I wouldn't go back to the precinct today if I had it my way. I'd dig my heels in. But Drake has always been the more responsible one. He'd never play hooky, not even if I asked nicely. There's no point in trying.
As soon as we leave Attica, Drake brings us back. The entire ride, I pick at the skin on the side of my nails - which, by the way, is something I've never done before. But it takes my mind off of the nerves eating away at my stomach. Drake pulls into the lot and the car lurches, snapping my eyes away from my hands.
Here we go.
The moment I walk into the bullpen, the Captain is on me. I skid to a stop and try ducking behind Drake, who strains his neck to look at me with a furrowed brow.
"Jennifer Lynne," Stringer scolds, and all of the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Don't even bother."
I sigh and roll my eyes, stepping back into his line of sight. He stands there with his arms folded and that stern look flat across his face. "Yeah?" I try to say as nonchalantly as I can.
He moves towards me. "You're a grown adult, Jennifer, but if you're going to be childish, I can walk you into that room and stand outside until you do what is required of you."
While I can't always get a good read on him, I can tell he's dead serious. If he says he'll force me to meet with the goddamn shrink, I know he will.
I throw my hands in the air. "Fine!"
Stringer points to his office. "She's ready for you now."
I exhale through my nose. "Lovely."
The early afternoon sun shines through the slants in Stringer's office. It casts a yellow-orange glow onto the shiny desk and the black leather couch on the back wall. And sitting in one of the chairs on the outside of Stringer's desk is a woman with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. As I enter, she moves the notepad in her hand and looks up at me.
"Jennifer?" She starts. "Hi, I'm Dr. Keegan." She motions to the couch behind her. "Please, sit."
I close the door behind me, shutting out all of the eyes watching me. As I make my way to the sofa, she turns the chair to face me. The stiff material of the couch squeaks under me as I sit. I hate this stupid thing.
At first, the woman doesn't speak. She just looks at me like she's waiting for me to go first. Why does this feel like deja vu from earlier with Jackson? I cross my legs and raise a brow. You first, lady.
She clears her throat quietly. "So, you were involved in a shooting last Friday, correct?"
I nod. "Yep."
Dr. Keegan tilts her head. "And how are you feeling about that?"
"About the shooting itself or being the shooter?" When she doesn't respond, I shrug. "A shooting is always a terrifying thing. But it was a good shooting. He was a homicide suspect with a knife in his hand and a victim at his feet. And he charged at me."
She removes her glasses. "Jennifer, I'm not here to evaluate the validity of the shooting. I'm here for you."
With as straight of a face as I can muster, I shake my head. But I feel a twitch make it through. "I'm fine."
She leans forward, putting her arms over her notes. 'You don't have to pretend. Not here."
If I have to pretend anywhere, it's here. I start to think of another lie, to give her something she wants to hear. But as I try to think, the ache in my chest snakes over my shoulder and crawls down my back. I flex my shoulder blades, trying to relieve the pressure, but it just causes it to move further down. By the time I realize what I'm doing and that there's someone else in the room — someone who's keenly perceptive of me — I freeze.
Her eyes shift over me. "Are you in pain?" She asks.
I shake my head. "No. I..." I sigh. "It's just, uh, after the shooting, it feels like something inside of me is off. Like... Like something has changed."
I don't even know why I said that. It's not like she can help me. But it would probably do more harm than good to keep lying. She obviously isn't buying it.
She nods sympathetically. "Well, it's normal to feel that way after a traumatic event. It's only fair to see change outside of you reflect internally."
Yeah? Well, if that's the case, then why are Jackson's words getting under my skin? But that, I manage to hold back.
"What else?" She asks, sitting up straighter, a confident look on her face as if she's proud of decoding my issue. "What else are you feeling?"
I shrug. "I'm fine."
Dr. Keegan purses her lips. "Yes, you've said that." She laughs lightly to herself. "Your Captain informed me you could be...difficult."
My shoulders stiffen, which only strains the ache in my body. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Her eyes widen and she waves her hand. "Oh, I don't mean any offense, Jennifer. But you have been quite closed off." She sighs and leans towards me. "This would be more beneficial if you were honest about your feelings."
"There's nothing to be honest about."
"Okay," she says questioningly before exhaling and glancing at her notes. "Captain Stringer told me you were injured on the scene. Do you want to talk about what happened?"
"No." Not at all, and definitely not with you.
She hums and scribbles something down. "Alright. Then tell me how you feel now." Before I can open my mouth, she holds up a finger. "Wait, let me guess, you're 'fine'?"
I inhale as if I'm thinking about it, then I nod and smile. "Yep."
She sighs and taps her pen on her leg. "Okay, well —"
"Can I go now?" I interject before she can propose any more riveting questions.
At first, she looks over at me in surprise. She even stutters as she tries to find the words. "Oh, u-uh, I suppose, but —"
"Thanks, Doc," I say, grabbing the coat I had thrown over the back of the couch and I head for the door.
"Jennifer?" She calls out.
I glance back. "Yeah?"
She digs through her purse on the floor before pulling out a card. She hands it to me. It's glossy. "If you ever need someone to talk to, give me a call. Day or night, okay?"
Teresa Keegan, Ph.D., huh? "Sure," I tell her even though I know the likelihood of me finding Bigfoot is better. I close the door behind me on my way out.
I stride through the pen, heading for the exit. Somewhere behind me, I hear Drake call out to me, but I don't look back.
I need a drink.
The last thing I want is to be surrounded by people I know. I want to go somewhere where nobody knows my name and I can have a drink or two in peace.
Also, there may be a couple of bars in the city that I've been blacklisted from.
I sit at the bar in this new, hipster place. All around me are kids at the most ten years younger than me. I've already had four shots of whiskey, so the feeling of not belonging has washed down with my drink. I hoped that the alcohol would relax my muscles, which it has, but the aches and strain haven't gone away. My ass muscles are practically jelly but my chest is tight as fuck. And the buzzing in my ear hasn't faded since I left the prison.
I signal to the bartender, this guy with a long dark beard. He's given me this skeptical look since the last shot I ordered, so I might be pushing it. And yet, I say, "Another."
He extends his arm out to me and I look confused at it until I see the silver card between his fingers. "Your card was declined."
"What?" I snatch it from him and eye it. "You sure?"
He nods. "Tried it three times." He narrows his eyes and I just feel the judgment in them. "You got another form of payment?"
"I —" My throat shrinks up. No. I don't. "I'll have to call to call my bank but they're closed —"
"Here," Someone next to me says. I look over to see a guy handing his card to the bartender. "I got her tab."
The bartender nods and walks off. I spin in my chair, which makes me a little woozy, but I stop so I can look at him. He's cute, my tired, drunk brain says. Cute and cleaned up.
"Thank you," I say. I don't know if the scare made me sober up a bit, but I straighten up when I say, "I hope you weren't doing that to get laid."
He laughs, a light blush covering his cheeks. "Trust me, that wasn't my intention." He gestures to the empty seat between us. "You mind?"
"Go ahead."
He moves over and sits next to me. Now closer up, I can see his clean-shaven face and soft, doe-like eyes. "Tough day?" He asks. "If you want to tell me about it, I wouldn't mind."
If I know better, which right now is probably not so much, I should say no. I didn't want to tell a psychiatrist paid by my employer, so why would I tell a stranger? And yet, looking at this guy, I do kind of want to spill my guts.
"Thanks," I say softly so I don't word vomit. "But if I'm being nice, I wouldn't put it all onto you."
He shrugs. "I don't mind," He smiles. "I'm Theo."
I don't see it right away, but he's holding his hand out for me to shake. I chuckle a little to myself before shaking it. And I swear to whoever the fuck is up there, the moment my skin touches his, I feel an electric current flow up my arm. I smile back, giving this man a smile I haven't given anyone in a long time. "I'm Jennifer."
I end up telling Theo about my day — I left out my occupation and the violent aspects that come with the territory. But I explain that I had a break in a case I've been working, but it didn't end as I had expected, and I feel rather lost by it. He listens the whole time, nodding along and adding in an anecdote here and there. When I finish, he starts telling me about himself.
He's an engineer for some biomolecule production thing. I told him I thought he was a student at first, which he laughed at and said he was flattered, but in fact, he's almost twenty-eight — not too bad, only a few years younger than me. But from how he talks, he has this huge future in his field. He's very passionate about his work as well.
But as he talks, I feel a pull in my stomach. It's magnetic. Strong. I don't think I've ever felt anything like it before. It feels good... like a caress. But it's also strange. Like I want to sate it before it hurts. It must be sexual. I mean, I hear a voice in the back of my head that tells me to kiss him. Oh, do I want to kiss him...
I bite my lip, and Theo stops talking. He blushes. "Sorry, I was getting ahead of myself, wasn't I?"
"No, not at all." I pause and lean towards him. His pupils dilate and he inches forward. My lips graze his cheek. He takes in a sharp breath. I plant a short kiss on his smooth cheek before tilting my face towards him. He meets me in the middle for a long, smothering kiss. When our tongues twist and tangle, the pull in my stomach grows hot and melty.
Pulling back, I slide my cheek against his. "Meet me in the bathroom in five," I whisper into his ear before getting up and heading to the back of the bar.
As I wait in the ladies' room, I get a little worried. Did I spook him? I check my watch. It's only been three minutes but it feels like ten. I tap my foot anxiously.
Then, the door opens, and Theo slowly steps inside. "Lock the door," I tell him, my voice deep.
I bunch his t-shirt in my fingers, and he presses his lips to mine. The second my skin touches his, it's like sparks shoot off of me. It's been too long since I've had intimate contact with anyone - especially with someone who I feel this good with.
His chin bumps against mine, and I love how smooth it feels. He parts his mouth, and like an invitation, I glide my tongue against his. In response, he grips my waist. I hit the sink behind me and arch my back. I run my fingers through his hair, then down his face, then to his shirt. I slip a hand under the cotton of t-shirt, feeling the soft skin and wiry hairs on his chest.
Theo breaks away from the kiss, and I suck in a ragged breath. He plants a heavy kiss on my neck and grazes underneath my ear. The magnet in my gut pulses stronger and stronger like it knows I'm right where I need to be. Right with him. He even starts to whisper in my ear. Do it. Do it, Jennifer.
My fingers slide down to his belt and I start to unbuckle when suddenly he shakes and pulls away. His cheeks are red and he runs a flustered hand through his already messy hair.
"What's wrong?" I ask as the pulsing in my stomach distracts me. "Did I do something wrong?"
His eyes widen like it's preposterous that I ever thought that. He shakes his head. "No, God, no! You are..." he laughs to himself. "I liked it. I just..." he releases a shaky breath. "I want to wait."
"Wait?"
Theo nods, not quite making eye contact. "To...have sex."
Oh. "Oh," I say out loud, not meaning to. I bite my lip. Well, shit. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to —"
"It's okay," he says, and part of me wonders if it really is. He gives an exhausted sigh. "It's just — I recently got out of a serious relationship. And I want to wait before I jump back into anything."
Then he gives me a smile that melts me a little more inside. Fuck.
I nod through my self-loathing. "That's good. You should wait," I mutter as I start to move past him even though the pull inside of me wants me to stay.
"Wait," he says, grabbing onto my arm, pulling me back. His cheeks burn a little hotter. "I liked kissing you." He takes a deep breath through his nose. "Touching you..."
I know I should leave, but my eyes flutter closed as I press my mouth against his. I lean into him, feeling the heat rush between us. Then I hear a loud slam. Like a door.
My eyes snap open, and I'm met with a bright light. Not like the kind from the bar bathroom though. It's that harsh, morning glare. I squint before shutting my eyes. Shit, what time is it? I don't even remember leaving the bathroom, let alone the bar. I reach out and feel the silk of my sheets. At least I know I got home okay.
But as I feel around me, my fingers slip over something wet. I immediately recoil, picturing my own piss or vomit. My stomach lurches as I think about it. I start to peel my eyes open again, hoping it's piss. Please be piss. But instead of a yellow or green or even brown substance, it's red.
Dark red.
Total word count (as of end of chapter 5): 11,019