Mind to Bend: Chapter 18

I’m stunned when, almost two hours to the minute after Tim left my office, he comes storming back in, clearly enraged.

“What the fuck did you do to my wife?!” he shouts.

His long hair was already greasy when I saw him earlier, but now it’s tangled and messed up as well. His broken hand hangs in his sling, but even that twitches toward me.

“Tim,” I hold up my hands in a placating gesture. I don’t want him to realize how hungry I am for this. The urge to smash my fist into his face and forget the caring psychiatrist act is intense. “I’m not sure what you are referring to, but why don’t you have a seat, and we can discuss it.”

He puffs up his chest, “I don’t want to discuss anything with you. I want to know what you did to my wife!”

He’s shouting at the top of his lungs, and I wonder where this territorial behavior came from. An hour ago, she was a curse placed upon him, one he intended to break. There is a chance he loves Sera more than he realizes, but most likely, his ego can’t handle another man taking what he considers his.

Funny, he’s the one who doesn’t want her. I worship my Angel.

“Tim, why don’t you tell me what you think I did? When you left here, it seemed you decided to end the relationship. Is that what happened when you got home? I understand if you’re upset with me for encouraging you, but it seemed like what you truly wanted.”

He blinks rapidly, my ignorant act landing just as I hoped it would. His blue eyes dart between me and the clock on the wall beside me, trying to decide if he believes me. His uninjured hand is back in his hair, and I can see how greasy it is, moving between his fingers in chunks rather than strands. For someone who fucked a woman other than his wife, he seems awfully upset with the idea of his wife cheating on him. He squares his shoulder, his jaw hardening.

“Wouldn’t you like to fucking know if I ended it?!” he shouts again, and indeed I would. I’d love to go and comfort Seraphina while he has his temper tantrum elsewhere.

“Tim,”

He reaches out and grabs me by the collar. For a second, I do nothing.

“Let go and step back.”

I smell alcohol on his breath, which I didn’t smell during our appointment. My jaw ticks as I try to establish when he got drunk. Did he hurt Sera again?

“Or?”

“Or nothing. You and I both know this behavior is inappropriate. I’ll call the police, and I don’t need to explain how damaging the consequences could be to your life and business. Speaking of which, is Sera okay, Tim?”

I level him with my most compassionate yet unyielding stare. I have known the effect I have on people long before I came into this line of work. I only became a psychiatrist to hone my skills. Also, my interest in medically induced somnophilia certainly made the perks appealing. I stare into his eyes, waiting for him to decide while I envision Seraphina lying drugged on my desk, legs open, one hundred percent at my mercy, and the final piece of the fantasy? She asked for it.

He considers me before he releases my collar and steps back. He takes a couple more, his legs hitting the couch. He sits on instinct and in the same spot I licked up Seraphina’s cum.

“Fine, you want to talk about it!? I know you did something with Sera, and you’re going to tell me what.”

His eyes are red, and his face is flushed. My gaze travels over him, trying to get a sense of his body language and if he’s going to strike. That’s when I see the outline of his cock in his pants.

“So that’s what this is about?” I smirk, and he follows my gaze to his very hard cock. “You want to fuck me, Tim? Are you jealous?”

He splutters, seething mad and beyond the ability to form sentences.

“No,” I shake my head, having much more fun than I should be. “You want to watch me fuck Sera. Do you think about her when you cheat on her?”

His mouth pops open in shock, and his angry, flushed cheeks grow even redder in his embarrassment.

“You know, Tim, I hear some fucked-up shit in my line of work, but that’s something else. You won’t fuck your wife, but you’ll fantasize about other men with her. How long has this been going on?”

“I’ve never cheated on her.” His fists are clenched tight on his armrests, and I know I only need to prod him a few more times.

“Not even with Katrina?”

It’s an educated guess, given Katrina is the most frequently featured woman on his social media, but I know I’ve hit my mark when he turns purple.

“She comments on all your posts, and leaves you little heart eyes and fire emojis. I bet she likes you enough to think you’re serious.” I’m encouraged by his silence and his darkening complexion. “She doesn’t know you have a wife, does she?”

“You’re not going to tell her.” He mutters loud enough for me to hear him, and that’s when it clicks: he’s not just cheating. He cares about Katrina.

I give him my most innocent smile.

“That depends on you, doesn’t it?”

“How so?”

He’s scared now. He doesn’t want to lose this girl, and I almost laugh. I’ve seen Katrina both online and in person while I kept an eye on Tim. She’s a pretty girl despite her dull blonde hair and flat blue eyes. I will never understand how he could prefer her over sunlight and springtime. On the other hand, the intense male urge to fight for what’s yours even if you don’t want it makes perfect sense.

“Your hands are still balled up. Are you going to punch me, or are you going to back down?”

“Tell me what you and Sera did,” he orders, his fists relaxing in an apparent show of submission.

I genuinely believe the sick fuck wants to know so he can take the image back to Katrina and fuck it out with her.

“What she and I did isn’t important. What’s important is that the two of you aren’t happy, and you’re ending your relationship so you can move on to brighter things.” There’s nothing brighter in heaven or hell than Seraphina’s fire, but let him try.

“So you did do something together?!” he snaps as he shoots to his feet. “I should have known she’s a dirty fucking whore just like her mother.”

“You want to know what we did? I sucked her clit until she squirted all over that couch.” My eyes flick to the spot he was sitting. “Then I licked both of them clean. If you’re wondering what your own wife’s pussy smells like, bend over and see if I left any scraps for you.”

Just as I thought he would, he lunges for me. His fist connects with my face, and the crunch is as satisfying as it is painful. Tim’s strong, but he’s drunk, sloppy, and working with one arm. It takes him a long time to hit me again, and I still do nothing.

The camera mounted in the corner points directly at us, and I’m not personally in control of it. There is no reason to check it, and the security office is empty, unless this cunt so happens to go to the police claiming I assaulted him. Except the images will tell a different tale: there’s no doubt who is the offender.

I stand up, push him back a step, and throw my first punch. It’s too easy with his one hand broken, and if I didn’t hate him so much, I would consider this unsportsmanlike. My knuckles connect with his cheek, and his head kicks to the side. I hit him again. Primal satisfaction fills me, and something deep inside me, simple and violent, revels in fighting for what’s mine.

I hit him a final time. The plan is to kick his ass a bit and call the cops. He’s done enough to get himself out of the way, and I’m happy to shove him the rest of the way. But then he opens his mouth.

“Wanted to kill her. Should have just fucking killed her.”

I pride myself on my self-control. More than that, it’s a pathological need. I crave control. So when my brain disconnects from my body and rage takes over, I have no idea how to take it back. This has never happened to me before.

All I see is red, blood, haze, Sera’s life fading beneath his fucking fingertips. I should have killed him when he touched her, but some of me doubted his intentions. Part of me wanted to avoid the hassle and complications of a more permanent disposal of Tim. Why bother when it should have been so easy to manipulate him out of the situation?

His eyes fall closed for a moment, and I take the opportunity to wrap my hands tightly around his throat. His lids flutter before his survival instinct kicks in and he begins to fight. Tim is strong, a football player, and I’m sure he assumes that, with what I do for a living, this will be easy for him to escape, certain he’s outmatched me in a grapple.

He’s wrong.

I position myself so that my leverage on him improves and reduces his to nothing. His face is a disgusting, distorted swirl of bruise-like color, and spit flies from his lips. He realizes he isn’t gaining the upper hand, and genuine fear flashes in his eyes.

“Please,” he mouths as my hands close even tighter.

“You should have killed her,” I tell him as I feel his pulse slowing beneath my fingers. “Then, at least, it would have been worth dying for.”

He doesn’t have a chance to answer. He passes out from oxygen loss, but it’ll be a bit longer before he’s dead, and I hold on until I’m sure he is gone.

I let go of him, sit back on my heels, and look down at his limp body on the floor.

“Well, fuck, Tim. I really thought we had made some progress this afternoon. Murphy was right all along: what can go wrong, will go wrong, huh?”

His eyes aren’t yet closed, pale blue half-peeking through the dead slits.

“You shouldn’t have touched what wasn’t yours,” I tell him solemnly and pat him on the shoulder before I deal with the most reckless decision I have ever made.