He was almost denied the privilege of watching her run, savoring the anticipation and letting it culminate, and then breathe, like a fine wine. He admitted, he loved the chaise.

There was something exquisite about the darkness of dawn, the rot of the pavements in the underground garage when he watched Marlena running through the dim lights. Something real. It was true, what he'd told her before, about disliking staying in one place for a long time, it was time to move on. She was fearful. It was very amusing and not at all like the woman he has come to know from his past: fierce, determined, confident.

Fernando could easily imagine her nails digging into his shoulders, the bit of his teeth in her lip, her breathy screams — He kept walking, buckling his belt.

 

When she dropped that small soldier figuring, somehow it all came back to him. The bedroom, John, her naked body, her moaning, no, not moaning, her pleading for him to take her, to please her.

Where was he? What was happening? All he knew that he was on the bottom floor, dawn was breaking but it was dark still. The perfect setting for her.

Shit.

 

He used to love the shadows, but not right now. He used to watch from the shadows. Not out of shame, but so he could watch, observe, and do as he pleased. Unseen. Unheard. But very much a part of the background. He would be lying if he said that the prospect of caught didn't amuse him a little among other things.

Oh, Marlena. He had her in his net for a few precious moments. She was very against him impersonating her, which did not surprise him. She was more feisty than he gave her credit for. She trembled just like a butterfly when she was in his arms.

 

*****

 

Marlena slammed the storage unit door closed. There was more she could have done, more to keep him away, but she was unwilling to go on.
 

She'd had enough.

More than enough.
 

She looked at the polaroids with dread. Her hands were sweating. She wiped them on her dress, causing the fabric to darken, and flipped through the photos. A wave of dizziness crashed over her as she recognized her own face staring out at her.

Oh god.

She dropped the photos back to the pocket. She couldn't remember how to breathe. Those polaroids were not the work of a sane man.

“Marlena?” It was like something out of a horror movie, hearing his voice echo through the hall. He was back to his old self somehow, but how? She heard a knocking sound, just a few feet down, and covered her mouth to stifle a scream when the storage unit door opened and then slammed shut just as quickly. His footsteps were moving down the room with purposeful precision.
 

He knew.
 

Marlena pinched the photos in her pocket and headed for the door to the adjoining room. She closed it quietly behind her, struggling to keep in the loud sob threatening to bubble straight past her lips. It was an irrational thought, for an absurd situation. Reality, for Marlena, had swiftly become a nightmare. As the door opened a horrible thought occurred to her.

Did she leave any photo behind? She honestly couldn't remember — look at the polaroids, and their contents, had wiped her mind so clean as to render it a blank slate.

He was on the move Marlena's nausea grew. She hadn't heard him stop.

Oh, god, then he knew. He knew she knows.

And he would kill her.

No.

Not kill her.

Not right away, at least.

Images from flooded her head. Worse. “I know you're nearby, Marlena.” She stared at the big closet in the room. “You have something of mine.” He was toying her, like a cat with a mouse. Enjoying her terror, basking in it. Well, she wasn't going to wait around for him to find her in some nightmarish game of hide-and-seek. She bolted for the closet and had only just slid the door closed behind her when the door burst open.

 

Something behind her clinked as she nudged her way towards the back. The muffled void of the closet amplified the sound into a startling gong. She reached out automatically to still it and inhaled sharply when she realized what it was she was holding.

Handcuffs. Metal handcuffs. Her back hit the wall, and one of the coats fell on her, smothering her with the sandalwood scent of whichever aftershave it’s owner's used.

 

Beneath the coat she quivered, hugging the pictures to her chest. He was completely insane. The closet door opened. Clothes were shoved aside, and light flashed on the other side of the coat as the contents of the closet were bared to unseen eyes.

Marlena didn't breathe. She wanted to check, to ensure her entire body was covered, but to move would mean death.

Please, please, please — She screamed when she felt herself being lifted into the air, coat and all, and then again, with a renewed sense of fear when he yanked the coat off her head, and she realized where she was.

 

“You seem to have lost your way, Principessa,” he said mildly, though there was nothing mild about the expression on his face. She backed away and jumped when her back brushed against the wooden headboard. Fernando watched her for a long, terrible moment and then picked up the photos which had fallen from her numb fingers. He thumbed through the pages, an odd smile on his face, before tossing the stack aside. It hit the floor with a hollow thud that made her jump again. “Or perhaps not,” he said, inclining his head in her direction, “perhaps you were going somewhere- somewhere specific.”

“I don't — ”

“Let's not play games, Marlena. We both know that you saw the pictures — but you never stopped to consider the fact that I might need it.” She stiffened.

“I didn't look at it.”

“Then why are you so afraid? ” It took her a moment to speak.

“Just please, leave me alone.”

“Don't look at me like that. It won't help your situation.”

“Just let me go, Fernando, please.”

“You have such soft skin, you know — and a beautiful pair of tits. Your skin there...like porcelain, so perfect. I want you to open your dress and show me your tits. If you manage to do, I'll let you go right now.”

“What?” what was him with her body? her skin? She wanted to believe but didn't in the slightest. It sounded too good to be true, and experience had taught her that this was most likely the case.

“What if I refuse?”

“You wouldn't like it,” he said. Marlena thought of the polaroids and believed him.

 

Such a simple thing, show him her breasts. Yet in the state of over-sensitivity brought on by fear, in which she was as painfully aware of her body and its surroundings. Showing her skin seemed like a huge price to pay.  

Extortionate.

Would a man, even an insane man, go to such lengths for a mere glance at her breasts? Even Marlena in all her psychiatric knowledge couldn't bring herself to believe this, however much she wanted to.

“Well? What is it going to be, Principessa?”

Her breathing sounded too loud. She had never been more aware of her own fragile mortality. He'd seen her before — several times.

This was not any different.

 

But she was.

 

He was ruthless, cold, and he wanted her to be like one of the lifeless pictures he took — an inanimate plaything.

A possession.

A prisoner.

“I'm waiting,” he said, regarding her through half-shut eyes.

“Just my breasts?” she confirmed, breathing out a little when he nodded. “And you'll let me go?” “Quite.”

Marlena's arms shook. She leaned in and slightly unbuttoned two brown buttons for her white dress. Her fingers trembled. “You're not trying.” And that was when she understood: she was intended to perform the work herself. An image of herself lying naked on her bed popped into Marlena's head, delicate wrists straining against the headboard.

 

Don't think about that.

 

Turning this situation into a carnival of horrors wasn't going to help. She closed her eyes and covered the buttons with her fingers. He remained still as a statue, but he made a low sound in the back of his throat that did not necessarily sounded like displeasure, though it didn't sound pleased, either. He had yet to reciprocate, and the thought that he might prolong this infinitely until he deemed himself completely satisfied shot into her head.

Evil bastard. She hated him. Well and truly hated him. He had her trapped, and he had carefully planned each and every bar of the prison she now found herself in. She channeled that anger, wishing in her heart of hearts that she was strangling him instead.

 

His fingers wrapped around hers long ones, automatically and his fingers began, at length, to open the rest of them. He stopped at the bottom of her breasts. While she was running away, putting on a bra did not seem the important thing to do at the time. Vertigo wrapped around her brain in thick, shimmering mist, dizzied from the fear, the danger, his hands on her body.

“That’s nice.”

“I want to get dressed.”

“Not yet.” His hands slid onto the shallow indent of her waist with easy familiarity, staring at her exposed tits. Looking down, she noticed a tiny number at the top of her cleavage, trailing his finger there, she shifted “where do you think you're going?” he inquired, as she swung an unsteady leg over the side of the big metal desk.

“You said I could — ”

“I don't believe I gave you permission to leave,” he said, and his grip tightened in emphasis. He twisted his hips then, knocking her off-balance. She found herself straddling him. “If you recall, I said your efforts on this occasion had to be superior to the last.”

“I showed you my breasts,” she said, “Just like you asked for.”

“No. I did. You took your time. Now tell me….” His eyes darkened, and he shook his head. “That mark over there, what is it.”

“A birthmark” Her voice was hoarse, even to her own ears. “How long do you intend to keep me here? What do you want from me?” Marlena knocked his hand away from her when he tried to touch her, blinking back tears. “You're so sick; I don't even want to look at you, let alone let you touch me — all those things you —” took pictures of me, she had been about to say. But then she remembered, he didn't know she'd seen his photographs.

“ — Said,” she finished weakly. “It’s either that, or we’ll do things my way.” A chill filled her. She gritted her teeth, trying to block out the images that rushed at her, numbers in black and darkness, tinged with madness and violence.

 

“Let me touch you”
She choked.

“And we'll see,” he said mildly. And that decided it. He leaned in again, and his head was fairly close to hers sending his hands in anticipation — and she headbutted him.

 

Hard.

 

He let out a roar, like a wounded bull, but his grip on her waist loosened. She must have surprised him; she had surprised herself. Marlena scrambled off him and ran, clutching her own throbbing head. She heard him clambering after her. Something hard jagged into her shoulder. It was the metal railing.

She found his swiss army knife with the broken handle at her pocket and produced the little blade just as he was upon her.  

“She has claws.”

“Stay back.”

“I wonder, what else does she have?”

“Stay back,” Marlena repeated, accompanying the command with a stab. His hand shot out, quickly, to deliver a sharp undercut to her wrist that made her drop the blade in a spasm of pain. She started to bend to retrieve it from the floor but Fernando kicked it aside as he took a step forward, and Marlena had to deviate backward to avoid his grab for her. Her weight shifted past her waist, centering in her upper body. She ran in the direction of the door that she had no idea where to run — she was never down there. She had to focus on escape. She hurled herself against the door with a desperation she hadn't known she possessed. It would not open — and it took a moment for the panicking animal her brain had become to understand that the deadbolt was fastened. His fingers curled around her wrist as tightly as a handcuff.

 

“I'm not letting you leave. We are not done here” No, Marlena thought, with real terror. She cocked back her arm and elbowed him somewhere soft enough to elicit a grunt of pain. He released her. She hooked her foot around his leg and jerked. He fell, though he had the reflexes to throw out his arms to break his fall. She unfastened the deadbolt with fingers that felt as ineffective as rubber as he started to get back up.

 

Come on.

Come on.

 

It slid free with a loud snap. She twisted the doorknob, hard, and slipped outside. She grabbed the knob on the other side and pulled, trying to shut the front door on him. Behind the metal panel, she heard a chuckle — he was laughing at her, even now, as if her attempts to escape were nothing more than the amusing antics of a child. She was losing their war games with the door, so she gave in and rammed her shoulder against it, and her impact, combined with the force of his own momentum, sent him falling back with a thud that shook the walls.

 

“Marlena!”

 

Marlena turned and bolted outside headed for the first car she saw with the headlights on and didn't dare look over her shoulder.

She put on a burst of speed, ignoring the pain in her tired limbs. “Marlena, don’t be an idiot! There’s nowhere to go!” she knew that was not true; she couldn't be a passive victim any longer. She couldn't sit meekly in her penthouse, be terrorized by him, and wait for John to return. She couldn't allow him to hurt her or the children again. Her leg muscles were screaming, and her lungs were straining for air.

 

Please be there.

She knocked on the door, trying to contain herself because she knew if she looked too crazy, nobody would come.

 

Please, please open the window.

 

Through the window, an older woman was looking at her.

“Oh my goodness,” the woman said, blinking rapidly. “ — are you all right?” During this entire exchange, the woman kept her hand on the steering wheel, ready to drive away or stay put; however, the situation required.

 

Wise, Marlena thought, in a burst of self-pity she hadn't had the time to indulge in.

She opened her mouth to say — what, exactly, she wasn't sure. It didn't matter. Whatever words she thought to utter were immediately drowned in a flood of tears. That seemed to decide it for the woman, and she hesitated only briefly before unlocked the doors to allow Marlena entry.

 

“Dear?” the woman said, turning around. “Get in, what happened? Are you hurt? Did someone attack you?” Her face furrowed, giving her the appearance of an angry plum. “You're not involved in anything criminal, are you? Because if you are, I'll have to mention that when I call the police.” Marlena made a tiny sound that she didn't recognize as her own. “What was that? Speak up, dear, my hearing isn't so good. Should I call the police now?”

Taking her seat, she closed the door after her, pleading with her eyes, “Please miss — go ” Marlena wet her cracked lips, “I … I've got to get to the ferry.”

 

Poor thing, the woman thought — and then paused. She placed a hand on her trembling hand, and Marlena flinched. “Would you like some music?” Marlena shook her head.

She wanted to vomit.

Oh, god, she kept thinking,

Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.

“I can't thank you enough,” she spoke after a few minutes “It was so kind of you — I mean, thank God — ”

“I'm just doing my civic duty,” the old lady said complacently. “Just make sure this person who’s after you, would get caught.” He won't get caught, thought Marlena.

I will.

 

******

 

Stripping away the wet layers of clothing, she dumped each one onto the cabin’s floor. Everything. Her dress, her panties, and even John’s jacket. Nothing from tonight will stay with her. Not the clothes and not the pain. Naked, she stepped into the shower. The stinging hot water washed all the blood from his assaults on her body, and grime down the drain, leaving no trace of the violence she inflicted. Through the shower door her figure appeared at the big mirror, she noticed more markings on other body parts. She was going to get sick. He marked her; he freaking marked her like an animal. Everywhere she looked, there they were, mocking her, taunting her with the existence. Bringing the soap to her body, she lathered it with circular motions, rubbing the marks, luckily, they were quickly removed.

She stood in the shower, letting warm water cascade over her. The past few days had not disappeared from her mind, and she couldn’t wait to see John again. He was late. He was never late. Her peaceful life was a distant memory. There were no answers, only question, and they were piling up as time went by.

 

She truly had no control of that situation. Fernando could do whatever he wanted. She hated him for what he was doing. I hated him for making her feel this way. It was fucking insane.

 

Insane. And she knew everything there was to know if insanity.

 

Pushing dreadful thoughts, Marlena closed the water stream; the shower felt good.

Almost as good as John’s tongue when he kissed her. She couldn’t stop thinking of him; she needed him to take her away from this misery; she needed his body to bring her back to life.

Covering herself with a light pink towel, she snuggled on the big bed, curling herself to a fetal position. Her fear was drifting away. The pain had dissolved. There was happiness even though it wasn’t time for happiness. Happiness and satisfaction and coddling. The scratches he inflicted on her body felt soft. Her fingers felt numb, and her breathing slowed.

And then after days, everything went black.

 

******

 

Cold— that was the first sensation Marlena felt. Stiff was the second. Not just in her legs and arms, but in her jaw. It was like she had been chewing gum for weeks straight. Even her tongue hurt and the roof of her mouth. She didn’t know where all this aching had come from. It couldn’t have been from just sleeping. It was very comfortable. It was… It all came back to her as fast and as sharp as the slaps Fernando had given her across her breasts.

The Swiss army knife. His hands.

The clamping of her tongue. “Wrong question, Marlena.” Fernando’s screams. Her eyes shot open. The only thought on her mind came flying out of her lips, “John!”

״I’m here,” he said. He was standing in front of the sink at the small kitchen. She could relax a little now.

He was finally there, with her. He must have been the one who tucked her under the blankets and folded one under her head.

“What is going on?” she asked John, waiting for him to turn and look at her. She’d expected a warmer welcoming, he was worried, she could tell.

“How long have we been back?”

He said nothing. He didn’t even look in her direction. He just moved his hands under the water. “John?”

He still didn’t answer, so she covered her body with the thin cloth, rushing over to him and grabbed his shoulders, trying to turn him around. The burns and cuts on her body stung, but she ignored the pain. She needed to find out what was wrong with him. He wouldn’t budge. “Show me your face.”

“Why don’t you go lie back down? He gave you some heavy drug and—”

“Look at me!”

“Doc, I failed you… I wasn’t there to-”

“Look at me.”

He still didn’t move, so she dipped underneath his arm and squeezed herself into the tiny space between his body and the sink.

 

“Oh my God, Doc.” he did everything he could not to cringe at the sight of her. She had bruises on her breasts, her stomach. There wasn’t a section of skin there that wasn’t in some shade of purple. There were open cuts around her wrists, dried blood surrounding everyone. There was a scrape by her lip.

“What did he do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doc, I want to know…” she remembered the fear that had crippled her when Fernando pulled out his army knife.

“It’s not important right now…” her voice trailed off, unable to finish.

“Did he touch you.”

She nodded. “Yes..”

He touched the sides of her face gently. “How could he hurt you?”

He brushed his fingers over the bruises, staying clear of the cuts for not to hurt her. There were more than she thought.

He didn’t make a sound the whole time. He didn’t even wince.

“Let me take care of you.” The guilt was almost unbearable.

“John....”

All of this had happened because of him. He owed her much more than just the cleaning of her skin. “I want to.” he grabbed several squares of toilet paper, soaked them under the faucet, and gently rubbed the clump across the top of her breasts. He was only able to get off a tiny bit of blood before she grabbed his hand. “Stop. Just leave it.”

He could tell how much pain she was in. She just didn’t want to admit it. And even though he was trying to be so careful, he was hurting her.

 

“What did he do to you?” he asked, holding her hands, palm up, rubbing his thumbs across each mark. Fernando was still out there, looking for only god knows what. What if this was their last moment together? The last time he’d ever touch her? When she didn’t answer, he picked her up and rushed her over to the bed, covering her in a blanket.

 

“You’re shaking.” He was right. Her entire body was convulsing, her teeth chattering. She didn’t know how the fear would ever leave her, how she would ever stop trembling with these thoughts in her head. “Tell me what happened to you, Marlena.” As she tucked the blanket under her chin, he found his way underneath it and ran his hands over her legs to try and warm them. He never stopped touching her, not even when her shaking calmed a little or when she described everything that had happened— at least the bits she could remember before Fernando had stuck a needle in her arm.

“He didn’t rape you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Are you sure?”

She crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together.

“Yes. I’m positive.” The relief was in his face and his touch. “He was prepping you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know...It’s a mind game. He’s trying to break you, weaken you through fear. ” As he paused, it felt like he was looking through her eyes, straight into her soul.

“He has gotten to you. I can feel it.” Every tremor in her body told her John was right. Fernando knew she loved John,” It felt like he was, trying to hurt you, through me.“

He whispered, “Oh Doc... ”

 

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

The moonlight streaked across his face, showing her that his eyes were locked with hers. She felt the need, the desire. And she felt his hesitation, as though he were battling something deep inside the same way she was.

“Kiss me—” His lips crashed against hers before she even finished speaking, and she moaned again. She had his tongue in her mouth, his scent in her nose, his body against hers. She winched into his mouth when he palmed her breast.

“I’m sorry…” she heard him whispering, Her bruises were all he could see. Fernando was torturing her.

 

Trying to get their conversation back on track he started again; “Did he ask you anything else before he had contacted me ?” It took her a minute to answer. “No.”

He couldn’t tell if she was being honest or telling him what she thought he could handle. John was a protector, so it didn’t surprise her that he needed to know all the fine details. “Then, why did he hurt you? Just because?”

“He said something about making you pay. He never really answered any of my questions .” he stared at her cuts, at the bruises. She was trying to hide the pain she was in by acting unfazed by it all.

Her whole body shook as she thought about Fernando’s touch. “What is it that he wants?” she had asked him that so many times before. She doubted this would be the last time either. “I don’t know, Doc.”

She looked up at the window, wondering what she would see on the other side of it. Was there such a thing as normal beyond that cabin. What were her children were doing right now? Her friends? How was Roma’s condition?

 

“We just have to hang on a little longer,” he said out of the blue.

“You’ve got a plan?”

“Something tells me we’ll find all the answers in Fernando.”

“Wha- John, no, you can’t possibly be serious about that” her eyes grew with disbelief, “I don’t want to see that men again. Not ever Again.”

 

She walked to the edge of the desk and leaned against the solid wood. A farther distance from him than when seated in her chair, and the strength she needed to support her weight. “We have to, Doc,” he said from across the room. He was not asking, but she could hear the question in his voice. She cleared her throat. “I prefer not to. We might able to resolve things right here, right now.”

“Oh?”

“I found that when practicing free association, patients responded better than just having a plain conversation. Let us try this first.”

 

John watched her intently, his gaze tracking her movements. She knew he felt that dread, too. She could wait for him to open up the discussion, to discover his reasoning as to why he wanted to go after Fernando, or she could start the session right in the middle of the deep end.

She was drowning; she needed this chaos over and done with.

“Why the sudden shift in method, Doc?” he asked, she glanced to meet his cool gaze. “Do you think it’ll help?”

She wet her lips. Took a steadying breath. “Free association is just another tool we can use to uncover any repressed emotions or memories. Its purpose isn’t meant to treat, but rather to learn.” His head tilted. “What’s left to learn? Both of us know I can’t remember a single thing of my past. Unless this remembering technique works both ways, sweetheart. I want to remember how you feel beneath me. I want to remember how your hair feels tangled in my hand—”

“Stop.”

He did.

He pressed his shoulders against the headboard.

“We don’t need these evasive methods, John. Anything you want to know, just ask. I’ll tell you. Are you worried about what we might reveal?” She looked down at her crossed ankles. “Actually Doc, I am.” When she glanced up, his demeanor was markedly different.

More intense.

More serious.

As if he felt her fear. “We can start with a simple word association,” she began. “I’ll say a word, and you’ll say the first thing that comes to mind. The point is not to take too long or to think about your response. Is that alright?”

“You bet, sweetheart.”

She swallowed forcefully, keeping her gaze fixed on him.

Nervous.

“Let’s start simple. Animal.”

“Wolf.”

“Dark.”

He peeked at the window. “Night.”

“Flowers.”

“Lilacs.”

“Color.”

“Yellow.” Staring at her

“Past.”

“Pain.” She paused.

“You’re associating every word with me.” He craned an eyebrow, playfully. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No. Not if it’s your natural response. Our goal is for you to transfer your emotions and desires onto me. It’s called transference.”

“You asked for honesty. Don’t doubt that I’m giving you anything less.” She pressed her lips together. “Okay. Money.”

“Career.”

“Hunger.”

“Ravenous.” Marlena crossed her legs, noting the way his gaze followed her action. “Wrong.”

“Right.”

“Death.”

“Payback.”

“Love.”

“Power.”

“Woman.”

He paused here. “You.”

“Sex.”

His nostrils flared. “You.”

“Sin.”

“Command.”

“Murder.”

He lunged forward.

She didn’t have time to react. She was paralyzed, awaiting what happens next. He didn’t touch her, but he was close—close enough for her to smell his aftershave. “Nothing like that had never happened, Doc,” he said.

“Not that you remember.”

“Marlena, let’s stop, we’re not making any progress, it’s useless. That time of my life is hidden too well into my subconscious.” She held her place, not backing down. She was trembling, but it was not out of fear. Every molecule in her body was fighting to get closer to him. But this was important; this was her life.

 

She wanted to touch him. She had missed him. She released the breath she’d been holding, and John’s sharp intake, as if he was stealing it for himself, sparked a primal thrill within her. “Let’s try something else. Maybe if you’ll ask me about what I remember from my few days with Fernando and I’ll do the same for you, that might trigger some memories. What do you say, an answer for an answer,” she finally said. This pulled a smile from him.

“Okay, I love you for trying, baby.” He settled back into his chair without having touched her. She was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She really wanted to get to the bottom of this, but that man..she craved his touch.

 

Both reactions were disconcerting. She folded her hands together, gathering her bearings. “Where are you from?” He didn’t hesitate. “Salem.” She arched an eyebrow. His smile made an appearance. “Originally, I believe I’m from Northern Ireland.”

“What do you think brought you to the States?” He shook his head.

“My turn. What did Fernando want?” Her shoulders deflate. He asked this before.

“I’m not sure.”

“Think, Baby....”

“It felt like he was looking for revenge, although, I’m not so sure if there was anything else he wanted” she countered.

“You?” he pressed. “Or he was after information.” Marlena dug her elbows into her thighs, grounding herself.

 

“Tell me what do you remember about Fernando; John” Her question did what she wanted. His focus shifted from her memories to his.

“I don’t remember the man, Marlena, c’ mon” She glanced at his briefcase. His fingers trail over his black leather bag that was on the bed. He watched her, the way she followed his movement.

“There’s nothing there. I couldn’t find Stefano again. All he said was that Fernando has a code word, and I think I know what it was.” This was the first time he’d made her aware of her mouth slip. “You spoke Italian, Doc. You don’t know Italian.” He bit down on his bottom lip as he thought. Her breathing became measured, too loud, too aware. “The word you said, you never used it before. Tell me what happened.” She flicked her bangs from her forehead with a sharp handshake.“I don’t know.. he was pushing and pushing me so hard, and I was so dizzy from the drug he gave me.” Disappointment creased his eyes.

“That’s not all.”

“That’s all, John. That’s all there is.”

“Why would you speak a language you don’t know? You’re the shrink here, doesn’t it sound peculiar to you-?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” she interrupted. “My turn.”

“No. Focus, think, come on baby, do it for me. I want to know this.” She sucked in a quick breath. Her agitation growing.

“I can’t! John, I don't know why I said what I did, but let me ask you something. When you heard what I said, how did that affect you?”

“Oh, come on, Doc, I was scared for you, I was-“he hesitated.

“Yes. Go on, try to focus. Focus on the word; what do you see?”

“Why are we doing this?”

Her heart beat erratically, the pulse at her temples firing a sharp web of pain through her head. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know why,” she said, having no other answer to offer him. This seemed to sate his curiosity for now.

He didn’t press.

“Are you scared?” She asked. “What are you scared of, John?”

“No. I’m not scared of anything. I just don’t think I have any memories of that son of a bitch hidden in my brain, Doc.” When she tapped her fingers on the desk, he sighed. It was only fair that he divulge more if he expected more from her in return.

“I think that you do. I think that you’re scared to hurt me.”

“The very definition of my job is to keep you safe, Marlena .”

“Your job?”

 

He touched his forearm, a hard expression masking his face. “I need to protect you,” he confessed quietly. “You look… surprised.” She opened her mouth, but can’t summon the words to convey what she was feeling.

“Well, you have never expressed yourself that way.”

 

She straightened her dress as she turned toward the small kitchen as he grabbed hold of her dress. Every muscle in her body tensed, the hairs on her skin stood, all senses captured by him and his clutch on her skirt.  She was yanked backward. Forced to stand before him, she stared down at where he gripped the hem of her dress, bunching the fabric in a tight fist. “John, let me go. We’re not making any progress; I need a cup of tea,” she demanded, somehow controlling the tremor in her voice. His gaze roved deliberately up her body to meet her eyes. “I have missed you” The heat of his skin touched her bare thigh, his rough knuckles abrasive and enticing friction. She swallowed. “That wouldn't help you remember.”

“But you still want to.” He released the fabric one finger at a time until she was free of him. But she was not. The dare in his eyes still held her captive.

“I want you.”

John gently rested his hands on her hips, and a shiver rocked her. “How did you feel when I said that Italian word?” she challenged again. This was more than reminiscing. Digging in his past was always dangerous. She breathed in deeply, inhaling his masculine scent, torturing herself for what she was about to do. In spite of her heart pounding in clear warning, she placed her hand atop his. She let her palm travel over his rough fingers to his wrist, and on to his arm.

 

Her breath caught as his fingers made contact with her inner thigh. She shut her eyes against the onslaught of emotions—the illicit and erotic way he made her feel as his coarse palm grazed up her thigh, her skirt bunching against his wrist.

“Look at me.” The demand raced through her blood, scorching her veins. She opened her eyes on impulse. John’s electric blue gaze held her imprisoned while his hand branded her skin. He inched upward, the abrasive pads of his fingers exploring, mapping her, as he gauged her response. A whimper escaped, and she had to bite her lip to hold back another. A muscle jumped along his jaw; then he was roving higher, torturously slow. She trembled under his intimate touch. The stronger his touch became, the more she craved to dig her nails into his flesh. Her fingers form clawed on his arms. As if he knew what she was thinking, he licked his lips and said, ”I have a memory, but it’s vague… It struck me when I heard you speaking Italian” The dare slithers over her body, the pulsing heat between her thighs inviting him to touch her, and as she surrender, his fingers skimmed the seam of her panties.

“Tell me” she breathed, a shock of awareness snatched her breath and she stepped back, breaking the connection.

 

Pulling her back to him, his hand sliding up her thigh… his other hand anchored to her waist. He fucking wanted her. “I see a dark room, no... it’s not dark, the walls, they’re black.” He tightened his hold, letting her feel his muscles. He rubbed against her back.

“Tell me more.” Then his hand got lower. She gasped in a breath; her nails clawed at the desk.

“Tell me,” She greeted.

 

He hauled his arm over her head and secured it around her chest, forcing her back harder against his chest. “It’s cold, but I’m sweating.” His fingers pinched her skin as he made his point. But then just as suddenly, he loosened his hold, allowing her to take in an unobstructed breath. John shoved her dress up her legs.

“Why are you sweating?…” she breathed

“I’m -I’m working out…” He kicked her feet apart as his fingers splay along her thigh.

“Are you alone?.”

“No”

she whimpered and shook her head against him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He dug his hand into her hair and yanked. Her hair came loose, and he pressed closer to inhale her. “ I can smell it, Doc, I can smell their sweat.” His other hand inched higher. Her belly trembled at the feel. “Their smell? How many people are there John?” He tugged her leg over, spreading her wider, as he rammed up her thigh. His body caught her in the edge of the desk digging into her stomach, but the pain only served to heighten the sensual sensation of every place he was touching.

 

An ache bloomed deep in her core, the throb sending heat between her legs… and she knew he could sense it. She clamped her eyes closed. As he reached the joint of her leg, she flinched. His finger traced along the seam of her underwear, a tantalizing threat before he grasped her fully. She bucked at the force; then he dragged his fingers over her, the pressure erotic, evoking. A low groan vibrated from deep within him. “Three. Four Including me.” His words sprung through her, every point of impact shattering like a blast. Every stroke ignited her skin like a strike of a match, and she no longer had the power.

 

Control slipped through her fingers as easily as her hands splayed over the desk, releasing her will. “You’re aroused,” he said. “I know that smell; I love that smell.” He gripped her throat forcefully.

“Who are these men, John. Focus on their faces.” A shaky breath slipped free. “Please.”

Her limbs numbed, her body stretched… ”One of them is tall, It's...it's Fernando, the other one, not so much. We are wrestling”

“Wrestling?”

“I can hear their ragged breathing,” he breathed into her ear. He tightened his hold around her throat, forcing her head against his shoulder. “We’re wearing black.” She struggled to hold on to her last bit of control,

“Go on,” she forced out. “Your mind holds the truth, even if you won’t.” He slipped inside her then, his fingers sinking expertly to her clit as if he has spent the past four days memorizing her.

“Oh...John...no...I-we can’t..” the involuntary words escaped her lips. Her time with Fernando took its toll on her body and soul.

She gasped and pushed back against him, unable to stop her body from responding.

“Oh, Doc, what did he do to you?” He reached the ache deep within her, “It’s ok..I’m here..”, All she could do was grasp for his neck and cling to him. Save herself from falling.

“It’s ok” he mumbled against her skin, “It’s ok..I’m here with you now…” His teeth graze her shoulder. “Under your skin. Can you feel me?” His hand tightened, and the lack of oxygen made her head swim, yet she was hyper-aware of every erogenous zone on her body—and she wanted him to master them all.

 

Her body responded with each moan and wave as she sought release. And when he tore her dress apart, she didn’t stop him. She arched against his chest and pressed closer as he touched her—skin to skin.

“John… Tell me… stay focus..” she breathed heavily.

They were a complexity of limbs and flesh, all searching to connect. “ I see… oh god… I see him… we’re training and… oh fuck… Stefano’s there”. A thrill arced through her, sending a shiver racing over her skin. “Stay with it. What else do you see?” she whispered. He released a growl. His fingers sought deeper, working her harder, his restraint unleashed. He pushed her down on the desk; her chest flattened against the cold wooden surface. And as his fingers plunge deeper still, the stimulation to her nipples sent her over the edge. She heard the tear of material, felt the pressure snap at her hip, as he shredded her panties.

 

Then his hands were grasping her at her waist. He rolled her over, where there was no way to deny his gaze. Their eyes met. He lowered himself over her. Brushed her hair from her eyes. The action so gentle it stole her breath.

“I see… I see a woman. I can smell her...” She trembled at his words. “Does that terrify you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

A cruel smile slanted his mouth. “She..she smells so fucking sweet...” she swallowed.

“Go on.”

He hauled her leg over his shoulder and took her into his mouth. She arched off the desk, desire burning away all inhibitions. She craved to be free as they were before Fernando crushed their world —and all else that didn’t matter would fall apart.

 

“Look at me,” he demanded. He moved above her, his hand finding her neck and forcing her eyes on him. His fingers moving quickly, his thumb pressed hard to her clit. “That woman, she’s-she’s part of Stefano’s crew. She’s vicious...a trained assassin” His fingers never stop stroking, caressing the ache heating her flesh, as his other hand closed around her throat. The erotic sensations swallowed her.

 

The pending orgasm pulled her under. She wanted to taste freedom just once and she knew

She didn’t want to lose him.

She didn’t want to lose this.

She didn’t want to lose them.

She released his hair and flattened her hand over the back of his head, using his power, his presence, the sound of his demands to push herself over the edge. And, when she did, she screamed. His fingers pumped out her orgasm, twisting and sliding inside her wetness. Her back arched, her ass pushing further into him.

“Oh my God, Doc,” he breathed out with a groan, his eyes fixated on her wild ones,

“I can see her face...She’s you.”

​

She heard John’s dark groan; then his mouth was on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. His teeth sank into her skin as she Shockley ground against his hand, riding the last euphoric wave. As she returned, their breathing was heavy and loud in the quiet cabin. Her senses came back to her. Where they were, what they’ve done, what he’s said. It struck hard and fast, like a collision as she crashed back to reality.
"You were there, Doc"