Alison
As I step into my boss’s office, he closes the door behind me. I walk around and sit in the chair across from his desk and wait for him.
I have no doubt I’ve been called in on behalf of Jaxon. I’m sure he’s looking for some kind of update on my progress for the case.
With coffee in hand, I look across the desk at my boss. He’s got a stern, serious look on his face—the kind that can make you uneasy if you’ve got something you’re hiding.
“It’s good to see you this morning, Alison,” he says. “How’s the Covington file looking?”
“It’s coming along, sir.” I sit back and take a sip of my coffee.
Fuck. They gave me hazelnut. I hate hazelnut.
“Is it now?” he prods. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard yet.”
“Heard what, sir?” I counter him, taking another sip of my unfortunate cup of coffee.
“There was an incident involving Covington. We had to send a man in his cell to the ICU. He’d been nearly beaten to death.”
“Oh my god,” I blurt, coughing coffee onto myself. “No, no, sir. I had no idea.”
My stomach is suddenly woven into a gigantic knot inside me. I don’t know what triggered such a violent outburst, but I realize I’m not so surprised it happened.
He takes a tissue from his desk and hands it to me. I pat my clothes as he explains the details of what happened to me.
“He didn’t do the heavy hitting. He had a couple of other inmates in his cell, and they beat the ever-loving shit out of this guy. We’ve already questioned the guards, and they knew nothing of how or why. But it seems Covington’s making it known that he’s powerful and influential, and others are either on his side, seeking protection, or against him, wanting to take him off his fictitious throne.”
I’m just in utter disbelief, even though it’s all so believable.
Jaxon is unstable. Every effort I’ve made with him has been futile. He’s still as manipulative and unapologetic as he was on day one.
He’ll always be like this. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to take in another sip of coffee. The hazelnut-flavored bean water is serving more as a crutch than an enjoyment.
“Alison?” my boss calls out.
“Yes, sir?” I return quickly as I swallow the sip.
“I don’t question your efforts on Jaxon Covington. I’ll make that known. You’ve been dedicating a lot of time to his case, and I just wanted to be sure you’re aware of the latest development.”
“I see, sir. Well, thank you,” I respond coldly. “If you’ll excuse me, I do need to get this into my case file on Covington.”
“Of course, Ms. Hughes. You’re excused.”
I step out of the room, and tears immediately well up in my eyes.
What the fuck am I even doing?
This entire case rides on me, and the news I’ve just received tells me that any progress I’ve made with Jaxon isn’t sticking.
He’s regressed. He’s angry. He’s pent up.
And it’s all my fault.
If I’d spent more time actually being his fucking doctor than his little fangirl, I’d be able to actually fix him. I’m the worst person to help him, because I don’t even know if I can help him anymore.
He trusts me. And I trust him. But outside of that room, when it’s just the two of us, how am I supposed to control what’s going on?
This outburst is certainly going to come up in his trial. And I’m going to have to come up with some kind of explanation of what’s happened.
I can’t just say, “Oh, he’s fit to stand trial,” and then look like an idiot when this gets light shed on it.
My shoes clack along the linoleum floor as I walk through the halls, my head turning to peer into my co-worker’s days for just a moment, catching a glimpse of anyone’s experience here other than my own.
I don’t want to think about the Covington file anymore. I’m so thrown and so discouraged and just…heartbroken that I want no part of any of it.
As I turn the corner, just a couple doorways down from my own office, the image of Jaxon orchestrating a prison attack drifts back into my mind. And once it’s there, it hits me hard.
I know I have work to do here. And there’s still time to do it. But how?
I finally approach my desk. As I plop down into my chair, I log in to my computer and start noting his file.
Violent outburst inside prison cell.
Orchestrated; did not actually make physical contact with victim.
More details will be added upon session with Covington.
I pull my hands away from the keyboard and let out a sigh. I roll myself to the side of the monitor and stare out at the rest of the building, watching everyone do their objective, unbiased work while I sit here, squirming over Jaxon.
I realize I can’t deal with it at all.
I’m assigned to such a complicated case. It’s my first case. I have a two-week deadline. I think I’m in love with my fucking patient.
I’m a goddamn mess.
I’m quick to stand back up, grab my purse and my coat, and just leave.
I don’t know what I’m doing or what’s supposed to come of it, but I need a fucking break. I push through the door, walk down the pathway, and get in my car.
With tears in my eyes and a thumping in my chest, I start my car and pull out the parking lot, just getting away from all this bullshit for the day.
Fuck my entire career today. I’m going home and cooling the fuck off, because I know without a damn doubt that I’m not myself right now.
Maybe I’ll have myself figured out when I take myself away from the situation.