could breathe.

  I spotted her rushing down the sidewalk. “Wait here,” I told the driver as I pushed open the door. Natasha was dressed in spandex—again—and my dick twitched at the sight of her tight little body on display.

  “Damien? You aren’t supposed to be here for another hour.” Her cheeks were flushed, but I didn’t know if it was from her workout or my presence. Something told me it was the latter. That same something propelled me forward.

  “I couldn’t wait. I needed to see you again.” I gave her my shy smile, the one I rehearsed in the mirror in the mornings. She liked it. She fucking swooned. Natasha was easy—women were easy. They all wanted the same thing, the fairytale. You just had to be perceptive enough to determine which princess you were dealing with.

  “I’m a mess. I haven’t showered or anything,” she said, gesturing to her spandex clad body.

  That moment on the stoop taught me everything I needed to know about her. She was The Little Mermaid. She wanted legs. She wanted adventure.

  “You’re beautiful,” I said. I could be a prince—the gruesome Hans Christian Andersen version—but a prince nonetheless.

  “Do you want to come up?” she asked, fluttering her lashes. “Maybe have a drink while I get ready?”

  “I’d love to,” I grinned.

  We never made it to dinner.

  —7—

  Turmoil

  I still hadn’t signed the divorce papers. I couldn’t. Losing wasn’t something I was comfortable with. Losing Na
tasha wasn’t something I was comfortable with. I was fond of her. Fond of my wife. God, I needed a lobotomy. Did I want her? No, but I didn’t want to lose her either.

  Then there was Simone, the mentally unstable nymphomaniac who lived to test me. She was under my skin, in my blood, my bone marrow. Fucking her felt right, no matter how wrong society deemed our relationship. And it was wrong. My fingers smelling of her cunt while I treated her peers was wrong. My cum dripping down her legs during group activity was wrong. Her claw marks stinging my back was wrong. All of it was wrong and yet I kept going back for more.

  Weeks had passed. Weeks of me dodging Natasha’s phone calls and angry emails. Weeks of secret encounters in broom closets and me force feeding Simone her meds. She was fond of the treatment, and I was more than happy to comply.

  Silencing my beeping cell, I pulled my office door shut and nodded at Harper as I passed her desk. “Dr. Cooper,” she called after me.

  I paused mid-stride. “Yes, Harper?”

  “Your—Natasha is on the phone.” She held the receiver towards me. The conspiratorial smirk on her faced caused the apples of her cheeks to rise. She had me, or so she thought.

  “Tell her if she wants to speak to me, she can do so in person, otherwise take a message.” I didn’t wait for a response. My running shoes squeaked on the linoleum on my way to the elevators. Monday’s at Meadowbrook were reserved for special activities for those guests who qualified. Usually, this included bowling or hiking or trips to the zoo. Our goal was to make them feel as comfortable and as normal as possible. My goal was to avoid as many of these fieldtrips as possible. I was unsuccessful that day, and as a result, I was charged with taking seven misfits on a hike.

  “Dr. Cooper, a word,” Rodgers said, his head poking out from behind his door. Again, with the Dr. Cooper. Fuck off was on the tip of my tongue, but I suppressed it. Rodgers’ office was cold—not in design—but in temperature. It was at least ten degrees colder in there than it was in any other room in the facility.

  “Dr. Rodgers.” I said, pulling the drawstrings of my sweatshirt tighter. The rumor was Rodgers was afflicted with severe hot flashes, a side effect from his battle with colon cancer.

  He pointed to the chair. “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to follow up on a patient of yours, Simone Boudreaux.”

  “What about her?” I asked, shifting in the high-backed chair. I felt like I was in the principal’s office. Rodgers’ tended to micromanage, but this was odd, especially since he didn’t bring her up in the morning meeting. There was also the little issue of me fucking her senseless on a daily basis, but I was confident that if that’s what this was about, there would be police waiting to escort me off the premises.

  “I was reviewing her intake paperwork, and noticed a few inconsistencies—nothing alarming—just unusual.”

  “Unusual?” I repeated.

  “Yes, and then Dr. Stanley reported some hostile behavior coming from the patient and since you’re her attending, I thought you might be able to provide some insight as to why she’s acting out.”

  “I’m aware of the incident you’re referring to. Ms. Boudreaux had been off her meds at the time. The situation has since been rectified.”

  “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “I trust you’ll keep a close eye on her. Ms. Boudreaux is one of our more high-profile guests, and I just want to make sure things go smoothly with her treatment.”

  “Of course, Doctor. Anything else?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”

  I nodded tersely and stomped out of the room. My jaw ticked all the way down to the buses.

  The park was about a thirty-minute drive from Meadowbrook. Giant, sandstone rock formations jutted out of the ground, mother nature’s way of showing off. The trees died that beautiful death they died every year. Life drained from them slowly, turning what was once a vibrant green into shades of red, oranges, and yellows. Garden of the Gods. What a fucking pretentious name for a park. That’s not to say it wasn’t beautiful, but a little grandiose, if you asked me, and I was a narcissist.

  The patients lined up next to the bus. Max, the orderly who came along to help Dr. Lewis and myself on this trip, began to rundown the ground rules. Simone’s eyes drifted towards me, her blue to my onyx, then down over my white Nike hoodie and gray joggers. It was fucking salacious, the way she looked at me, the way her body writhed, and wiggled and squirmed against the van. The woman had no shame, and even less discretion.

  “I don’t know how you do it man,” Lewis mumbled under his breath.

  “Do what?”

  “That,” he said, pointing to my little She Devil. I could tell he was staring, even from behind his mirrored aviators. “Work with Simone. That woman is sex on two legs. I’d have handed her off to Morgan the moment the little slut stepped foot in my office.”

  “Don’t call her a slut.”

  “You’ve never read one of her books? It’s what she calls herself. She’s like a slutty version of J.K. Rowling.”

  “It’s unprofessional, highly misogynistic, and your fucking comparison doesn’t make sense. Simone writes self-help books.”

  Lewis rolled his eyes. “But you got the reference.”

  “Just don’t call her a slut, okay?”

  “Will wonders never cease.”

  “What?” I asked as Max continued to talk about safety in and around the park.

  “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t react this way if I called your wife…or soon to be ex-wife a slut, so why jump down my throat over her?”

  “This is my job and you’re crossing a line.”

  “Hmm, I think you want to fuck her just as badly as everyone else.”

  “And I think you should stay the fuck away from my patient.”

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, our motley crew made it to the end of the beginner trail. A clearing overlooked the west perimeter of the park. A freshwater creek sliced through the terrain, a gentle tour de force, gradually etching out new patterns in the earth. Fallen leaves crunched under my running shoes as I continued to the intermediate. “I’m going to keep going,” I yelled over my shoulder.

  Max waved me off, grunting, “Bus leaves in an hour.”

  I was still buzzing from my little tit for tat with Lewis. Wisely, he avoided me for most of the hike. I probably would have murdered him if he hadn’t, and there I thought fucking Simone was the worst crime I’d commit that year.

  “What’s got your panties in a wad,” the She Devil asked, coming up behind me. I didn’t even hear her footsteps.

  “Nothing. You should go back with the others.” I wasn’t in the mood for company, unless said company had an eight ball and some lube.

  “Obviously it’s something, Dr. Cooper. I can feel the tension you’re carrying from here. You wanna talk about it?” she asked, falling in line with my steps.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” We were the only ones on that part of the trail, well us and the squirrels. Fluffy bastards.

  “Why is that?” she asked, tipping her head to the right. It was a piss poor impersonation of me, but cute. Not a word I ever thought I’d use to describe Simone yet there we were in the middle of the woods by ourselves, and instead of us fucking like rabbits, she was being cute. My fingers twitched, and on impulse, I snagged her hand and laced it with mine. She gave me a small smile and we continued up the trail.

  “Dr. Lewis thinks you’re like a slutty J.K. Rowling,” I blurted out.

  Simone flashed me every tooth in her pretty little mouth. “He said that?” she giggled.

  “Yes.”

  Her brown ponytail swung with each step forward, eyes twinkling with amusement. “And that’s why you’re upset?”

  “Fuck yes,” I seethed. “Why aren’t you upset?”

  Another smile, this one even bigger than the first. “It’s kind of true, and also, I kind of like you defending my honor. It’s a t
urn on.”

  “What honor?” I grunted, squeezing her hand.

  “Oh, so you can imply that I’m a slut, but Lewis can’t?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” she said, dropping my hand. Her pace increased, and the sight of her ass in yoga pants left me in a temporary stupor. “Fuck you, Cooper,” she called over her shoulder.

  Right. We were fighting.

  “Wait,” I huffed, scrubbing my hands over my face. The day went from bad to worse. I could barely keep up with manic nympho Simone. Angry Simone would surely be the death of me. “What the fuck is your problem?” I asked, yanking her by the arm and pushing her up against the nearest tree.

  “Presently, you are my problem.” She tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip.

  “Speak.”

  “THAT,” she yelled. “That right there is my problem. You not only call me a slut, but you also treat me like one, but God forbid anyone else say anything or it’s the Dr. Brooding show. Fuck you, Damien. Dr. Lewis is funny, a hell of a lot funnier than you.”

  I saw red. Pure unadulterated anger coursed through my body for the first time in my life. The dragon took over, and there were no pills or alcohol or drugs to dull my senses. Just me, Simone, and a blinding rage. “I can call you whatever I want,” I sneered, forcing her back into the tree. My hands found her neck, and my fingers wrapped around her milky flesh like a vine. “I can treat you however I fucking want, and do you know why?”

  “Why?” Defiance flashed in her eyes. She wasn’t backing down or shrinking away from the beast I’d become. Instead, she taunted it. She summoned him from his resting place and now he wanted to play.

  “Because you belong to me. You are mine to do with what I see fit, do you understand?”

  “Fuck you, Dr. Cooper,” she choked, and I knew in that moment, the little bitch won. Dr. Cooper.

  “You’d like that wouldn’t you? For me to fuck you out here in the open. Out here where anyone could walk by at any moment. Dr. Lewis, perhaps?”

  “Yes,” she moaned, arching into me.

  “You are a little slut, aren’t you?” I loosened my grip on her throat and turned her around, shoving her chest into the tree. She wiggled her butt at me, tempting me. I took the bait, dragging the stretched material down to her thighs. Dropping to my knees, I kissed her soft flesh, then licked my way down to her core. Of course, she was wet. This whole thing, the hike, her being cute, her anger, her contempt—all of it was foreplay.