Page 79 of The Fall

“Dr. Whitaker. You’re not to ask me about anything else, do you hear me? This is a professional relationship. He crossed the line by telling you anything. Don’t ever address me personally again.”

I was instantly sorry. In my few years with Beatrice, I’d never seen her so hurt. The fact that I was the cause was too much to bear. Walking away, I grabbed my tablet and got to work. I had no more time for personal matters. I was done with personal.

Dean texted throughout the day, but I ignored him. Apparently, he didn’t intend to be silent while he waited.

DEAN: Remember the drive-in with Brittney Sharp and Henry Rice? Fuck that was awful.

I couldn’t help but grin. It was one of the nights Dean had a date in high school and brought me along. Little did he know that my date happened to have just broken up with his, and we spent the whole night listening to them go back and forth over whose fault it was. We tried to end the night early, but they insisted they could handle it but were fighting again minutes later. Dean and I ended up hanging out while they fought it out.

I didn’t acknowledge Dean or his attempt to make me remember. Less than ten minutes later, I got another text.

DEAN: You were wearing a yellow skirt and a light blue top. I wanted to kiss you so badly. You wore that damn strawberry lip gloss. I can still remember the way it smelled. I went to bed that night thinking about your lips. I got no sleep.

An hour later, I got another text.

DEAN: Remember when Ralph went missing? I took him. Paul paid me to do it to torture you.

I burst out laughing at his confession. Ralph was my pet fish. He mysteriously disappeared one night only to show up two days later. I asked my family for years who did it, and no one ever fessed up.

I went throughout the day as Dean sent me text after text, talking to me about anything and everything.

My next text came at noon the next day.

DEAN: Please don’t ever pour hot wax on your vagina. Hire a professional. I will pay for it—just a little vag man advice. I miss you…and your perfect vagina.

I spit out my Diet Coke as I read that one. I couldn’t even imagine what situation he was dealing with at the moment.

I made it home and managed to wait a few hours before checking my phone. As much as I wanted to engage Dean, I was humiliated that he knew the truth. I couldn’t understand why he was still interested after he heard what a complete wreck I’d been after our breakup. Cammie had called me non-stop since yesterday, and I refused her calls as well. No matter what she had to endure, she’d betrayed years of friendship in mere minutes. I knew I would forgive her eventually, but I couldn’t see it happening anytime soon.

I didn’t need old drama unfolding in the hospital. This wasn’t high school, and I damn sure hadn’t been acting my age since the minute Dean made his appearance. The hospital was the one place I felt genuinely safe—the thing I could control the most. My career was my focus. It was the one thing that had truly been my saving grace. I poured over cases and treatments, ignoring the obvious tug in my chest and vibrating phone. Hours after I had landed on my couch, my curiosity got the best of me. I had missed two texts.

6:00 P.M.

DEAN: I’m eating spaghetti. Do you still hate it?

5 minutes ago…

DEAN: Sweet Home Alabama is on channel 8.

My heart squeezed. He knew it was my favorite movie. I quickly scrambled to find my remote and turned it on. He knew I’d always thought of him watching it. I’d told him once that his eyes were the exact color of one of the male leads. Ironically, it was about two people who met when they were kids, only to painfully break up and get back together years later. It was all about kismet and soul mates, a subject eerily familiar. I settled in to watch when my phone vibrated again.

DEAN: You’re watching it now, aren’t you? I’ll watch it with you.

Damn him. I regretted dumping my tequila and settled for a glass of wine. Two hours later, I got a text.

DEAN: Ironic. Isn’t it? Goodnight, Dally.

7:00 A.M.

DEAN: I wish I could wake you up the way I did last week, buried inside you with my thumb in your mouth.

I groaned as my pussy clenched. That had been the hottest morning sex I’d ever had. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining him on top of me until the world shook with the strongest orgasm I’d had in years. I begged him to take me again right after, and he did. Twice.

As of today, my vagina was no longer speaking to me.

Work, Dallas.

I walked up to Beatrice cautiously and got a smile.

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