Despite my half-hysterical breakdown last night, I arrive to work on time—if a little harried.

I forgot my usual rolling briefcase and found myself having to haul everything in myself. So now, I’m left trying to balance multiple case files (I do have other cases to work, though none are quite as pressing), my purse, thermos, water bottle, and breakfast—all while trying to unlock and open my office door.

I can feel the accordion folders slipping, and I’ve just resigned myself to the inevitability of having to pick them all up, when two large hands slip in and pluck them from their precarious position.

“Here you go, Dr. Hughes. Let me help you with that.”

My hair has fallen like a sheet along the side of my face as I bend to unlock my door, so my vision is partially obscured. However, as the lock clicks open, I raise my head to find myself staring up at the guard Jaxon tried to choke to death yesterday. I blink, momentarily stunned, then smile.

“Thank you so much,” I say. “Larry, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right Dr. Hughes, Larry Krenshaw.” He sticks out his hand and smiles carefully. I notice his lip looks split and tender.

I somewhat awkwardly shift my paraphernalia around and shake his hand, before directing him where to set down the file folders.

“Coffee didn’t leave a stain, I hope?” he asks, hovering at the door.

“What?” I ask, trying to get everything put away and situated. Then what he means clicks.

“Oh! No, no, it didn’t stain. Thank you for your concern.” I finally take a good look at him and notice he’s fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the next. Like he needs to talk.

I feel myself frown slightly.

“Well, I’ll see you around, doc.” He turns to go.

“Wait!” I yell. He stops-mid stride. “Mr. Krenshaw.”

“Larry,” he corrects me with a smile.

I return it. “Larry,” I say gently. “I’d really love to discuss the events of the other day with you, if you don’t mind. Let me just get settled here and—”

“That won’t be necessary Doc,” he says, his eyes widening in what looks like panic. “Nothing to discuss.”

Curious.

“Mr. Krenshaw…”

“Larry,” he mumbles automatically.

I start again. “Larry, would it put you at ease to know that you would have doctor-patient confidentiality? I swore an oath never to disclose what is discussed in my sessions. We don’t have to talk about what happened the other day; we can discuss whatever you like. But you look like you have something on your mind, and I’d like to help.”

As I talk, I can see the panic dissipate. Though he still looks a bit uncomfortable, he agrees to come back in two hours, when he has a break. I nod and say that I’ll see him then.

I spend the next two hours going over other patients’ files. I decided last night, after a hot bath and my second bowl of ice cream, that I needed a bit of distance. So, regardless of the deadline, I swore to spend the day detoxing from Jaxon by reading other case files and performing other necessary, but somewhat neglected tasks.

If I want to continue to treat Jaxon (and I’ve really been given no other choice), then I have to compartmentalize my feelings for him and whatever our relationship might be. To do that, I need distance, hence the necessity of the “detox.”

I’m just finishing up an email when I hear a soft rap on my door.

“Come in,” I say without looking up.

“Is now a good time, Dr. Hughes?”

“Yes, of course Mr. Kren—er, Larry. Now is perfect. Please come in and have a seat. I’ll be with you shortly. Help yourself to some coffee.” I wave him to one of the empty chairs in the small sitting area I use for sessions.

After quickly finishing up what I’m doing, I head over and sit directly across from him, setting my notepad and pen to the side. I notice he looks uncomfortable again, like the prison uniform is too tight. He can’t seem to sit still.

He picks up his coffee cup, takes a sip, puts it down, picks it up again, fidgets with it, and on and on and on. I take a breath and slip on my doctor face—bland, unassuming smile, inquisitive, but not probing eyes. I struggle with the empathy often necessary in these sessions but approximate it very well.

“Now Larry, is there anything you’d like to discuss?”

He glances around the room before settling on a point somewhere over my left shoulder.

“Will you…” He pauses, seemingly unsure what to say. Though I remain quiet, I notice him occasionally reach up and stroke his throat.

Nervous soothing? Or a reminder?

Then his words tumble out in a rush. “Will you just…will you just let Mr. Covington know that I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to upset him. I didn’t mean to make him angry.

“I know it was my fault. It was all my fault, and I’d just feel terrible if something were to happen to him because of it. He’s promised to do good by me, and I know he will. I just…I just…”

At this point, he breaks down and begins to sob into his hands.

I calmly hand him the box of tissues, a sympathetic expression on my face. But inside, I am horrified. What has Jaxon done to this man?

He takes a deep breath in an attempt to get himself under control. “Just tell him again how sorry I am for causing that mess the other day.” He squeezes his eyes shut and continues trying calm down.

Ever so gently, I lean forward and place my hand lightly on his arm.

He jumps.

I frown at this but continue in my soothing therapist voice. “Larry, look at me. Look at me, Larry.” He finally opens his eyes and looks at me. “You did nothing wrong. Mr. Covin—Jaxon Covington is a very sick man, and I’m doing my best to help him.

“His actions were in the wrong the other day. Not yours. I need you to know that, Larry. You don’t owe Jaxon Covington a thing. If anything, he owes you for allowing me to handle the dispute and not reporting it.”

At this, he huffs a sad, rueful laugh. “It wouldn’t matter if I did. Every person here is in his pocket.” Then his face twists. “Even you.”

I sit back, a bit stunned. Then, as if he realizes he’s just said something he shouldn’t have, his face again grows panicked.

“I’m sorry, doc! Oh, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean that at all. Please don’t say anything to Mr. Covington.” His eyes are rolling around in his head like a panicked horse.

I lean forward again and touch his arm in an attempt to soothe him, but I swear I just make it worse. He jumps at my touch.

“Th-th-thank you for the coffee,” he stammers out. “But I need to be getting back. My break’s been too long.”

“Of course,” I say softly. “My apologies for keeping you. Everything you’ve told me will remain just between us.”

He nods gratefully, and then he’s gone.

As the door clicks shut, I’m unable to move from my seat. I can feel myself have a bit of cognitive dissonance, because I’m fairly certain this is the chair Jaxon and I fucked in.

The thought arouses me but also sends a cold shiver of dread down my spine. My stomach churns in disgust.

I thought we’d made progress. I actually thought Jaxon was capable of reform. But after listening to the abused guard apologize for triggering Jaxon and recoiling in fear at the mere thought of upsetting him, I’m no longer sure.

In fact, I can be sure of only one thing: I will remain his doctor because I have no other choice.

But everything else between Jaxon Covington and me is through. No matter what this thing is between us. No matter how much I may think I love him.

I won’t be an idle party to his corruption.

I cannot be a Bonnie to his Clyde.