Chapter 3
I give a low, breathy laugh. I wish I didn’t have my back to the room so I could appreciate this intervention a little more. I would love to see the look of disappointment on Andy’s face right now. I know he had a whole lot more planned for me, and all those plans just got crushed.
Resting my forehead on the wall, I attempt to stand up straight. I'm reveling in the pain, even if it was delivered by a piece of shit’s hand. And now that my stoic doctor is here, I let out another little chuckle.
“But–” Andy starts to argue, but is quickly interrupted.
“But nothing, Andrew," my doctor says, his voice emotionless, like always. Just how he is during our sessions. "Help him get her down from there…” he says, pausing for just a second.
I am finally able to straighten my legs and hold myself up. I’m still breathing heavily, and my heart is racing, but knowing I’m being let go, gives me a little more strength.
His words finally register, help him . He must have been accompanied by someone here, so it’s not just my good ole doctor.
“Yes, Dr. Graveheart.” That sickly sweet voice makes my top lip curl into a snarl as my head turns to look over my shoulder slightly.
Fucking Christina.
God, I hate her. She’s such a traitorous, conniving, two-faced bitch.
Not only did she enjoy helping Andy with my intake, but on two occasions since I’ve been here, she has had me locked in solitary after she did some shady shit and told the doctor it was me.
But since I’m the patient, they believed her spewed lies.
I wish they would get it through their thick fucking skulls…If I do something, no matter what it is…I will own up to it.
When I feel her hands touching my ankles to release the shackles around them, I look down at her, letting a snarl bubble up from my chest through my lips, making her glance up at me with a smirk.
Moving to the other ankle, I carefully follow her movement in case she has something sketchy up her sleeve.
“Fucking bitch,” I mutter, where only she can hear me, making her give a little giggle.
Andy removes the manacle from over my head as Christina stands, backing away from us.
I lower my arms down in front of me, covering my naked chest. They are still bound by the tape he secured them with.
Opening and closing my hands and wiggling my fingers, I try to get the circulation back into them.
They start to tingle, feeling like little needles piercing my skin all over them.
Slowly, I turn away from the wall, leaning my shoulder against it. The piece of shit pulls his knife from his back pocket again, cutting the bandage loose from my wrists.
He's glaring at me from under his lashes, as I do the same. Dr. Graveheart stands ramrod straight in the doorway with his arms clasped behind his back, waiting patiently. Watching everything as if he were my guardian angel, which I know he definitely isn’t.
Even if he saved me from this shithead, he could still do worse.
Just before Andy pulls the last vestiges of the bandage from my skin, Andrew whispers, “He won’t be around all the time. Those screams belong to me.” He slides the blade back into his back pocket again. My eyes never leave his, but I store that for later.
“Good fucking luck… Andy ," I snarl his name out.
He steps into me, wrapping his hand around my neck, but I don't move except to lift my chin.
While I may have screamed from the pain he delivered by the leather strap I see on the floor, it doesn't mean I didn't enjoy every bit of it.
He needs to understand that I am not afraid of him.
But he, however, should be very fucking afraid of me.
“Andrew!" the doctor barks out, stopping him from tightening his hold immediately. His eyes dart to where the doctor is still standing, and a moment of hesitation and…could that be fear I see cross over his face?
A small smirk lifts the corner of my lips at the revelation. His bitch ass is scared of Dr. Graveheart.
“Well…come on. Nothing but air and opportunity. Oh wait. That's right. You're nothing but a little bitch!" I snark out, making him stiffen. I can see it in his face; if the doctor weren't here, he would definitely love nothing more than to choke me out.
“Katarina…" the doctor scolds, using my full name, sounding like he's speaking to a child. He knows how much I loathe my full name. “Stop antagonizing Andrew. Come now. Let's get you cleaned up in Med Room 2."
Lifting my chin and straightening my spine, I walk away from Andy and move to where the doctor is waiting. Yes, I'm completely naked except for my socks and covered in blood, but I will not let that asshole get the better of me.
Dr. Graveheart steps to the side as I pass by him, walking toward Medical Room 2, which is directly across the hall from his office. Just as I exit the room, his gaze roams over my exposed body.
All the welts, cuts, and blood from the leather strap that asshole used on me cover the front and back of my torso along with the cuts on my face. Everything is on full display for everyone to see.
His head dips, watching me, as I continue walking past him through the doorway. He’s well over my five foot seven inches, having to look down as I cross in front of him.
My focus never wavers, and I keep my eyes focused on the hallway directly in front of me. He remains unreadable and stoic, as usual. He’s known on this ward as the genius in psychiatry and sociology, but it's because he’s just as psychotic as us inmates…he just knows how to hide it better.
But psycho recognizes psycho.
“Clean this up immediately, Andrew. I expect you to be in my office in an hour. Do you understand me?" He directs his attention back into the room we just vacated.
I can hear the moron's mumbling response but not his exact words as I continue my socked steps, however, knowing him, it's just him being a little bitch and kissing ass. "And Christina, be a dear and head back to the unit. Andrew can handle the clean up…on his own.”
Pushing the door open to the medical room that Dr. Graveheart indicated, I stroll into the bright, white room illuminated by several LED lights above, crossing my arms over my chest from the chill. This room, being closed up, seems to be colder than the others for some reason.
Looking around the room, the reclining table in the middle, taking up most of the space, is covered with that thin crackly paper that you would usually see in a regular doctor’s office.
There are several polished silver upper and lower cabinets that have locks on them, making sure none of the inmates who are left alone can get in.
A few silver-topped glass jars line the back of the counter, holding cotton balls, Q-tips, Band-Aids, and wrapped gauze packages.
Things that can be quickly accessed but are not worth stealing for any real purpose.
Staring along the back wall where there are a couple of posters of the anatomy, showing different parts of the inside of a body, I hear the door softly click closed behind me. My eyes never leave the poster I'm currently staring at.
Looking over its entirety due to my constant curiosity about how the body works and what it looks like on the inside, I keep my focus on the wall. It’s not my first time in this room, but every time I come in here, this poster right here always captures my attention.
“I’m sorry about Andrew, Katarina,” Dr. Graveheart says in his deep, soothing baritone voice as he moves around the room, pulling the tops off a couple of the glass jars and unlocking one of the cabinets.
My eyes roll at the use of my full name once again, and still, I shrug my shoulders at his words. “Come sit. Let me have a look at you.”
Slowly, I turn and walk to the table, stepping up and sitting on it. My arms are still clasped over my chest, making my breasts bubble up over my forearms. His eyes immediately fall to them, making me smirk.
I know my rack is significant. It’s really what draws guys to me first, seeing as I’m a 34D. That and my hourglass-shaped, curvy body. I have a small waist and wide hips with an ass that looks manufactured.
It’s not.
My entire body is all naturale’.
I have a few stretch marks on my upper thighs and hips circling to my ass to prove it.
Dr. Graveheart’s eyes finally make their way back to my face.
Tipping a bottle of alcohol that I'm sure he pulled from the locked cabinet onto the little cotton ball in his hand, he says, “This might sting a bit,” before dabbing it to the cut over my eye.
The smell from the liquid saturates the room as if he had poured out the entirety of the bottle.
My eye twitches a bit from the vapor of the liquid, not from the pain. But other than that, no other indication that he just touched an open wound crosses my face.
It does sting a bit, but nothing on my scale of pain. The corners of his lips lift into a dark smirk as he presses even harder, making me hiss. That’s the only show of any emotion crossing his face, and that’s honestly more than I’ve seen from him yet.
He knows of my predilection for pain and seems to want to test it. I don’t give any more reaction as he continues cleaning down my face, as my eyes focus on his steel gray blue eyes.
Covering the cut with two small butterfly stitch bandages, he moves around to my back and begins cleaning the wounds on my lower back. I take a deep inhale of breath through my teeth at those, for some reason, they seem to hurt a bit more.
The pain from him cleaning my wounds is making my heart race. I'm enjoying the pain mixed with the caretaking just a little too much.
Working quickly to clean me up, he covers that area with a bit of gauze and some waterproof tape. I zone out as he does everything he needs to, just as I’m trying to calm my racing libido.
I can feel the throbbing down between my legs at my core.
This isn't good.
This is my doctor.
After everything that needs to be treated is, he cleans up the empty packages, throwing them in the waste receptacle. Walking back around, he puts the alcohol back into one of the overhead cabinets and locks it.
He turns back around, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his wide chest. His light steel blue eyes roam my naked body as he studies me.
Normally, I wouldn’t feel anything from being naked, but his perusal of me makes me feel a bit aroused yet uncomfortable for feeling like that. This man is nearly twice my age.
“Is that it? Can I go back now?” I ask, shifting to move off the table.
“Not yet,” he says, pulling a small rolling desk chair out from under the counter and sitting down.
He’s no longer eye level, but he still feels large in this tiny ass room.
“I know our session isn’t until tomorrow, but let’s talk now.
” He crosses one leg over the other, leaning back in the small office chair, resting his clasped hands on his knee.
Looking down at my own naked form, lifting an eyebrow, I then look at him through my lashes. “Like this?” I ask, hoping he will get the hint.
One side of his mouth lifts in a sinister smirk that absolutely doesn’t reach his eyes. If anything, it makes him look even more menacing. His eyes begin a downward trajectory of my body, slowly moving over every intimate part. I feel his focus on me as if it were a physical touch.
Caressing.
Arousing.
And totally forbidden.
Without me even wanting it to, my body reacts to his attention. My nipples harden, and my pussy gets wet. For some wild and crazy reason, my psychiatrist is an area I would have never thought to go.
Which makes me want to play even more. He hasn’t shown me any kind of attention like this during the sessions we’ve had.
Dr. Graveheart is an older man, probably in his mid to late forties, but with no gray hair whatsoever.
His jet black hair is shaved on the sides, faded up to slightly longer hair on top, styled to within an inch of its life–enough to grab onto, but not enough to fall into his eyes.
High cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, and a plush bottom lip but thinner top one…
he’s not a bad-looking man. Not someone I would chase after, per se, but pretty hot for his age.
By the time his attention reaches my face again, he answers me. “Sure. Why not?”
My eyes flit from side to side, trying to gauge exactly what he has planned if my being naked isn’t an issue. Maybe he just wants to make me feel uncomfortable to knock me off kilter. He probably thinks I will answer more honestly.
My honesty usually depends on the question asked. If it’s something I don’t mind telling, then I’m honest. If it’s something I hold as one of my closest secrets, then I make some shit up. I will never let him see the real me…not ever!
Glancing to the door over his shoulder, I notice that he must have locked it when he came in here.
I didn’t even hear it. My heart begins to race even harder with all the speculations of what exactly he has planned now.
Maybe he just locked it because I was unclothed.
Or…he has plans for me because I don't have any clothes on.
He clears his throat, wanting my attention back on him. My eyes move quickly back to his, and I see his eyes shift to between my legs, which have separated just slightly. He gives a little chuckle as his eyes slowly move back up to mine.
“Let’s talk about how pain turns you on…Katarina.”