Lindsay had left her a pair of lightweight sweatpants and a T-shirt. She finished drying off and put them on, thankful to not have to look at the scars anymore.
She looked around the bathroom again. It was spotless and pristine now. He must have taken the bleach with him. He was probably afraid she'd drink it.
He didn't have to worry. It would no doubt be months or years before she worked up the courage to try again. She was sure he'd keep her on suicide watch. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to do anything. Not for a while. The next time she was sure it would be even harder. She might have to find another method. She knew she wouldn't get away with pills again.
He'd keep everything locked up. And if she asked for a sleeping pill after tonight, she was sure he'd stand over her and watch her swallow it, then check to make sure she had.
When Shannon opened the door, her mouth fell open. She'd never been in Lindsay's suite before. It was as if she'd been transported into a lush botanical garden. There were orchids of all types and sizes growing in pots around the room. A dizzying variety of lush, exotic tropical flowers peaked out around the dense foliage that seemed to fill the room. Her feet sank into dark green carpet which was far enough away from the plants themselves that Lindsay's intricate watering system wouldn't get it wet.
Small tubes protruded from the ceiling over this private jungle where water could fall like rain. After hitting the plants, it would swirl down drains in the concrete floor beneath the canopy of leaves.
There were three bird cages. One held an African Grey parrot that looked far too intelligent for her liking. The other two had several happily chirping parakeets of different colors. They were bopping their heads up and down to music only they could hear as they sized Shannon up.
It seemed weird now that she thought about it. Eight years and not once had she been in this room. She'd heard things, of course, but seeing it was a whole other experience. She'd never quite believed the descriptions. How could anybody maintain a room like this?
And then there was the doctor himself. He'd changed into a pair of navy pajama pants and now casually lounged on a king-sized canopy bed with his back pressed against the wall. The duvet matched the dark green carpet. Light-colored mosquito netting hung around the outside of the bed as if they really were in a jungle with a dangerous insect threat. The netting had been pulled back and draped out of the way giving her a clear and unobstructed view of the doctor.
Lindsay's chest and feet were bare. Shannon had never seen this much of him before, and it was doing a funny thing to her. He had a golden tan and... holy hell he worked out. She wanted to stop looking at him. Just stop staring. Look away!
“Fuck me, harder, harder, harder.”
Shannon startled and turned to find the African Gray parrot moving back and forth on the perch in his cage, chattering along.
“Oh yes, Sir, fuck me!” It was no mystery what that bird had been exposed to in this room. Or maybe he was a mind-reading parrot.
“Hush, Ralph.” Lindsay said, exasperated. “I now long for the days when he made commentary on psychotropic drugs and their side effects.” He opened the cage and the bird flew out and went to perch on one of the large tropical plants. One beady little eye watched them from behind a giant piece of foliage.
Shannon stared at the bird, grateful for the distraction from darker thoughts and the even worse inappropriate thoughts about the doctor. The strangeness of a parrot that talked like a porn star was enough to derail anybody's mental train. She'd once watched a video of a raven proudly and clearly saying “You motherfucker”. But Ralph topped that.
She turned back to find Lindsay watching her in that eerie shrink way he did—like he was reading the thoughts right out of her head and deciding how to diagnose her for the insurance company. What little numbered code would he put beside her name in his file? Except now, with him so... almost naked, that intense look took on so many other shades of meaning.
“We're going to go downstairs and have some tea and a talk,” he said, rising slowly from the bed.
Shannon crossed her arms over her chest, her resistance flaring back to life. “There's nothing to talk about.”
“Like hell there isn't.” He pointed at the door. “Go.”
“Or what? You'll kill me? Beat me? Cut me? There's nothing you can do worse than what he did. And nothing you would do because you feel too guilty.”
He'd stopped looking guilty and had started looking pissed. Pissed and... dear God, stop looking at his abs!
“Are you finished psychoanalyzing me?” he asked. Though they both knew she was analyzing more than just his behavior.
“I haven't decided yet. Why? Do you not like how it feels when it's aimed at you?”
“Out. Now.” His voice had gone to a scary place she'd only heard a few times from him and never directed her way.
She attempted a nonchalant shrug like he wasn't getting to her and walked out the door and down the stairs back to the kitchen. She could feel him behind her the whole way, like he'd attached himself to her as her new shadow.
When they got there, he stopped beside the counter. She'd forgotten the mess she'd made with the chocolate frosting. That felt like a lifetime ago.
“I assume you did this?” he asked. But it was really more a statement than a question.
“And?” she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Clean it up.”
She wanted to keep arguing with him. A twisted part of her wanted to see just how far she could push before he snapped, but her stupid self-preservation instinct was kicking back in again, and the last of her courage was fading fast.
Shannon took the plate and glass and put them in the sink. Then she wiped the counter down.
“Good. Now sit.”
“Did you bring me back just so you could bark orders at me? Is this supposed to make me want to keep living? You've got a shitty bedside manner, Doc.”
“Sir,” he said.
“You're out of your mind if you think I'd ever give you a title.”
She gave Brian one, but that was just because he scared the shit out of her and she never wanted to give him a reason to hurt her again.
Lindsay turned away and put the tea kettle on, then pulled up a stool on the other side of the bar. He sat and stared her down until she finally looked away.
“You will give me whatever I demand. Congratulations. You've become my personal project. You've got my full attention now.”
She fought to keep the pathetic fucking flutter of excitement out of her stomach. She would not react to him that way. Gabe? Sure. Anton? Absolutely. Any of the other trainers but Brian? Fine. But never this man.
It had been easy not to feel anything for Lindsay. The guilt, the way he handled her with kid gloves. It repulsed her. She'd always known she was kinky. Until Brian, the house had seemed like a dream come true. She needed a man who was in control. Lindsay was too weak because of all that guilt.
Sure, he should feel guilty. She was glad he felt guilty. But his guilt didn't improve any aspect of her life. She didn't benefit from it. And it surely didn't press on that tightly wound hot button of need inside her.
But something had shifted in him tonight.
Now that he'd finally dropped some of the guilt and avoidance, something about him was having an unwelcome effect on her.