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When a light turns on in the window on the fourth floor, I straighten. Madlen comes into view and I watch her take off her outerwear. First the scarf and then her jacket. If I focus intently it’s almost as if I’m in there with her, moving my hand down the zipper of her skirt, watching it slide down her generous hips until she’s only in those see through panties she allowed me a glimpse of earlier in the day.
My teeth dig into my lip as I imagine my hand cupping her full, warm breasts and my head swims. I’m almost about to pass out on the street and I shake myself before noticing that she’s struggling with taking her sweater off. Her back is turned toward the window but this is a busy street.
Anyone could be watching. She shouldn’t be revealing glimpses of her flesh like this in full view. Clenching my fists, I curse as pain travels up to my elbow. I can see the strap of her bra now, her fingers moving to undo the clasp and she manages just in time before walking into the bathroom and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
I throw a territorial look around, making sure that nobody has the audacity of disturbing Madlen’s privacy. When my phone rings, I’m tempted not to answer. Tempted to stay here and wait for Madlen to get out of the bathroom but I’m used to being there for others, never failing anyone who needs me and I take the call. It’s my patient, wondering why I’m late for our session and I grind my jaw.
I don’t want to leave.
But the patient is a twelve year old who can’t stop washing her hands and fuck I can’t fail her. My conscience gets the better of me and I tell the kid I’ll be there in a minute. With my body all up in knots, I throw one last look at Madlen’s window. It’s a promise. A silent promise that my beloved will be mine.
3
Madlen
Standing in the shower, I squeeze my eyes at the pulsating between my legs. It’s too much and the water running down my body isn’t making it better. It’s making it worse. I could barely withstand the bus ride home. My mind couldn’t tear itself away from Maker or the way he looked when I left his office or the way his hand slid down my back as we said goodbye.
I can still feel his touch and being without it feels like being terrorized. There can never be anything between me and Maker. It would be unprofessional. Unethical. And yet the way he spoke to me gave me hope that maybe he wants me to stay and be more than just a girl who lays on his chaise and talks about her troubles. Maybe he’d want me in his home...in his bed. Maybe he’d want to pour his heart out to me for once...
I bet his heart would be beautiful. Lovely, heroic and so free from anything corrupted that he’d probably even make me feel like the biggest crook on earth. Maybe it’s good that I don’t know everything about him. If I did I’d probably realize that the only woman good enough for Maker is probably be a Disney princess; a girl so perfect that he can feel proud of her and rest easily at night, knowing that she is just as virtuous as he is.
Rubbing soap on my loofah, the hair on my nape stands and I get the shivers as the water keeps whipping down my back. I had the shivers on the bus too as if someone was behind me but when I turned, I didn’t see anything except for a passanger reading a newspaper, some seniors and a couple of kids.
Looking down, I watch the suds run down the drain and I feel something stirring in me. It always stirs in me when I leave our sessions as if my body only barely can handle Maker’s absence. There’s one thing I’ve never told him and think I never will and that is that I need him. Not as my therapist but I needhim. He makes negativity fade away, become so small and pointless and all my focus shifts to him.
Who would I be without Maker Darden? A mess probably. I’d still be waking up in cold sweat, feeling like a smaller version of myself but with him I feel like I have wings. He doesn’t cut me down, he lets me know that I can fly. The scary part is that without Maker, it’ll feel like I’m falling to the ground again. How can I be fearless if he won’t be there to catch me in case I fall? There aren’t many men like him, men who will stand with their arms wide open, ready to save, to protect, to support...
But I’m getting ahead of myself and a bitter thought arises. He’s just doing his job...
Biting my lip, I turn the water on cold and now the loofah is practically grating on my skin. It would kill me if I was nothing more to him than a job, a name in his files that he finds whenever his fingers trace the letter M. He must see thousands of patients that are just like me, that he makes feel special with one of his penetrating looks and insightful questions.
He’s given me his patience, his sage and sound advice, his comfort...and I drag a deep breath when thinking about not having access to that anymore. What exactly will happen if I don’t get to see him three times a week, look into those steel blue eyes of his behind his glasses and feel like nothing can ever go wrong as long as my eyes meet his and his meet mine?
Putting a hand on my heart to soothe the rapid beats, I wonder whether I acted too soon. Why the heck did I tell him the truth? I should have kept my mouth shut. Now, I’ll look like a freak if I keep coming back when I don’t have a problem anymore. Unless...
Unless, I create one. I could make up a lie about something, anything that will get him to keep seeing me...Maybe anything would work. Something common...I could tell him I suffer from penis envy...
I shake my head and let out a snort. Obviously, I need to take a grip because yes, I have feelings for Maker but it’s not as if I’m prepared to go the immoral route just so that I can be with him. I would never come up with a lie to make him mine because I know Maker wouldn’t appreciate that.
He’s so moral, so upright, so...good. I’d be surprised if Maker has ever had a single, wrong thought in his mind. He’s not the kind who would ever get his hands dirty and he treats me so highly that sometimes I think he must believe that I’m just as good as him. I’m not because here I was plotting just seconds ago about bending the truth.
I rinse before turning the water off. I get out and quickly realize the shower did me no good. I still feel sticky and overheated, still feel that throbbing between my legs and I shudder when I move the towel over my skin. The slight roughness of the fabric makes my eyes shudder and I imagine Maker’s hands in my hair, his tongue in my mouth as he thrusts into me and.... does everything in his power to make me round with his child...
My eyes flare and I let the towel drop, before snatching my clothes. A hiss escapes from my lips when I put them on because my skin feels so...so sensitive. I throw a quick look at my phone that’s resting on the sink and groan. Dammit, now I’m gonna be late for work.
****
Maker
Fifteen minutes left until four o’clock. Madlen’s last session is today and I can barely breathe. My room suddenly feels too small, tight and like it’s closing in on me. What the fuck am I going to do without her?
I can’t let her walk out on me for good. I helped her, made her feel better, I sorted her out and now she’s going to go and give all my hard work to another man? She is mine. I have earned her. Without me she would still be screaming into her pillow.
Clenching my fists, I rub my eyes, cursing my own toxic masculinity. Truth is that I am happy for her. I want her to be well. I’m not entitled to her, I know that but I want her and the more threatened I feel the more I’m tempted to take drastic measures. The more I fear losing her, the more primitive I turn.
There’s a bottle of whiskey in my drawer but I force myself not to reach for it. She’ll be here any minute now and I lean back in my chair and open up one of her files. I must be the only person in the world with this much information on her. It’s fascinating how willingly people open up to a stranger as long as they believe what they say is confidential. They don’t even reveal their deepest secrets to the people closest to them. I will always, always be the one who knows everything about her.
The notion calms me down somewhat. It feels good knowing that in some way I will always keep her in the palm of my hand, in my grip, under my control. The door to my office is open and when footsteps sound up the staircase, I rise and straighten my tie. As soon as I see her face, I feel my knees go weak as if they are meant to bend for her.
