Marlena sat on the couch in her office, across from John. He seemed tired, and he was dirty from a long day on the docks. His appointment had been scheduled a little later in the day, due to his work schedule, and they were just finishing up. Marlena looked up from their notes, and asked him softly, "Have you given any more thought to speaking with Lawrence? I believe you have recalled enough memories to move forward with the DNA request."
John's hand weaved roughly through his hair, and he replied, "I've thought about it...but, G-d, Doc, how does a person even start a conversation like that?"
"You could invite him here, if it would make you more comfortable? The environment is more structured, and I could—I could support you though it," she said.
"I don't know what I'd say. Seriously what do you say in this type of situation? 'Hey Larry, I know we hate each other, and I think you're a slime ball, but I think I'm your long dead brother Forrest. I've got a locket to prove it, and a bunch of random memories if that helps'," John said sarcastically.
Marlena smiled at him indulgently, reaching forward for his hand, to lightly stroke his palm with her thumb, "John...we could script it out before he got here. If that would help you."
"He's going to think I'm after his money. Vivian's definitely going to believe I'm after the money..." he hedged, hoping that Marlena understood his wariness.
"You know your truth, John. I know your truth," Marlena told him softly. "You've discovered more over the last few months than you ever knew before, and I'm so proud of you...I'm so proud of you..." She squeezed his hand, and continued to stare at him.
They continued to stare into each others eyes for longer than they should, both of them caught up in thoughts and feelings of their own. Finally John cleared his throat, and said, "It's late. I should get going."
"Sure...you can make another appointment with Chelsea. Just call tomorrow, I believe she's gone home for the day," Marlena said distractedly.
At the door, John turned at said, "Are you okay, Doc?"
Marlena thought about how uneasy she had felt all day. She thought about her patient Frank, who had her on edge after his revelations in his last appointment, and she wished she could talk to John about it, but she couldn't. "It's a patient," she said softly.
"Ah, so you can't talk about it?"
"I can't talk about it," she said, staring at him from across the room, and wishing she could feel his arms around her. Wishing that John could hold her, even while knowing that what she craved from him was more than friendship and comfort.
"Okay, Doc," John said. "I'll give Chelsea a call tomorrow."
She heard the door close with a soft snick, and glanced at the clock. She was so tired, but she needed to finish up her notes for John's session before she could leave for the day. Roman had said he was picking the twins up from his parents and taking them out for bowling and pizza, so she didn't have to rush.
Removing her jacket, she happened to glance down at her upper arm, noting the distinct finger patterns there from when Roman had grabbed her roughly the morning after her dream, almost a week ago.
She was running late, and exhausted from the night before. Roman hadn't bothered to come home, and it was nearly eight o'clock in the morning. Opening the kitchen door, Marlena yelled, "Sami! Eric! We need to leave in five minutes, or we are going to be late!"
"Okay, Mom!" Eric yelled back. Marlena smiled to herself when she heard Eric say to Sami, "Get your stuff, because when we're late, it's usually because of you!"
She startled, and turned when she heard the door to the garage slam, and Roman entered the kitchen. Their eyes met, and Roman said, "You're still here."
Marlena gave him a once over. He reeked of alcohol, and cigarette smoke, although he didn't seem to be drunk in the moment. Turning back to her coffee, she said, "We're running late. I overslept."
"Hmph," he said, stepping around her, and pouring his own cup of coffee. "Well, I guess you should get moving then."
"Roman, we really need to talk about last night," she said.
"Talk? What's there to talk about, Doc?" Roman said, feeling the anger rise in him all over again. "You want to talk about how you're doing therapy sessions with your ex-husband? Which, I'm pretty sure is a conflict of interest. You want to talk about those dreams where you wake up screaming profanities while your body writhes next to me in orgasm?"
"You know what...never mind," she said, realizing that Roman was in not state of mind to have a conversation. "We can discuss it later." She snapped the lid on her coffee cup, and turned to leave the kitchen, but Roman grabbed her roughly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arm.
He leaned towards her, whispering with sour breath, "You don't like what I've got to say, and so the conversations over? Is that right, Doc?"
"Roman," she said quietly, unsure of where Eric and Sami were in that moment. "Roman let go, you're hurting me."
He looked down, seemingly surprised that he had such a tight grip on her arm, and he released her quickly, "Go to work, Doc. I'll see you later."
She watched him for a moment, feeling the ache in her arm where he had dug his fingers into her. She knew it was going to bruise, but Roman had nothing more to say, as he sat at the kitchen table, staring into a steaming cup of black coffee.
Marlena ran her fingers over the mottled bruises along her arm, and laid her jacket over the back of the couch, only then realizing that John had left his jacket behind. Marlena lovingly ran her fingers over it, and refused to give into the impulse to raise it to her nose, and inhale his scent. Forcing herself to step away from John's jacket, Marlena mumbled to herself, "Notes, Marlena. Finish the notes, and go home." Just as she was sitting down, she heard the door to her office open, and she said without looking up, "John, I thought you might come back for your jacket..." but when she looked up, it wasn't John standing there.
Fear ran through her, and she said carefully, "Frank, we don't have another appointment until next week."
"I know that...but, I had to come. I had to come talk to you because of what I told you," he said on a stutter. Marlena could see that he was sweating, and his glasses were sliding down his nose. She stepped around her desk, and reached under it to trip the alarm she had placed there, praying that security would come quickly.
"Frank what you told me, it won't be repeated. It's doctor-patient confidentiality," Marlena said. "I won't repeat it, although I will try, and get you to take responsibility for it."
Frank turned, and locked her office door. He stepped closer to her, and Marlena stepped back, nearly tripping over her chair. His agitation was rising, as he said, "No! No! That's not what you're going to do. You tape our sessions! I want the tapes! I want the notes!"
"Frank, I know you're upset, but we can discuss it at your next session," she said, attempting to placate him, and calm down his rising level of aggression.
"No!" Frank roared. "No! You're going to call the police! You're going to turn me in, because I murdered that girl! I know that's what's going to happen."
"I told you, I wouldn't do that, Frank. You have to trust me," she told him, trying to step out from her desk on the opposite side of where he was, but Frank rounded the desk quickly, and Marlena found herself running for her office door.
Grabbing her from behind, Frank slammed her body against her office door, pushing her chest into the wood, and holding her there with his body weight while he cried into her neck. "I killed her...and you know. I can't trust you not to tell the police!"
Marlena felt tears rolling down her cheeks, even as she forced herself to remain calm, "I won't say anything, but Frank...I—I need you to let me go."
"I can't," he whispered, wrapping his hands around her neck slowly. "I can't. I have to get the tapes, and the notes...and I have to...I have to make sure you don't tell."
Marlena's body was wrenched from the door by Frank's clenching grip on her neck. She felt the constriction, and started clawing at his hands, her nails raking over his skin, as she scored lines into his flesh. Frank shoved her body onto the couch, face first, and put his knee into her back holding her down, whispering over and over again, "I can't let you tell."
John realized at the elevator that he'd forgotten his jacket in Marlena's office. As he turned to go back, three security guards rushed off of the elevator and began sprinting in that direction. Something was wrong. He had felt it before he left, she wouldn't discuss it, but he'd known something wasn't right. John arrived outside Marlena's office, and without waiting for security to discuss what they were going to do, he kicked the door open, with one solid kick.
Much of what happened next would be lost to him, when he was later questioned. He wouldn't remember pulling Frank Delaney off of Marlena. He wouldn't remember beating the man to within an inch of his life. All John would remember was Marlena's unconscious, prone form, lying on the couch, and he would remember begging her to come back to him, and telling her, he couldn't live without her.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marlena had refused to be admitted to the hospital for the night, and she watched the door close on Mike Horton's back after he'd reluctantly accepted her answer. She felt like she was emotionally on the brink, and any slight push might have her falling over the edge in a moment. She needed something, but she couldn't grasp what it was...or perhaps, she could. Lifting her eyes, she locked with John's deep gaze, and she whispered, "Can you hold me?"
"Come here, baby," John said softly, sitting down beside her, and pulling her into his arms. "Come here." She broke down. Her wracking sobs, shook their bodies as she curled into him on the couch, and John held her. He held her, and he stroked over her back, and he whispered soft words to her. Reassuring words, that took away some of the darkness that had settled in her mind.
Finally Marlena whispered with a raspy, rough, voice, "I wonder if someone called Roman."
"They should have," he told her. "I told them to call him."
Marlena looked up at him, and said, "Thank you..." Her soft fingers traced over his jaw, and then their featherlight touch swept over his lips. A simple touch that felt more intimate than a kiss, and she whispered again, "Thank you."
The moment was over, and Marlena pulled away from him, when they heard a loud voice from the waiting area shout, "Where the fuck is my wife?"