19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leighton
“ G ood morning, Miss Irvine.”
We’re in Marcus’s study-slash-clinic-slash-torture-chamber.
Well, a torture chamber is a stretch. Then again, I fidget and freak out about the unknown as I sit on his therapy couch. So maybe it is?
What’s sure is, unlike now, I was at ease before we entered this room. When we were walking outside when I stretched my limbs. Marcus showered me afterward and took care of me.
I felt free. With him. It was just the two of us, the sun and our small talk.
In here, things are different.
I’m a willing participant in his experiment. Curious to find out why I’m obsessed with his crazy and at the same time scared of him.
I’m scared of what our talks will unravel.
He said whatever it is, I’ll be okay. That I’m not flawed. That I’m special. Wonderful in my own way.
It’s hard to trust an obsessed man’s affirmations. It’s a struggle to stay calm when I’m freaking out. My mind could have locked up a terrible memory that made me love and fear Marcus.
Do I want it out in the open?
My eyes dart across the room. From Marcus to his desk, to the bookshelves he’s rearranged. Toes tapping on the floor, my fingers pinch the soft material of the mini retro pleated pink dress he chose for me this morning.
I’m not lying down yet. I didn’t want to look like a cliché, so here I am, sitting.
“Miss Irvine.” Marcus grounds me back to earth.
I turn my gaze up at him.
I’m drawn to him like a magnet. He’s exquisite. Composed. Professional.
My therapist.
My captor.
This beautiful specimen of a man. Today, he’s wearing a white shirt with two buttons open at the top, dark gray slacks that hug his toned legs so deliciously, and black dress shoes.
His scruff is neatly trimmed. His short hair is brushed back to perfection without a drop of gel on his head.
He looks so put together that I want to make a mess out of him. Muss his hair with my fingers like his words wreak havoc in my head.
“Miss Irvine,” he repeats .
He gazes at me. Expectant. Screaming of authority, dominance, and danger.
He’s my psychiatrist for the day and I’m his patient. There’s no running from this.
Gripping the edge of the couch, I suck in a deep breath. “Morning, Dr. Kingston.”
“Why don’t you get more comfortable?” The slight jerk of his chin suggests I lie down.
Briefly, I consider what would happen to my dress when I do. My boobs will be squeezed out of the tight sweetheart neckline. It’ll be challenging to hide my bare pussy, given how short the skirt is.
I won’t be more comfortable. I’ll be vulnerable. “I think I’d rather stay seated.”
“Okay.” He scribbles on his legal pad.
I’m curious to see what he has there. He might not have anything of importance like that first and second time we had our sessions. He may be fucking with me.
With Marcus, I’m never sure what I’m going to get anymore. He might be passionately cruel. He might be distant and apprehensive. Or he’ll be incredibly sweet and call me baby.
My enigma.
“Well, then.” He crosses one foot over his knee. “How would you say you’re doing today?”
“Nervous. Jittery.” There’s a sound of fabric scratching. Marcus cuts his eyes to my hands, and I realize it’s me. I’m scratching the cushions; I stop immediately. “After last time, I’m scared. In a good way. Is that weird? ”
“Hmm.” Black eyes burrow into mine. Into my brain. “Last time won’t repeat itself today. Does that help settle your nerves?”
I peek at him from beneath my lashes. “Is that a promise?”
His “Yes” is definite.
Whether I’m relieved or disappointed, there’s no telling. Another outburst from Marcus would’ve spared me the drilling into my mind. On the other hand, it wouldn’t have gotten us anywhere.
I do want to get somewhere. I want to accept myself. I want to love him freely. He’s the only one who can help me.
“How else would you describe what you’re feeling?”
How do I feel, exactly? My thoughts go beyond the present moment. Far deeper than the last few days. They’re traveling across time and space. To people and a world that isn’t made of Marcus and myself alone.
I’m happy here. I miss my home too. Miss my parents. Miss Ry.
I won’t have a job waiting for me if he won’t let me out of here. My career would be ruined.
I’m afraid of disappointing everyone because I’m so freaking…complete...here. I’m upset because once we leave here, I’ll have to apologize. Start interviewing again.
A touch of resentment slithers into my blood. Did he stop to think about my future when he kidnapped me? Does he care now?
My lips pinch and curve down. My attempts at smothering my disappointment fail. Colossally .
“You’re struggling,” Marcus surmises the range of my emotions in two words. “And sad. Even more than you let on. This leads me to my next question. Why are you fighting these feelings? Why hide them?”
So that’s what it’s like to be cut open. To be probed. Marcus has landed himself a free pass to excavate my mind, using it against me without a shred of remorse.
“It’s not that black and white.” I’m not allowed to lie. Nor do I want to. “I love it here. I love being with you.”
“M-hmm” is my psychiatrist’s way of saying, very interesting, do go on .
“What happens after this, though?” I gesture to the space around us. “Rylan will hate me for being with you behind her back. My parents will be disappointed when they find out I haven’t started my job. That I’ve lost it. I will, won’t I?”
The subtle nod of his head indicates I’m not wrong.
“I’m with you. I’ve wanted it for so long, and it’s taken me time, but I love it here. I love you. Crazy and all. I love the life I’ve built for myself just as well.” My chest starts aching, and I rub the tight area. “Are you mad? Do you even care?”
Silence. Infuriating one.
“You.” I stab him in the chest. He doesn’t flinch. “Be my man for a second. Tell me if you care. Tell me if my feelings affect you.”
“I care. I’m not mad.” Fleeting warmth flashes on his face. “I’d never expect you to throw everything away for me. You’ll have a life outside of here. We’ll figure it out, you have my word. ”
As soon as he’s done talking, his cold expression takes over. An enveloping iciness.
“Back to my question.” The possessiveness in his voice reminds me he’s still my man. My sick, unhinged man. “You’re great at dealing with anger and happiness. Being sad aggravates you. You don’t show it.”
Of course, he knows this. Not from the past few days. From a lifetime of watching me.
My disgruntled huff lands me more of his serious glares.
“I’d like to explore this subject with you.” Marcus rolls his pen between his fingers. “Can you pinpoint a moment in your childhood when sadness was frowned upon?”
He’s analyzing me. I analyze the man in front of me right back. This is his depraved way of learning about me, Leighton, the person. Through therapy. Through his version of helping me.
He could’ve hypnotized me. Could’ve easily plucked out the reasons for why I fight our relationship from my brain. Something is bottled up inside me, but he doesn’t reach in. He’s surgical with my mind. Treading carefully around my memories.
Everything he does, he’s doing for me. With every passing day, I understand his version of love better. Appreciate it, even, despite how it’s different from mine.
This man loves me in the most unconventional way. His methods aren’t ethical. He’s nothing like I ever thought he’d be.
Nevertheless, he’s mine.
Even if there’s a side of me that isn’t sure about us, I love him .
“No, my parents and Rylan are the most accepting people. You know—”
Marcus raises an eyebrow. No, my therapist doesn’t know this.
“I just don’t like crying.” I scoot back on the couch until I’m leaning against the wall. “I’d rather solve a problem or turn it into a joke. Easier this way.”
Yes, my skirt hikes up. Yes, my pussy is in danger of being exposed. No, I don’t care. There’s a sense of comfort when Marcus doesn’t break character. He’s maintaining his fa?ade as I bend my knees and hug them to my chest.
“You’re worried about how your surroundings will react.”
My lips are dry, and I lick them as I contemplate what he said.
“Same as you’re nervous now,” he fills in. “You were upset with me, but you worried I might be mad or disappointed as a reaction to your unhappiness.”
The first person to care to dive deeper than my laughter and sometimes sarcastic remarks. Of course, it had to be him.
I want to cry. I don’t. A smile forces itself on my lips instead. One shoulder shrugs. “Sure.”
“ Sure won’t work for me.” Creases form on his forehead, his head tilts. “You interest me, Leighton. This is a safe space for you.”
He ignores my raised eyebrow. Purposefully blind to the challenge in it. I begged him to teach me to love whatever craziness we’ve been sucked into.
He doesn’t believe I resent him for kidnapping me. Deep down, I don’t either. Not one bit .
“I’ll need you to elaborate.”
“Okay, fine. I hate crying around other people.” I bite my bottom lip. “Most of the world has it worse than I do. I’m strong. I can take it. Even this kidnapping, these things you’ve done to me…I wouldn’t say it’s awful. Even after…”
No. Too personal. Too painful.
“I haven’t cried around anyone since I was a baby and now you.”
Marcus doesn’t push. His eyes narrow. The way he studies me has a layer of ice coating my veins and my heart pumping blood faster simultaneously.
This isn’t the first time he’s probed inside my head. I can’t say it gets any easier. I also can’t let him go there .
I have to evade. Have to give him something.
I take a detour around the part of my life that hurts the worst. The part that had me crying myself to sleep for weeks. When Ry was asleep and no one was there to hear me.
I don’t want it here, between us.
What I’m offering him hurts almost as bad. But the look in Marcus’s gaze tells me he won’t let me off the hook without anything other than the truth.
So, I put a wall up and just say it. “Do you remember my Golden Retriever, Bear?”
His untouchable veneer tells me he won’t answer as Marcus. He’s making it hard for me. Making me tell him everything, hoping it’ll break something in me.
Sadist.
Images of my first and best friend run through my mind. How his huge tongue would lave at my face like I was his child instead of my parents’. How he’d freeze when I hugged him too tight. How he’d let me do it anyway.
“He was such a good boy.” My nose feels hot. Annoyance grips me as my vision becomes blurry.
A fracture cracks Marcus’s tough exterior. He doesn’t demand me to hurry up. Doesn’t ask what this has to do with anything.
He hands me a tissue. An expression of his—or the shrink’s, whatever—compassion without making this weird. My heart clenches.
Words barrel out of my throat, telling the story of the grief I’ve kept to myself until now.
“Thank you.” I dab the tissue beneath my eyes. “He wasn’t just good. He was the best boy.”
“You felt free around him,” Marcus deducts. “To be yourself. He offered you unconditional love.”
He couldn’t have been more on point if he tried. What’s more, he doesn’t ask if Rylan wasn’t enough. He simply accepts my crushing pain for what it is.
The knot around my lungs tightens, pushing out a sob.
“He did.” More tears cascade down my cheeks. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I was eight, still thinking he’d be around forever.”
The tissue is soaked through and through. I let it fall to my side, covering my face, my tears, my shame.
“This is more than Bear you’re crying over,” Marcus suggests, leaving it up there in the air .
“You see? It’s stupid.” I don’t elaborate on the pain of that day. The one that Bear couldn’t take away because he was already gone. “It’s just a dog.”
“It’s not just a dog,” Marcus hisses under his breath. “Dammit, Leigh.”
I hear his legal pad and pen as they hit the floor. Peeking between my fingers, I watch him get up, moving to take a place on the couch beside me. His arm snakes around me. His fingers curl around my shoulders possessively.
With his free hand, Marcus swats my hands away. He brushes my hair back to kiss my temple. “Some therapist I am.”
A watery laugh escapes me. Then, an inelegant snort. “The best.”
“Why haven’t you cried?” My bones crush from how he tightens his embrace. “You’re allowed to grieve. To ask for help.”
“I only cried when…” Sniffle. No, I’m not going there. “Mom cried a lot. Rylan too. They loved him. I was there to hug them. I was eight, but I still knew that if I cried, they’d start crying again. So I didn’t.”
“I remember Rylan wept like she’d lost a family member. She’s never wanted a pet after that.” Marcus pushes my head so I’m looking at him. “No one knew you hurt, though,” he muses. Curious. Pained.
“Nope.” I hiccup, coaxing the tiniest compassionate smile out of Marcus. “It’s easier like this. With you.” Deep inhale. In his arms, I’m fine with having someone lend me their support. “I’m okay. That’s weird. How do you do that? ”
“I’d say it’s my job, but think we’re both aware it’s more than that.” His gravelly voice is authoritative and yet warm. So warm. “I’m here for you. Your lover. Your healer. You’re not a burden to me. I can take anything off your shoulders. Anything at all.”
I’m not sure how to respond to his statement.
“Will you feel better if I share one of my secrets with you?”
My insecurities morph into intrigue. “Please,” I say as he swipes the tears off my cheeks.
“After that, we’ll have our short hypnosis session.” He levels his gaze with me.
“Okay.” I stay very still, impatient, as I wait for Marcus to talk.
“A few months after you and Ry went to college, I received a call from a well-known mental hospital in England.” Marcus massages the space between my eyebrows.
When I realize I’ve been frowning, I relax. Seeing where this is going, though, I don’t smile.
“One of the psychiatrist residents over there attended my lecture here. My experience and opinions of therapeutic hypnosis piqued his interest, and he passes it on. The head of the hospital called me.” His tone is flat, and I hold my breath. “He offered me a position as the head of the hypnosis department there.”
The prestige. The money. They must’ve offered him a shit-ton for the move and for running this whole operation. And here he is. Sitting here beside me.
He said no .
“Why did you decline?”
“My home is here.” He flattens his palm on my chest. “With you and Ry. I worried for her. She wouldn’t have taken the news of me leaving well.”
At all. The first three months in college, she called Marcus twice a day. Two times more than I called my parents.
“She has no idea, right?” Without even noticing the movement, I lift my hand to cover his. “You’ve been protecting her.”
“She would’ve panicked. Would’ve thought I was considering it. Which I wasn’t.” His gaze tells me he’s serious. “I saved her the unnecessary heartache.”
Half-truth. I recognize one when I hear it. I don’t push. With time, he’ll come to me.
“Anyway.” The slightest change occurs in him. The edge in him slips away. He’s softer. “I’d like to begin with your session.” Marcus pauses, proceeding to say something out of character. “That is if you’re up for it.”
Eager to explore this other type of session—a hypnosis I actually consent to—I put some distance between us.
“I’m ready.” Making a show of straightening my back, I clear my throat. “I can’t wait to stop calling you a psycho.”
Marcus’s deep, throaty chuckle has me returning him a smile.
I ogle his broad back as he unfolds himself from the couch. Staring down at me, he rearranges his features.
Stern and professional.
Dr. Kingston .
However, there’s nothing professional about how he grips my shoulders. How he manhandles me into a lying position. Just as I predicted, my breasts spill out and I feel the cool air of the air condition on my pussy.
He doesn’t look at these areas. His sole focus is on my face.
“Before we start, remember the following.”
“Yes?”
“I won’t take advantage of you when you’re under a trance.” Marcus grabs the throw blanket at the end of the couch, spreading it over my body. Backing his words with actions. “This won’t be similar to what we’ve done before. As you well know, I care for the patients—and now a woman—I induce. I won’t plant suggestions in your head, either. I’ll be doing some light digging, and at the smallest sign of distress, I’ll wake you. You’re safe. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Not a muscle flinches on his face as he takes a seat on his chair. That’s how self-assured he is. “I’m going to count down from five to zero. At the end of the countdown, you’ll be very sleepy, won’t you?”
He lets my mind familiarize itself with the idea. He could’ve said moon , but no. He’s moving slowly. He’s safe.
Meaning I’m safe.
“Okay. I’m good to go.”
“Good girl.” He leans forward. “Five… Your chest expands with a deep breath. Feel the air seeping into your lungs. Oxygen flows into your bloodstream. Relaxing you. ”
I’m more comfortable already. Heaviness settles in my limbs and mind as the countdown and suggestions continue. By the time he gets to zero, I’m here and yet I’m nowhere at all.
Floating.
“Leighton.”
Silence. I don’t possess the ability to talk anymore.
“Leighton, how are you?”
I do now. Marcus asked me a question. Instructed me to answer. “I’m okay.”
“Ah, there you are.”
“Hi.”
“Do you like the color blue?” Marcus asks, his question soothing me further. There’s nothing harmful about colors.
“Yes.”
“Orange?”
“Mmm.” My lips stretch. I feel like I’m smiling. Oranges are my favorite fruit.
“The color orange.” His voice is a smile. “Do you like it?”
“Oh. That. Yes.”
For the longest time, Marcus continues to ask me a million yes or no questions. Navigating through my mind. Helping me sink deeper.
“Do you resent me for taking you here?”
He finally gets to the point. Even my foggy mind recognizes it for what it is, when I hear the shift in Marcus’s voice. So serious.
“No.”
“Would the answer change if I asked, do you resent me for kidnapping you? ”
At this stage, my mind is an open book to him. Answering him comes easy. “Yes.”
“You resent me for kidnapping you, then.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. That’s good, Leighton.”
I don’t see Marcus. Instead, I sense his presence near me. I also feel another presence. A heavy barrier taking shape in my head.
“Can you elaborate on why?”
Piece of cake. “Being with you is dangerous. When you were in your psycho state, I wasn’t safe. You lost control. Couldn’t help.”
“Because I’m a psycho?” His voice is warm and harsh. “Couldn’t help with what?”
“I…” I don’t know. “No?”
“Can you tell me why?”
The barrier transforms into a massive roadblock. A giant wall between me and the coherent answers I’ve given Marcus so far.
“Leighton?” Change. He’s changing. There’s concern there. And…a sense of mission. Like he’s preparing himself to launch into my mind and save me.
Do I need saving?
“Wall,” I murmur. As soon as I do, the wall dissolves. I see the backs of my eyes, and that’s it. “Nothing.”
“Leighton, if you’re okay, tell me what your favorite fruit is.”
“Oranges.” The citrusy taste has me smiling again .
“Good girl.” His hand is on my shoulder. Squeezing me. “We’re almost done. I’ll repeat the question. Why is being with me dangerous?”
His tone indicates that he doesn’t think he’s a psycho. Reassuring me. Confusing me.
“It’s foggy here, Marcus.”
“Will you give it a try? For me?”
“Pink sequin bikini. Blue eyes.” No idea what I’m saying, I just mumble whatever my mouth dictates. “Pink sequin bikini. Blue eyes.”
“What about her?”
“Pink sequin bikini. Blue eyes,” I parrot, unable to stop. “Pink sequin bikini. Blue eyes. Pink sequin bikini. Blue eyes.”
“All right, calm down, Leighton. I’m here.” His reassurance is the key that seals my mouth shut. “At the end of the countdown, you’ll be back with me in this room. Okay?”
“Okay.” I say the word that isn’t laced with panic and senseless murmur.
“Five…four…three…two…one. And zero.” His hand is on my cheek, and I feel it. I feel it hard. “Open your eyes, beautiful.”
I open them because I want to. I look at him for answers because he holds them. “I’m back.”
“Yes, you are.”
He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t tell me what Rylan has to do with my mental block. Wordlessly, he picks me up from under the blanket, carries me to the bedroom. He places me on the bed, puffing the pillows so I can sit straight. Then he helps me up and tucks me in .
“Be right back,” he promises, and he does exactly that. A few minutes later, he returns, a steaming mug in his hand. “Here.”
My face lights up. “Chamomile tea.”
“Yes.” He sets the mug on the nightstand, cupping both my hands between his much larger ones. “How are you?”
I think for a minute or two or ten. “Not sure.”
“Okay.” Marcus turns pensive. “Okay. You’re okay. That’s what matters. We’ll get to the rest. We have time.”
“When I hit the wall, Rylan was the one I blabbered about.” The tea is forgotten as our session resurfaces like a distant, eerie memory. “Does that make sense?”
“Maybe. I’d prefer not to go there right now.” Marcus rubs my wrists with his thumbs, demanding my attention. Protecting me. “I might be wrong. I’d prefer to hear it from you. I have both patience and faith that we’ll get our answers. Soon enough, we will.”