Possessive Doctor

The session goes smoothly. I transition her from stretching to some strength work. I keep it easy and light because I can tell working too hard makes her exhausted. By the time we’re done, she’s sweating a little bit, just a light sheen on her otherwise gorgeous skin. She sits with her back against the wall and rubs her leg.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Fine. Just not used to this. It’s weird not being able to do simple stuff.”

“I know. But you’ll get there.”

“It’s just frustrating. I want my life back.”

“Yeah, I get it.” I stretch and let out a breath. “The thing is, I see mostly old people here, if I’m honest. Your injury is pretty bad, but seriously, you’re so young. You’re going to heal from this sooner or later.”

“Sooner or later doesn’t help me right this second.”

I laugh. “Why are you so impatient?”

She looks away. “I don’t like being reliant on others for everything.”

“I see,” I say. “Who’s helping you?”

“My dad.”

“And he’s not patient?”

She snorts. “He’s the opposite of patient. Honestly, I bet he thinks I’m faking it. Deep down, even if he won’t admit it.”

“That’s… pretty bad.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my dad. So I can’t wait to get healed and get out of there.”

“Do you have your own place?”

“Not yet. But I have plans.”

“Good for you.”

She shrugs a little. “I’m twenty-four. I should’ve moved out a while ago. I graduated from the University of Texas and felt so lost. Ended up at my dad’s place and just… got stuck.”

“I can understand that,” I say. “Happens to a lot of people.”

“Yeah, well, I never thought that would be me.”

“There’s plenty of time. You’re young.”

She gives me a little grin. “You keep saying that. What are you, fifty?”

“I’m thirty-four.”

“Oh, okay, so you’re ancient then.”

I laugh again and shrug. “I guess so.”

“How’d you end up opening a place like this?” she asks.

“I went to med school and wanted to do something that would really help people. I sort of just gravitated to being a physiatrist and just… well, ended up here, I guess.”

“Do you like it?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t. All depends on the day and the patients.”

“How about right now?”

I give her a little smirk. “I love it right now.”

She smiles back and blushes a little. “That’s good to hear.”

“Well, it’s true. You’re easy to work with.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Like I said. Lots of old people come through here.” I make a face and laugh. “But you’re different.”

She leans against me, looking up into my eyes. “Different… how? Just young?”

“Nice to look at.” I smirk at her, leaning closer. “Nice to touch.”

She blushes. “Isn’t that against your doctor’s code or whatever?”

I shrug. “Probably. Definitely unethical.”

“I won’t report you.”

“I hope not.”

She laughs a little and leans her head against the wall. “Guess I should go soon.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I hesitate. It’s fun flirting and joking with her, but I can’t let her leave without at least scratching the itch that’s been bothering me all week. “Listen. I looked at your case file.”

“Yeah? Digging into me?”

I smile but I don’t take the bait. “I was looking at your injury. You know, it’s strange. Your style of break, the way it broke and the places it broke in, just isn’t really consistent with a car crash. It’s more like you fell down something.”

Her face goes instantly blank. She stares at me without speaking for a long moment. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… well… it must’ve been on terrible car crash. That’s definitely what happened?”

“It was a car crash,” she says.

“I know. Just, the way it broke, and—”

“Look, maybe you really should work on your ethics,” she says, struggling to her feet. “Maybe flirting with me was a little out of line. And this is way out of line.”

“Amber—”

“No. I’m not interested. I told you, I got into a car crash. Don’t call me a liar.”

I stand up and let her struggle to her feet. She glares at me and grabs her cane, leaning on it, breathing hard. She’s angry, fucking livid, and I can’t blame her.

“Okay,” I say. “I hear you.”

“Good. I’m heading home.”

“Please come back,” I say.

“Why? So you can get off on stretching me?”

I smile a little. “Partially, yes. But also because I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“In recovering from this injury? You definitely do. If you want to be on your own again sooner rather than later, then you better keep coming, even if you think I’m a nosy asshole.”

“I definitely think you’re an asshole,” she says.

“Fine. But keep coming.”

She hesitates, meeting my eyes. I see something there but I’m not sure what it is. Uncertainty, maybe, or maybe something else.

“Look, here,” I say, reaching into my pocket. I take out a business card and a pen. I write my cell number on the back. “This is my personal number, my cell. Call or text with any questions at any time.”