Regardless of my personal feelings, professionally speaking, having a patient on death row is a heavy burden for any doctor to bear. The weight of Grayson’s trial rests heavily on my shoulders. This second attempt by the prosecution to sway my testimony only underscores that reality.
With the Attorney General personally determined to see Grayson executed for his crimes, the scales of justice are already tipping against him.
I open the folder and begin my revision. My fear of loving a man capable of such atrocities can’t outweigh what I inherently know is right.
Soon, Grayson will be incarcerated far from here—far from me. I’ll never see him again. Never stare into those captivating blue eyes. Never hear the shiver-inducing baritone of his voice, or the accent that tightens my chest. The alarming ache inside me will ease, the pull toward him will fade, leaving me free of him.
What is there to fear?
The sounds from my nightmares come alive as I enter Cotsworth Correctional Facility. I stand straight in front of a barred door while a prison guard sweeps a handheld metal detector down my body.
“Clear,” he announces.
As he steps aside, a loud buzz precedes the clang of the door mechanism unlocking. The door slides open, and I force my feet forward, propelling myself into the prison. I tuck my folder under my arm, thankful that this section of the facility isn’t near the general population, where the catcalls used to welcome me.
I’ve requested a private session with my patient ahead of his trial. Since I met my quota for the ward, the warden took no issue granting me this privileged access.
I’m escorted to another barred door, where a second guard swipes a keycard to gain entry. The heavy door opens to reveal Grayson on the other side. My heart leaps to my throat, a roar filling my ears, momentarily disorienting me.
I wasn’t expecting him to already be here. I wanted more time to prepare. Before I step inside the room, I turn toward the guard. “I won’t be needing you. Thank you.”
He gives me an uncertain look, then glares at Grayson. “I’m required to be within seven feet of him at all time. I’ll be posted right outside this door.” The guard adjusts his belt, making a production of arranging the Taser.
Once we’re alone, the door closed and barring us together, I face my patient. Within the heavily guarded confines of this room, he’s not mandated to be shackled to a restraint bench, but his ankles and wrists are cuffed and chained. He’s seated in the center, his hands hung between his legs. Watching me.
The space between us feels fragile, the air dangerously thin, the distance too easy to close.
“There are no cameras here,” Grayson says. “No one watching. If you thought that would keep you safe from me.”
I drop the folder on the table, the only buffer I have. “I know we’re alone. I requested as much,” I tell him. “But being here like this… I’m held more accountable for my actions.”
His mouth tilts into a knowing smirk. “Didn’t take long for the guilt to sink in, did it, baby?”
I adjust my glasses, ignoring his baiting remark. “I’ve cometo see you today not as a doctor, nor for our last session, but as a woman to tell you that this”—I motion between us—“whatever this is, it’s over. It got out of hand, and maybe that’s my fault. No…” I shake my head, correcting myself. “As the professional, the blame is entirely mine. My actions were unethical, and what happened yesterday was completely inappropriate.”
His smile stretches, meeting his cool blue eyes. “Inappropriate? It was fucking shattering. You want cheap romance, go find yourself a dumb little fuck-boy. But that’s not what you want—I tasted what you crave. I can feel it in you now. That dark obsession that twists you, makes you mine. ”
Seeking support, I brace my palms on the edge of the table. Loving him will send me right over sanity’s edge.
I have to be free of this—of him.
“At the trial, I’m going to advocate for clemency, Grayson. Taking into account the abuse you likely suffered as a child, along with the conditions in which you were raised, you had an ideal—that is, textbook—environment for developing psychopathy.”
“Is that your professional or personal opinion?”
“Both. With the proper medication and counseling, you may even be able to assimilate a normal life.”
“A normal life behind bars.”
“Of course.”
“That’s downright sadistic, and you claim you’re nothing like me. Why don’t you neuter me in the process? That would be less cruel, and far less torturous.”
“I’m not sure what else you want from me. That’s all I have to offer in way of helping you.”
“I wantyou. You’re my doctor, so be my fucking doctor.”
“That’s not possible. I’m only here as a courtesy before trial. After my testimony, you’ll never see me again.”
