Page 46 of Imprisoned

Eleanor taps her pen against the desk. “And you’re certain you can handle such intensive sessions? It’s a heavy emotional load.”

“I am.” The words come out firm. “I’ve built rapport with him. Changing therapists now could undo the progress.”

She studies me for a long moment, and I force myself to meet her gaze. Finally, she signs the paperwork.

“I trust your judgment, Willow. But remember what we discussed about maintaining boundaries.”

“Thank you, Eleanor. I won’t let you down.”

The irony of her words makes my stomach clench, but I keep my face neutral as I gather the approved schedule changes.

“Willow,” Eleanor says as I reach for the door. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been joining us for lunch anymore. The staff has been asking about you.”

Guilt twists inside me. These people welcomed and supported me, and now I’m betraying everything they stand for.

“I’ve just been... focused on my cases,” I reply, unable to meet her eyes.

“We’re worried about you,” Eleanor continues, her voice softening. Working with these inmates, especially ones like Morrison can take a toll. You need a support system.”

“I’m fine,” I insist, perhaps too quickly. “Really.”

“Remember when we talked about compartmentalizing?” Eleanor stands, moving toward me. “About not letting this work consume you? I’ve seen promising therapists burn out because they couldn’t maintain that separation.”

If only she knew how completely those compartments had collapsed.

“I appreciate your concern,” I say, my hand on the doorknob. “But I need to prepare for my next session.”

Eleanor reaches out, touching my arm lightly. “Come join us for drinks on Friday? The whole medical team is going. It would be good for you to connect with colleagues outside these walls.”

Two months ago, I would have eagerly accepted. Now, pretending to be the person they think I am—the dedicated professional with a bright future—feels impossible.

“I’ll try,” I lie, knowing I won’t.

Eleanor’s hand falls away, disappointment clear in her eyes. “My door is always open, Willow. For anything.”

I nod and slip out, guilt and relief battling as I hurry back to my office. Each step puts more distance between Eleanor’s genuine concern and the person I’m becoming—someone who would risk everything for the forbidden thrill of what awaits me behind my office door.

As I sit at my desk, I’m restless and nervous. I organize my notes, straighten papers, and do anything to distract myself. But my eyes keep glancing at the clock.

Twenty-five minutes.

The wait is agonizing, each minute an eternity. My skin feels like it’s been set alight—electrified, and I’m aware of the plug’s presence with every movement. I shift in my seat, the pressure building.

My phone buzzes with a text from Axel, and I know without looking that it will push me further from the person Eleanor thinks I am into the abyss I’ve chosen.

Can’t wait to stretch that tight little hole, doctor. Been thinking about it all day.

I drop my phone, my cheeks flaming. I know I should be embarrassed, but all I feel is a rush of need. I want him, crave his touch, his dominance.

I bite my lip, scanning the room, ensuring no one will interrupt us. I’m nervous but determined. I check the clockagain, counting the minutes until I fully surrender to what I’ve become.

Ten minutes.

I force myself back into my chair and open patient files on my computer. The screen blurs before my eyes—I can’t focus on a single word. My body throbs with anticipation, the plug a constant reminder of what’s to come.

I click through reports mindlessly, not registering anything. My mouth goes dry as footsteps echo down the hallway. The familiar rhythm of boots against linoleum makes my heart race.

A knock at the door.

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