Chapter 7 Neil
“The past was a terminal disease,
a cancer in its final stages.”
Neil
I wondered what Babygirl’s face looked like when she read that note.
She hadn’t called or texted me, so I suspected she was still deciding what to do.
I knew in the moment that it was crazy of me to use such an unconventional mode of communication with her.
A normal man would have just said everything directly to her, but I couldn’t deal with words.
I used them sparingly most of the time and even more so when I lost my patience or felt like my back was against the wall.
I’d returned to New York a few hours before, but I didn’t want to hang around the house because Matt hadn’t left for work yet for God knows what reason, and I had no desire to share space with him.
Instead, I accepted Dr. Lively’s invitation to attend a special patient meeting at the clinic as a guest. I hadn’t gone to Lively’s clinic for three years, and I still hadn’t officially resumed treatment, but that didn’t seem to matter to him.
“Where is he, then?” I snapped impatiently at Ms. Kate, who was stationed at the entrance. As usual, the secretary just rolled her eyes at me, as if my very presence was annoying, and unwrapped a caramel. She eyed me distrustfully as she ate it.
“He’ll be here shortly. Calm down and wait in the waiting room.” She gestured at the large space behind me littered with leather sofas and low tables.
I snorted, thinking that it was all business as usual here: the annoying classical Muzak, the big screen showing boring advertisements, and a few colorful prints on the white walls. The perfectly ordered and sterile environment had, counterintuitively, only increased my anxiety.
I turned away from the woman without giving her any further thought and headed for a sofa.
What the hell had possessed me to accept Lively’s invitation?
Already, I regretted it bitterly. I could have been having a good time with the Krew or even just called up Jennifer and had her blow me at the pool house.
Maybe I could get Alexia on all fours after that?
But the thought of actually reaching out to them or anyone else I’d fucked only gave me the barest ghost of a thrill and only for a second, leaving me not particularly excited.
Which was very bizarre.
I was used to immediately indulging my worst perversions, but, just then, I was too on edge to think of sex as a solution to my dark mood.
Plus, I still hadn’t been able to achieve orgasm with other women, only with Selene.
Trying and failing with them would only dredge up all my worries that something was really wrong with me.
Before, I had followed my shrink’s advice; I had abstained from sexual activity for a period of time; I had stopped violating my own body and putting myself through even more stress.
But my enforced abstinence ended when I gave in to Babygirl in Detroit, and I could not figure out how to solve my problem.
Why could I let go enough to come with her but not with anyone else?
“Oh, hey Miller, this is an honor.”
I quit my musing and looked up at Megan in front of me, staring fixedly at me with her usual sharp half-smile.
Her presence was not at all surprising.
I cocked an indifferent eyebrow and regarded her: She had her black hair up in a high ponytail, her legs swathed in the leather pants I’d often seen her wear, while up top she sported a white shirt so tight and translucent that I could see the fuchsia bra she wore underneath it.
She completed the whole look with a black leather jacket, the shoulders adorned with silver studs.
I hated to admit it, but although she had an irreverent, even somewhat masculine style, Megan Wayne managed to look like every man’s idea of sexy.
I received confirmation of that when a staff member walked by us and leered shamelessly at her ass.
“Take a seat somewhere else. Perhaps outside in the cold?” I snapped at her as though she were my worst enemy.
And she was. She was the one who coaxed forth all the painful memories, the one who made me regret not killing Kim the day she took us down into that basement to play one of her psychopathic “games.”
“I thought you weren’t into me…” Head Case answered, screwing up her forehead.
What the fuck kind of response was that?
I gave her a confused look. I had no idea what she was talking about, and she just chuckled in response.
“Did I not just see you check out my tits?” She gestured to them, but I kept my eyes fixed on her face.
Sure, I did, but that didn’t mean anything. I appreciated abundant curves on any woman.
“So what? That doesn’t mean I like you,” I said, clearly and without any hesitation. Her intense gaze, a dazzling green color, could have seduced anyone. Anyone except me, that is.
“Okay, I’ll pretend to believe that.” She sat down across from me and crossed one leg over the other.
She picked up a motorcycle magazine and started flipping through it.
Then she let out a low wolf whistle, and it occurred to me again how alike we were: She was acting like I did when I was trying to get under someone’s skin.
“Knock it off,” I demanded sternly, and she turned her gaze my way.
Now, the object of her appreciative attention was not the magazine but me.
She looked me up and down, from my splayed legs to the gray sweater under my leather jacket, which outlined my muscles.
She made a “not bad” face before locking eyes with me again.
“This again? I told you the tyrant vibe does nothing for me.” She shook her head for emphasis and went back to whistling, this time bouncing her crossed leg in the air.
I tried to just breathe in and out, telling myself again and again that she was trying to get a reaction from me, and I didn’t want to give her one.
But my instincts got the better of me, and I leaped up off the sofa.
I advanced on her, and in one savage moment, I tore the magazine out of her hands and threw it onto the coffee table behind me.
Megan was neither upset nor surprised. She just gazed sadly at the magazine, like a child who had just been denied her favorite flavor of ice cream, before letting her gaze drift down to my pelvic area.
I looked down to see what he was staring at and realized the crotch of my pants was directly at eye level with her.
Head Case fanned herself with one hand and gave a sultry flutter of her eyelashes.
“Miller, half the city is always talking about how aggressive your game is, but don’t you think this is pushing it a bit?
We are in public, after all.” She looked back up at my eyes, and for a moment, I imagined her on her knees before me, pleasuring me while the tubby receptionist summoned security guards to escort me out.
Thinking about a pair of lips around my cock was arousing, but when I thought about those lips belonging to Megan, the tingle in the bottom of my stomach evaporated and was immediately replaced with revulsion.
Disturbed, I took a step back and actually felt shame, for once, at that obscene place my head had gone. I reminded myself to breathe.
“What the hell…” I ran a hand over my face as I reestablished the proper distance between the two of us. I shouldn’t have even been thinking something like that.
Never.
I wouldn’t touch her if she were the last woman on earth.
“Chill out, Miller. Try to rein in those fantasies.” Head Case winked at me, and I shot her a glare.
“Who the fuck gave you permission to cross that line with me?” I roared, and, finally, Megan stiffened.
Her self-assured smile faded little by little, and she uncrossed her legs, taking on a more guarded posture.
“Stop acting like a stupid kid,” I railed at her.
“Always starting shit and fucking with me…because if I ever really did lose my cool, you’d see a side of me you would not enjoy,” I continued decisively, my tone even more severe.
Megan had no comeback. She knew that now was not the time to antagonize me further.
Was that what she wanted, to be put in her place? Well, if so, she’d found just the man for the job. The kind of man who wouldn’t be subjugated by anyone, least of all her.
I touched my hair anxiously and growled like a wild animal. I felt trapped.
I pictured a wall in front of me, one so high that I couldn’t see the top of it.
I had fought my demons, and just like always, I had lost.
I couldn’t find a way out of my situation, and perhaps, for me, there wasn’t a way out.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to make you mad,” she told me, and I rubbed my temple with one finger. I had developed a headache all of a sudden. I needed a smoke.
“Shut your trap,” I snapped at her, and she looked away awkwardly.
Agitated, I felt around in my jacket for my packet of Winstons.
Finding it, I pulled out a cigarette with my teeth, clenching my lips around it to hold it in place.
I wasn’t going to light it—I knew the clinic’s rules—but I needed to keep it there, inert, to soothe myself.
“Oh, I’m glad to see you, Neil. You’ve finally come to visit us.
” Dr. Krug Lively appeared before me wearing his usual business casual and a benevolent gaze.
I figured from the small smile on his face that he hadn’t picked up on the conversation Head Case and I had been having.
I tucked my cigarette away and grunted. Beside him stood John Keller, his partner in the clinic, who was nattily dressed in a dark blue suit.
Unlike Krug, John had an enviable aura of class, especially when he wore his high-end blazers and jackets.
In a way, I appreciated his sartorial flair—it suggested an independent spirit, someone who didn’t give a flying fuck what other people thought, like me.