Chapter 12

12

GINA

B ecause I hadn't officially walked Porter through his exit strategy, they rescheduled our appointment. The day he was going to be released, he was my first client. I had taken the rideshare home and climbed onto the couch with the remainder of my Thai food. I had a hard time going to sleep. A combination of sadness and adrenaline kept me up, tossing and turning.

It was raining so hard that I broke down and drove myself to work. It figured that on a day that was draining my heart of all its reserves, the weather would mirror my insides. Racing for the front door, I broke through into safety, water streaming through my hair. I changed my shoes and grabbed my clipboard, feeling a wash of relief when I saw Porter's name.

He was in the cafeteria, eating cereal when I found him. I sat down opposite, laying my clipboard on the table. He took one look at my damp hair and set his spoon down.

"It's raining?" he guessed.

I nodded. "It's not my lucky day."

"They couldn't give you a day off after yesterday?"

I shook my head, "It doesn't work like that."

"Will you at least get overtime?" He was acting more like my boyfriend than my client, arguing on my behalf.

"I will," I said. "They've rescheduled our exit interview. I have time to talk now."

"Okay." He finished the cereal by tilting the bowl up to his mouth. I wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips, so recently blessed by the milk and sugar.

We moved to an interview room, a small space with a window that consumed most of one wall. A table and three chairs populated the area, and Porter and I each selected one. This room had a door that I was able to close to give us some semblance of privacy. We were effectively alone, if you didn't consider the cameras in the corners. I knew I would have to be very careful in this situation.

In fact, I wanted to communicate the gravity to Porter so that there would be no familiar comments. "This conversation is being recorded," I told him, searching his eyes for understanding.

He nodded, not smiling, not winking, not giving any indication that there was something between us that demanded hiding. Good. I drew a breath to continue, reading off my clipboard. We went over his support network, the people he had identified and the resources in Singer's Ridge. There was an active twelve-step program that he had been involved with before. He was going to start going to meetings again. Our social worker would be checking in with him every day. He was going to hit the ground running. He was on the work schedule tomorrow and every day this week. He was going to clean his room, throwing out every empty bottle and piece of drug paraphernalia he owned, and look for an apartment where he wouldn't be surrounded by potential pitfalls.

We went over a few of the logistics, how to get his car out of the parking lot and how we were going to bill the insurance company. There were forms to fill out and contracts to sign. I finished up with the hospital's mission and vision statement and how we hoped that he had received the best care possible. There was a number I had to give him to register any complaints about his stay.

He listened to the whole presentation with respect and rapt attention. I suspected he was fantasizing about scrambling across the table to kiss me. I knew I was. I could practically feel the solid metal beneath my bottom as I reached for his collar, dragging him toward me. His lips would be sweet from his breakfast and warm from his body temperature. I would claim his mouth, sliding my tongue deep inside as he raked his fingers down my back.

"Thank you," he said, snapping me out of my trance.

I nodded, and we stood up together, leaving the room just the way we had found it. Outside, I forced myself to remain professional, proceeding him down the hall to the nurses' station. I fetched his personal items, his clothes, phone, keys, and wallet from the cubby where outgoing patient belongings were kept. He accepted them with a smile, still silent, still playing the part of a respectful patient. I walked him through the locked door into the visitors' lobby. From here, he would be able to leave on his own.

We couldn't kiss or hug each other goodbye. My heart felt like it was breaking. I didn't want to see him go. Who would tease me about Evil and ask me about my day? Who would ever make me look forward to "Mondays" again? But it wasn't fair to him. He had his own life to get back to, and this brief hiatus in a locked ward wasn't meant to be permanent.

"Can I have your phone number?" he asked, maintaining his distance and yet giving up some of our subterfuge.

I shook my head. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

His eyes lit with something like frustration, or was it anger? I could see that I had hurt him, but what choice did I have? He nodded briefly, then turned to find the men's room. I waited while he changed. If I were really a disinterested nurse, if he were any other patient, I would have resumed my rounds. But it was Porter, so I hung around.

He emerged from the bathroom in his street clothes, jeans and a button-down shirt. He looked every bit the lumberjack, like he had walked off the cover of a country album. I almost changed my mind, almost narrowed the distance between us while rattling off my digits. But I held myself fast. My job was on the line. Even though we were outside the treatment center and he was technically a free man, I didn't think my reputation could survive an illicit romantic encounter so soon.

He saw me standing there on the opposite side of the lobby and nodded. There was no warmth or humor in his eyes. Respect maybe, disappointment definitely. I had ruined our last moment together with my cowardice, and I felt the guilt like a stab in the gut. I watched as he crossed to the lobby doors, pushed them open, and stepped outside into the rain.

Cindy found me a moment later as I stood nailed to the spot. She draped an arm over my shoulder, whispering gently, "Let's go. People can see you."

I nodded, urging my feet into motion. The rest of the day was a blur. I tried to focus on my work and be present for the rest of my clients, but my heart wasn't in it. Every med check seemed more difficult than the last, every conversation bleaker. I stapled a smile on my face and did everything I could to maintain the standards the hospital set. At the end of the day, I drove home in the rain, letting it wash over me in its depressive shield.

I wondered what Porter was doing now. He must have arrived home hours ago. Maybe he had cleaned his room, as he had planned. Maybe he was visiting with that friend of his, Mike, who had come to see him during treatment. I didn't bother stepping over puddles in the parking lot, and every inch of me was dripping wet when I finally reached my building.

Evil took one look at me and scampered behind the couch. I slogged out of my shoes, leaving them in a puddle by the door. Like a swamp monster, I dragged myself to the bathroom, leaving a trail of water in my wake. Closing the bathroom door, I finally broke down. I slid to the floor in all my wet gear and sighed.

Slowly, I uncurled myself, peeling layers of damp fabric from my body. When I was finally free, it felt like a weight had been lifted. I looked in the mirror to see a haunted woman, hair hanging in thick ropes, shoulders bare. I reached up to cup my own breasts, feeling the softness of the curves as a lover would. Leaving my clothes in a heap on the floor, I turned on the shower. When the water was just right, I stepped inside.

I lathered up my hair, rinsing out all the chemicals in the rainwater. I drizzled soap onto a loofah and scrubbed up one arm and down the next. Delicately, I circled one breast and then the next, pausing to scrape the loofah over each nipple. A jolt of electricity coursed from the contact down into my core.

Holding the image of Porter as he had emerged from the bathroom in my mind, I soaped up I imagined Porter's hand coming down over my own, stroking, teasing. He would slide a finger between the slit to find my pleasure bud. I would arch against him, feeling the solid muscle of his chest against my back, his swollen manhood between my legs.

I moaned, dipping my own fingers deep inside. With my thumb, I drew slick circles around my clit, arousing an animal need. I spread my legs wider, feeling the water beat against the back of my skull, sluicing down to cup my buttocks. It should be Porter doing this to me, instead of my own hand.

I imagined him fitting his cock inside me, the pleasure I would gain from that first mighty thrust. He would slide all the way home, locking his hips to mine. He would fill my canal, stretching every inch of me as wide as I could go. It was devilish. It was forbidden. To have a patient's organ between my thighs, heaving in and out of me, slick with the juice of my own passion, was the greatest of sins. In my mind he plundered me, gripping my hips and rocking me toward my climax. I closed my eyes, my fingers doing a poor imitation of his attention. Suddenly I was there, at the peak of the mountain; my body tensed as I felt the completion wash over me.

One hand against the shower wall, I slid free of my inner core, my breath coming in dizzying gasps. I wasn't sure if what I had done had helped or not. I felt better, more relaxed, but the activity had solidified Porter's place in my heart. I couldn't let him go, not now. I had to heal the wound I had caused and find some relief for my aching loins. I washed myself off and stepped out of the shower, a plan beginning to form.