5. Dr G #3
‘You didn’t book again,’ Dylan said, her voice barely there.
The silence that followed wrapped around Greta’s throat, squeezing slowly. A trembling hand betrayed Greta as she gestured toward the door Dylan was obstructing. With her head dipped, chest heaving she said, ‘Please leave,’ as calmly as she could.
Despite Greta’s dismissal, Dylan still didn’t move. She watched as Greta’s gaze rested anywhere but on her.
‘Please, Greta—’
‘Will you please just leave!’ Greta whisper-shouted.
Seemingly frozen in the space, Dylan simply stood there, looking at Greta’s eyes. Brows furrowed. Pleading with every muscle of her face.
‘Did I do something wrong?’ Dylan asked softly.
Greta’s hands flew to her head, her fingers digging into her temples. ‘I can’t be near you. This is wildly inappropriate. Did you set this up? Tell me you didn't do this on purpose.’
The sharp gasp from Dylan’s throat filled the small gap between them.
Greta felt the weight of it. She knew, even through her abject fear and anger, that Dylan was just as blindsided as she was.
The Remi she imagined wouldn’t have a devious bone in her body and the Dylan standing in front of her looked like she was about to break apart.
‘How would I have managed that? I’m not some weird stalker. You know me—’
‘Except I don’t know you do I, Dylan?’
‘Please…you have to let me explain, just give me a few minutes,’ Dylan begged, falling just short of dropping to her knees.
‘I don’t have to let you do anything. I am at work. This is my place of work, Dylan.’
‘Look—’ Dylan paused for a gulp of air, Greta watched the tip of her tongue flick against her teeth. ‘I do not know how this has happened. Well, I do but I— Well…no…I guess I don’t but it’s happened. We’re here and I feel like we need to talk.’
Having never heard Dylan say more than “Yes Margot”, “No Miss Grenson”, or the bitten-off words she had used during their last meeting at Gotham, Greta couldn’t help but notice the tone and rhythm of Dylan’s voice.
It was articulate, reasoned, and entirely different from the obedient whispers she had come to know.
The pleading in Dylan’s expression made her face even more achingly beautiful.
Her hands were raised, palms facing her, in a bid to calm Greta but all she could see were the fingers that had been inside her.
Overwhelmed by a wave of embarrassment Greta snapped. ‘How have Scortare fucked up to this degree?’ Arching a brow in a desperate attempt to regain her consultant’s poise, she took a sharp breath through flared nostrils. ‘They must have known our paths would cross eventually, surely?’
‘Fuck Greta, I don’t know. I just—’
‘Don’t. Please, will you just go?’ Greta’s words were losing their sharp edges as her tone dissolved into pleading.
Dylan didn't move toward the door, she moved toward Greta. It was only an inch or two, a tentative step into the air that Greta breathed.
‘Do you really want me to leave?’ Dylan asked softly.
A nauseating tang of salt filled Greta’s mouth as she allowed her gaze to rake over Dylan’s clothes.
Between the faded T-shirt, worn denim and Converse trainers that had absolutely seen better days, Dylan looked so young, achingly so.
What the fuck have I done? For two years she had allowed this student to fuck her every week.
Shame twisted in her gut like a cloth being wrung out.
A cold, sickening sensation welled inside her.
Pressing both hands to her belly, as if she’d been physically punched, Greta dropped her gaze.
As she stared at the worn office floor, a spark of defiance flickered.
Shame? Absolutely not. Too many years had been spent being shamed for her sexuality to let desire become a weapon now.
She wouldn’t allow anyone to make those needs seem small or wrong again.
Even so, the sight of Dylan was overwhelming. Beautiful, but so impossibly young.
Remembering exactly who the fuck she was, Greta exhaled a sharp breath through her nose. Looking up she squared her shoulders. ‘Dylan. This is not happening. You will do as I am asking and leave. I can’t—’
‘Do you really want me to leave, Doctor Vincent?’ Dylan interrupted, her voice soft and measured.
Dipping her head she snagged Greta’s gaze, which had been severed by Greta’s dismissive eye roll.
Then, as though arriving at a decision, Dylan took another unbidden step toward her, closing the gap between them even more. ‘Doctor Vincent?’
Greta’s breathing quickened at hearing her name again from Dylan’s perfect mouth. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be there. She couldn’t see her. Not now and not ever. Anger, anxiety and disbelief melded into one fierce emotion that thrummed in her chest.
‘I am not going to repeat myself—’
‘You don’t want me to leave,’ Dylan boldly interrupted. Another short step. ‘Do you?’
Blinking frantically, Greta dragged her gaze from Dylan’s full lips, to her unbelievable green eyes, over the soft brown curls—that she had held in her hands just last week—and back again.
The material of her blouse moved up and down as her chest heaved uncomfortably.
As Dylan dared to shorten the gap even further, Greta’s heart battered against her sternum.
The entire world narrowing to the few inches of static-charged air between them.
Dylan canted her head and drew in a slow breath. ‘Do you?’
Nostrils flared, Greta fought for a voice that wouldn't come. The words were trapped behind a lump in her throat that felt like a physical obstruction, narrowing her airway. She felt weak; the nearness of Dylan, her smell, the proximity of her incredible mouth and body was overpowering her logic.
Sucking both lips into her mouth, Greta dropped her head as she drew in a slow, calming breath. She looked up. ‘Please. Miss St John.’ Her voice treasonously quivered despite her best efforts to steel herself. ‘The next request I make will be to security to have you removed.’
Stepping back, Dylan exhaled a long, shaky breath, finally giving Greta the air she’d been desperate for.
Greta’s gaze hit the floor, her shoulders dropping in a visible wave of relief at the restored distance.
The awareness of Dylan’s eyes watching her as she remained still, crawled over her, suffusing every inch of the flesh she wanted Dylan to touch and taste.
‘Okay…I’m sorry. I’ll go,’ Dylan breathed, the words heavy with reluctance.
Bending to retrieve her rucksack from the floor, Dylan didn’t immediately turn away. Greta’s stomach roiled with the power of Dylan’s gaze. The tiny office unable to contain the raw emotion thrumming from her chest.
‘I’ll email Doctor McClure and request that she allocates you a new mentor,’ Greta said, struggling to maintain her ultra-professional facade that was now fractured and dangerously close to slipping away completely. She swallowed. ‘We need never see each other again.’
‘But…can I—can I at least give you my number—'
‘Goodbye, Miss St John,’ Greta interrupted coldly.
Without giving Greta her back and her eye contact unwavering, Dylan reached for the door handle, pausing when her hand found the cold metal.
Greta set her jaw. Desperate not to show any emotion, Greta’s glare was unwavering.
As Dylan’s fingers curled around the handle the loud click pierced the sound of their breaths.
‘Goodbye, Greta,’ Dylan sighed.
Silence displaced the oxygen in the room as Greta just stood there, chest heaving, fingers pushed deep into her hips. After the door had closed, Greta stared at the strip of glass as Dylan hovered for a moment, her head tipped backwards, resting against the wood.
‘Go, please go.’ A repeated mutter spilled from her, chewing on the inside of her lip until the taste of copper flooded her mouth.
Pulling her weight off the door, Dylan finally walked away, head bowed, rucksack hanging at her side.
Dropping back into her chair, Greta covered her face with her hands and heaved a loud, ‘Fuck!’