Page 63 of Fixation
Oh, she’s cursed me for it. Yet her cheeks have tinged red every time she went. She’s sensed me watching her from my phone.
Sure, I could’ve spared myself the curses. Could’ve filled her IV with a sedative. Could’ve inserted a catheter in her and spared her the embarrassment.
What kind of psycho would do that? Not me.
Sedating her for hours is risky with me being in the house, watching her like a hawk.
I won’t ever go down that road. Ever.
Getting off on humiliating her—I came so hard in the shower to the memories of her flushed cheeks and small gasps—doesn’t mean I’m a careless monster.
As long as I’m around, Harper will be safe. Safe and alive.
“She’s been awake since then.” Was sedated, woke up again, ate something, was sedated a second time, got some shut-eye atnight. Over and over. “As I said, my cousin is on the mend. I’m actually headed home to have dinner with her.”
“Wonderful.” He claps his chubby hands, giving me the illusion that we’re done. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about her earlier. Sorry it’s taken me this long, work, you know.”
His lips quirk. He’s expecting me to respond. To engage in this small talk. Maybe even ask him about his week.
It’d be the polite thing to do.
It’d be a waste of time.
“I appreciate your concern.”
“About that broken leg case from an hour ago, though, I have a couple of questions…”
Elliot is great. Truly. Usually, I’d even stay and answer his questions about work. His success is my success, and all that bullshit, which isn’t bullshit at all.
Today, I’m close to choking him. I’m seconds away from leaving his body lying out here while I hightail it back to Harper.
Which won’t happen. Ever.
I won’t ruin what Harper and I have by losing control and getting locked up.
But I will lose control at home. I feel the wave coming. The tide rising.
The better she gets, the more my ethics fly out the window.
My pulse pounds inside my head. My hands curl into fists.
I want my hand around her throat. I want my fingers in her cunt.
I need the outlet. The depravity.
The unethical.
In a way, it’s easy to remember that I’m her doctor. I tend to her. Look after her.
In many ways, it’s really fucking hard.
Her scent. Her snarls. The adorable way her mouth moves when she chews.
Denying myself things as simple as the softness of her skin for over eight hours has done a number on me.
Getting back to our routine won’t cure this illness inside of me.
Coming on the tiles in my shower won’t fucking cut it anymore. This relentless need that’s taken over my body demands more.
