Page 59 of Deeply Examined

West dims the lights slightly, until the room is bathed in a soft glow, then climbs onto the table beside me. The upholstered top dips under his weight, and I tense, my body screaming with exhaustion and tenderness. He slides his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. We fumble awkwardly for a minute, readjusting ourselves, until my head finds its place against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothes the raw edges of my nerves.

I bite back a whimper, my skin aching, my body bruised, my emotions a tangled mess.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against my ear. His fingers stroke along my arm, slow and grounding. “You did so well, Jess. So, so good.”

His words seep into me, easing the ache. Pride flickers faintly in my chest, a fragile warmth that spreads with every word of praise he whispers. I draw in a trembling breath and nuzzle closer, seeking his heat, his reassurance. His scent wraps around me—clean and warm with a hint of something darker, uniquely West.

As I’m pressed against him, his voice becomes my anchor. He speaks softly, a mantra of devotion and awe. He calls me beautiful, brave, remarkable. His words are unrelenting, sinking deep, filling every empty, aching space inside me. Each one chips away at the lingering doubt, replacing it with something new, something I don’t have the strength to name yet.

My eyelids grow heavier with each gentle stroke of his hand, each murmured endearment. The world fades, the edges of reality blurring, until all that remains is his warmth and his voice.

What we just did—what he guided me through—was foreign, unsettling in its intensity, yet strangely liberating. Now, here in the stillness, close to him, I feel a comfort I haven’t felt in years. It’s as if he’s rewriting my definition of safety, reshaping my concept of home.

Adam

The alley where I wait is tucked around a corner, hidden from anyone passing by on the sidewalk. My hands are covered in thick gloves, the leather insulating them against the chill. I flex my fingers, the material stretching taut over my knuckles with a faint creak. In a couple of hours dawn will break, but I’ll be long gone by then. Back home to where Jessica sleeps, exhausted by her time in my special exam room, my lair. She’d barely stirred when I’d carried her up the winding stairs and tucked her into bed.

The door next to me squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. It’s the back exit of a strip club in the seedier part of downtown. A blare of music cuts off abruptly when the door closes. A man steps out, a cigarette glowing red between his fingers. He tosses it carelessly on the ground, not bothering to crush it under his heel.

I grab him by the arm and jerk him into the shadows. “Don’t you know littering is a crime?” I hiss into his ear.

Dylan snaps his bloodshot gaze to mine. His jaw hangs wide open with shock. “West? What the hell? What’re you doing here?”

I shove him against the graffiti-sprayed brick wall and pin him there with my elbow. “I think a better question is, what areyoudoing here, Dylan?”

“Uh.” His eyes roll as he searches for a plausible lie.

With my free hand, I tap my chin and look up with my head tilted like I’m thinking. “It’s strange because your wife thinks you’re on call tonight. That you’re staying late at the hospital admitting patients, but I checked the schedule and you’re definitely not on.Hmm. How do you explain that?”

“Uh, I—um—I thought I was on call, so I came down here to—uh, check in on some former patients and—”

Sick of his blathering, I interrupt. “Oh, really? Scarlet is one of your patients? Or maybe we shouldn’t use her stage name. How about her real name, Marcia Crosby. I don’t remember you treating any seventeen-year-olds recently.”

Dylan blanches when I say the name of his mistress. He’s quick to correct me, “She’s eighteen. Not seventeen.”

I laugh, throwing my head back like that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. “Oh, Dylan. Dylan. You poor stupid sucker. Is that what she told you?” I laugh some more, raising my voice to be heard over the scream of a siren as a police car rushes past us. Dylan watches it with hungry eyes, like he thinks the cops can save him.

Idiot.

No one can save him from me.

I stop laughing as quickly as I started, the silence resoundingly loud after my outburst. More serious now, I tell him, “You got played, you moron. That girl is seventeen, which means sleeping with her is statutory rape.” I lean against him and whisper in his ear, “How do you feel about jail time?”

He trembles, his eyes dilated with fear. “No. No, that’s not true. I—she—”

“She lied. Just like you lied to your wife about where you are right now. Just like you lied to Jessica when you were hitting on her to get back at me.”

I can’t get out of my head the sight of Dylan’s hand on Jessica’s arm as she twisted against it, trying to get away from him. How, once she broke free, I could still see the angry red imprint of his fingers on her soft, ivory skin. The memory of it ignites something primal inside me, dark and uncontrollable.

Dylan quickly recovers from my truth bomb about his girlfriend. He’s always been like this. Shifty. Selfish. A real asshole.

“I can’t be checking on some whore’s age,” he whines. “Why the fuck do you care about it, anyway? It’s not your problem.”

“Youbecame my problem when you touched what’s mine,” I seethe through gritted teeth while rage roars in my ears, drowning out what little morality remains in me. “You put your hands onmywoman. You threatenedmycareer. You think I’ll let that go? That I’ll turn the other cheek?” I gather the fabric of his shirt in one hand and shake it. Dylan’s head whips back and forth so hard his neck pops audibly.

“Do you know what happens to people who touch what’s mine?” I lift him by his shirt so that his feet scramble, trying to find purchase, but I’ve got him so high that he gives up and lets his legs dangle uselessly. I bring his face to mine, so close that our noses graze. “Do you?!”

Dylan flops like a fish out of water. “No! No, I don’t know, you fucking maniac. Get your hands off me.”

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