Please see the standard disclaimers in chapter 1. Spoilers through episode 3x8. Tons of AU backstory here. Abby will figure heavily as this story progresses so bear with me. And sorry for the interminable delay between posts! I, too, am a fanfiction reader (huge fan of Sticks and Stones; if you haven't read her work, do it!) and I understand how it is to have a writer go AWOL midstream. Thanks for bearing with me.Also, I made some edits to chapter 6 so if you're so inclined, enjoy it again!
If Bridget Westfall's life were a movie the role of Abby O'Neill would be played by Helen Mirren. Even in her early 60's, Abby was elegant, witty, stylish and in such great shape that most misjudged her age by a decade.
When Bridget was in her Master's degree program, Abby had been on a two-year teaching fellowship at University of New South Wales. Sparks had flown on the first day of Abby's Professional and Ethical Practice seminar as the incredibly intelligent teacher and brightest student had tangled over subject after subject.
Respect had been present from the start, as had a palpable attraction on the part of both women. Lingering to talk after class turned into Bridget walking the older woman back to Abby's campus office, which had turned into longer walks to a coffee shop just off campus. The two had discussed literally everything in their lives except the off-the-charts attraction between them.
The Friday after grades had been submitted for the semester, Bridget asked Abby out to dinner. When Bridget went round to Abby's apartment to pick her up, the then 40-something professor had answered the door wearing a knee-length flared indigo skirt that revealed gorgeously toned legs and sleeveless V-neck blouse with plunging neckline that highlighted delightful décolletage and leanly muscular arms. The look was a decided departure from the tailored pant suits Abby sported for class and the 20-something Bridget Westfall was robbed of her ability to speak.
Astonishment and desire plainly evident on Bridget's face, Abby smiled radiantly.
"Well I guess that answers that question," Abby had said, reaching for the stricken Bridget. Abby's fingers entwined with hers and she pulled the younger woman into her apartment. When Abby turned from shutting the door she was met with Bridget, mere inches away and closing the gap.
Bridget backed Abby against the door and kissed her– the hot, desperate kiss of a young lover who hasn't yet learned the art of the slow burn.
They hadn't left the house all weekend, preferring instead to make love countless times in countless configurations and make do with the contents of Abby's kitchen as occasional sustenance. Ever the educator, Abby introduced the ecstasy of taking things slowly and after the first hours-long instruction, using Bridget's body as her classroom, the younger woman was a convert to Abby's immensely pleasurable methods.
When Sunday afternoon began to fade into evening, Abby suggested they try the little bistro where they had intended to dine on Friday. They showered together – which, of course, delayed their departure. Then, over a delectable meal of perfectly prepared seafood and beautifully paired wine, Bridget was schooled in the art of open, honest communication with a lover.
"You're delicious and delightful," Abby had told her after they ordered coffee and tiramisu with two spoons. "Let's enjoy this for what it is and make sure our friendship survives all this heat, dear heart."
The admission had been a little heartbreaking but also freeing and, when they returned home with bellies sated, another round of lovemaking had proven to Bridget that deeper honesty led to more openness sexually.
Two hedonistic months later when Bridget was preparing to begin her external placement, the final step in her degree, she and Abby had agreed to make the transition from lovers to friends. There had been tears but both women knew it was the right thing to do. Each valued the relationship they had cultivated far beyond what the shelf life of their romance would have been. They loved each other deeply but they were not in love. The age difference, timing and trajectory of their lives also didn't gel the way it would have needed to for them to pursue anything more.
The love affair left Bridget with a full heart, delightful new sexual prowess, knowledge of her own body and its capacity for pleasure, emotional maturity, culinary skills and a budding yoga practice – all pieces that remained with Bridget to this day, thanks to Abby O'Neill. Thoughts of their now 20-year friendship were swirling in her head as Bridget walked up Argyle Street to the front door of Abby's house.
Abby had moved from Sydney to Melbourne a decade earlier, taking a teaching gig at the University of Melbourne shortly after Bridget and Jyoti had met. Abby's sister and her family lived down in St. Kilda but Abby preferred city life so she chose a house in Fitzroy, which turned out to be less than two miles from Bridget's place.
From the street, Abby's home appeared to be two different houses: a one-story cottage beside a two-story modern. Inside, the two spaces had been opened and united into one bright and airy open, modern L-shaped living and dining area that flowed through retractable glass doors into a lush, sleek courtyard.
Inside, walls of original brick and bluestone were punctuated by white plaster and columns and wide-planked wood floors made the place flow seamlessly. The kitchen was modern, well appointed, tucked beyond sight until you rounded the corner of the L. A first floor bedroom, which had been turned into Abby's study, and full bath were tucked to the right at the front of the house.
Stairs led up to a sunny master bedroom that overlooked the courtyard, complete with en suite and enormous walk-in wardrobe; two additional bedrooms and another bath. The courtyard included a patio area, small lawn and a two-lane, temperature-controlled lap pool that spanned from the back wall of the house to the back wall of the two-car enclosed garage that was topped with a studio apartment. The alley side of the garage was adorned with the street art for which this section of the city was famous.
Bridget adored the place and had felt at home since Abby's first night there, when Bridget and Jyoti had delivered Chinese take-out to welcome her to town. This was Bridget's dream house and she had teased Abby for years that when the stairs became too much for her, she should sell the place to her favorite former student.
"Better yet, we could swap," Abby had countered the last time the subject arose. Abby held Bridget's open, modern, one-level apartment with covered off-street parking, convenient elevator and its stunning fifth-story view in similar regard. The more Bridget thought about it, the more that scenario appealed to her.
As Bridget shifted both grocery bags to her left hand so she could open the low iron gate that separated Abby's small front yard from the sidewalk, the front door opened and the beautiful, smiling face of Bridget's beloved friend greeted her. Bridget returned the smile, closing the gate behind her, and took the few steps into Abby's open arms.
She hadn't planned on dissolving into tears but that's what happened. Abby responded immediately, wordlessly, gently tightening her hold on Bridget, benediction for her to let go. After quiet sobs had subsided and she had begun to recover, Bridget loosened the embrace and pulled back slightly, wiping tears from her face with her one free hand.
"Helluva hello, eh?" she smiled at the kind eyes and face of this sweet friend. Abby's fingers landed affectionately on Bridget's cheekbone, gently tracing an arc down her jaw.
"We clearly have some catching up to do," the older woman said, studying Bridget's face with a mix of love and concern.
Moments later they stood unpacking the contents of grocery bags onto the island in Abby's kitchen. Bridget didn't often cook elaborate meals for herself, both due to time and the fact that she disliked having a fridge full of leftovers. But when she was feeding others, Bridget went all out finding comfort and delight in the process of preparing a meal.
Abby surveyed the ingredients: fresh clams, mussels, prawns and salmon, as well as fennel, onion, garlic, shallots, lemons, tomatoes and a frozen jar of homemade soup stock.
"Thought I'd whip up Chioppino," Bridget announced. "How does that sound?"
"Perfect," Abby pronounced. "I'll get us started with some wine."
"Please," Bridget smiled, exhaling deeply. She knew her friend would not push her to talk about what had her in tears, preferring that Bridget do so in her own time. Bridget offered up a silent thanks to the universe for Abby's easy, loving way with her.
As Abby combed the selection in her wine fridge, Bridget pulled from her friend's ample spice collection and gathered the various pots and pans she needed, marshaling her thoughts and emotions as she worked. When Abby returned with a bottle of Spanish Rosado, the older woman retrieved two glasses from the cabinet, maneuvering easily around Bridget, before slipping onto a stool on the opposite side of the island.
"Will Claudia be joining us tonight?" Bridget asked.
"No," Abby replied. "She has rehearsal for the new play."
Abby's partner of the past five years, Claudia, was a theatre director and professor at the university who had two grown children. She was often part of these dinners. Claudia's daughter was now married and doing her own thing but her son, Edgar, who until recently lived in the apartment above Abby's garage, occasionally joined them for dinner as well. But just as often Bridget had Abby to herself. Bridget was thankful this was one of those nights.
"You'll let me know if I can help?" Abby stated more than asked as she uncorked the wine.
"Of course," Bridget smiled. She preferred to fly solo and command the kitchen when she cooked. Since these dinners together had become routine over the past few years Abby knew this about her friend and so while Bridget cooked she steered a conversation of catch up about the minutiae they'd missed since their last meal.
After recounting her weekend jaunt to Sydney for the wedding of a friend's daughter, Abby fell quiet for a moment – a pause long enough so that Bridget looked up to check on her. When their eyes met, Abby's face morphed from contemplation to a smile.
"Out with it, you," Bridget prodded gently. "What's up?"
"I have to have knee replacement surgery in a few months."
Bridget held her gaze, "So soon?"
Abby's knee had been increasingly sore and was now impacting her ability to roam the city at will. Bridget knew that would never do for the active, lively woman.
"Afraid so," Abby continued.
"You seem reticent," Bridget observed.
Abby smiled. "I am, but less about the surgery than what I'm about to ask you."
Bridget's mind kicked immediately into running scenarios. Move in temporarily to help take care of her? Help convert the downstairs office back into a bedroom? Stay with her at the hospital? Take her to physical therapy? As soon as she realized she was doing it, Bridget shook her head, clearing her own thoughts, returning to the present to actually listen to her friend. She laid down her spoon and gave Abby her full attention.
"There is of course no obligation or pressure or anything," Abby hedged, watching her carefully. "But if you have any interest in swapping homes, I've spoken about it with Claudia and we're both in agreement that we'd love to do it."
"Are you serious?" Bridget asked, maintaining Abby's gaze.
"Yes," Abby replied. "We've been playing around about it for years but it's a great idea. I know we paid roughly the same for the two places so it's an equitable swap."
"Yes but yours has appreciated more, I think," Bridget countered. "We should have them appraised to be sure the trade is fair."
"I'm not worried about that," Abby said. "You're part of my family."
Bridget made her way around the bench to her friend, wrapping her arms around her, saying, "And you're mine." They truly had crossed over into some beautiful zone far beyond friendship over the years. After a moment, Bridget pulled away so she could look Abby in the eye, hands on Abby's shoulders.
"Claudia's really okay with this?" Bridget adored Abby's partner but knew she had very definite opinions.
"She loves the idea," Abby brightened. "We have been putting off moving until Edgar was done with school." Claudia's son had graduated from university the previous spring. "Now that he's moved out and into a place of his own, it un-complicates things," Abby continued. "And of course this knee business is now at hand."
Abby gazed at Bridget for a long moment. "I don't want to rush you. We can find another place if you're not ready. I know you bought your place with Jyoti and I'm sure your memories of her are tied to it."
Abby was right, Bridget conceded, considering. "Thank you for thinking of that," she said finally. "Since we never lived there together it's a mixed bag. I mean we bought it and planned the reno together, but I also grieved her there. And having you living in that space somehow seems fitting. I know Jyoti would have loved the idea."
Abby nodded, "I think she would have. For the pool if no other reason."
Hot and exhausted after hours of unpacking, it had been Bridget's dear departed partner, Jyoti, who, on Abby's first night at the house suggested they dowse the courtyard lights and skinny-dip in order to cool off. The temperature-controlled saltwater pool was blissful and night swimming became a thing they did on evenings when Edgar was away.
"And you know how much I love this place," Bridget smiled. "Let's do it!" Bridget hugged her friend and mentor, kissing her affectionately on the cheek.
As Bridget finished cooking she couldn't help but imagine that the kitchen was her own. It was laid out differently than the one in her flat. This was completely open to the living space – an aspect that Bridget loved about it. She also let her mind wander to the possibility of one day sharing the space with a new lover, particularly one with culinary inclinations…
It had been mere hours since Franky was officially no longer her client but it still felt like a betrayal of professional ethics and of the inmate for Bridget to fantasize this way. She shook her head, willing away the thought and trained her attention back on Abby. They worked out details of the appraisals, hiring an agent to broker the trade and a timeline of two months for the move so Abby could be settled before her surgery.
Bridget couldn't help but think of Jyoti and of her father, Ray Westfall, and how the money she inherited from both when they passed away made this move and the ownership of such homes possible. She was so much more fortunate than most. Bridget's salary would never have afforded either place and, while she wasn't terribly invested in material goods, the ease of her life outside prison walls absolutely helped her to maintain her own mind, body and soul enough to really help the women with whom she worked.
By the time dinner was ready, Abby and Bridget had a plan and rough timeline agreed upon.
"I'm so glad that you're open to this," Abby delighted, carrying the wine and their glasses to the dining table.
"It feels right," Bridget said following her, plates in hand. "Even the timing."
"Why is that?" Abby asked, setting their glasses down at their usual places at the table.
"I think I'm finally moving forward," Bridget replied, voice weighted with emotion.
Abby's hand landed gently on Bridget's forearm. Tears welled in Bridget's eyes. She was grateful again for Abby's patience as she gathered her thoughts about where to begin. They took their seats and when she looked up at Abby a few tears escaped, rolling down her cheeks. Bridget laughed at herself, shaking her head.
"You know after Jyoti died and I survived the first year without her I stopped going to that bereaved spouses support group," Bridget said, piercing a prawn with her fork, tacit permission for Abby to eat. After she finished chewing, satisfied at its flavor, Bridget continued. "Everyone in the group was either still mourning or they were moving on and I was in such limbo, as you know. And I've been in that place, pouring my energy and focus into work, friends, yoga, running, ever since. I've been on the few dates that you know about and a few women have piqued my curiosity but not enough to do anything about it. No one has resonated with me. And I'd begun to wonder whether anyone would again."
Bridget took a drink of wine, eyes finding Abby's again. "What Jyoti and I had was so deep, instantaneous, such an all-levels connection. I know that's rare."
"It is," Abby agreed, nodding.
"Even my usually voracious sex drive has even been in hibernation," Bridget smiled wryly at this woman who knew her so well. "But I've been fucking blindsided, Abby," Bridget exhaled, relief immediate as she gave voice to truth, another tear escaping from the side of her eye. "By a client, an inmate. Former client, I should say."
Anyone else would have missed the slight creasing at the sides of Abby's eyes as she took this in – the only thing that betrayed her surprise - but Bridget noticed. The younger woman's hands rose to her own face, fingers fanning out across her forehead, thumbs wiping tears from her cheeks.
"This has never fucking happened to me before – not even close," Bridget managed, breathing labored as she fought against sobs. "But I couldn't have stopped it if I tried. The feelings I mean. Nothing has happened." Then, with determination, "Nothing will happen. I mean it can't." And after Franky realizes I've transferred her case to another psych, she likely won't speak to me again, Bridget thought but did not say.
She used her napkin this time to wipe her cheeks, eyes finding Abby's again. Abby reached across the table beckoning Bridget's fingers with her own. They met and entwined and Bridget felt the older woman squeeze gently.
"It's the clever one you mentioned, right?" Abby asked. Bridget nodded in response; not at all surprised that Abby had pieced it together from one conversation they'd had weeks ago.
"Tell me about her."
Of course that's where Abby would go first – not to the professional, to the personal.
Abby knew – and had taught Bridget and untold thousands of psych students – that there was no way most people could talk about another person without betraying the truth of their emotions in body language that was easy to read if you knew what to look for. Bridget knew this woman could see straight through her – there was no point in holding back. More than that, Bridget didn't want to.
And so as they ate, Bridget told Abby every small detail from the first time she first laid eyes on Franky Doyle when she barreled into the group session looking for Boomer, to the session earlier in the day, skimming the details of Franky's confession.
"Suffice it to say, if reported it would likely ruin any chance of her parole," Bridget concluded. "So my day ended with a phone call from Bruce who agreed that transferring her to the other psych was the right course of action."
"What did you tell him?" Abby asked.
"The truth," Bridget replied. "That there was transference, I suspect on both sides. That I'd be doing her a disservice to continue our sessions with such an obvious conflict of interest, that I would consult my own therapist to work through my part of it."
Abby nodded, "You still seeing Lisa?" Lisa Donovan was also on the psych faculty at the university and maintained a small private practice comprised mostly of other psychologists.
"Not for a while," Bridget admitted. "Seeing her next week, though."
"That's good," Abby nodded. "To switch topics a moment - this is the best Chioppino I've ever eaten."
"Thanks!" Bridget smiled. "You know I enjoy cooking for you. There's plenty left for Claudia. Possibly enough for a second meal for you both." Bridget took her last sip of wine. "I've been talking to Kim about the situation with Franky," she added. "Informally, of course. Anonymously."
Abby smiled. "How is she?" Abby and Bridget's American friend had flirted long-distance and in person for the better part of two decades.
"She's great – coming for a visit next month," Bridget said. "She says hello."
"What does she say about all of this?" Abby asked.
"She doesn't know what happened today," Bridget said. "She asked a lot of tough questions. The only one I failed to answer was what I stood to gain from Franky's release."
Abby's gaze was even, unassuming, kind as Bridget grappled for words. "I would be lying if I said I hadn't imagined what might happen when she's paroled," Bridget said at last. "The thing that I haven't worked out is whether I've done anything self-serving in our sessions."
"You're welcome to talk through that with me, if you wish, or save it for Lisa and let me just be your friend," Abby said.
"I don't want to do that with you," Bridget admitted. "But for another reason. I was wondering – when she gets paroled – "
"It's a certain thing?" Abby questioned.
"I cannot imagine how or why she wouldn't," Bridget returned. "When she does, she's going to need someone smart and strong to work with. I know you keep a light schedule of clients at St. Margaret's – would you consider seeing her?"
Abby smiled, pausing. This wasn't unusual for the thoughtful woman. "I understand that you want her to see someone experienced who will call her on her avoidance and continue to push her, while respecting her intelligence and independence, but I can't be objective with her, particularly when she will, in all likelihood, talk about you."
Bridget nodded, having considered that Abby would decline because of Bridget's involvement. "I love you, Bridget," Abby continued. "And if Franky might be part of your life I don't want to get involved with her professionally. I will be open to her, though, as a friend. And I will make sure she is assigned to someone good at St. Margaret's. You know Adina Omeo is now seeing some clients?"
"No," Bridget brightened at the mention of the savvy woman who was nearly as well known as Abby in the field of forensic psychology.
"Yeah, so I'll talk to her and see what I can do," Abby continued.
"Thank you," Bridget said, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I really appreciate it, Abby."
"You're welcome," Abby smiled, her hand reaching for Bridget's.
"I worry about how she's going to handle being transferred to another psych," Bridget admitted. "At Wentworth, I mean. It's taken so long to build trust."
"You have no control over how Franky handles another psych," Abby reminded her. "And you are helping her by recusing yourself. You've lost objectivity. What is your plan to tell her?"
"She's going to think it's because of what she said in session today," Bridget said. "I want to make it clear that it's not. The incident with Kim in the yard has the rumor mill running – I can certainly justifiably cite that."
"It's in her best interest and yours," Abby nodded, quietly considering Bridget as she held her gaze. "You've said she can already read you. What will you say if she calls your bluff?"
"I don't know," Bridget admitted. "I do know that I have to be prepared for her to attack me verbally. I think she'll be hurt more than angry. Feel betrayed. I know the protocol with transference - leaving the office door open, documenting everything. We have group in the morning and then I'll request that she come to my office."
"Where is she with regards to her parole hearing?" Abby asked.
"She submitted her forms and has a hearing date in two weeks," Bridget said. "She has a job lined up and a place to live." With some woman called Rose Bellisario, Bridget thought but didn't say. She wanted like hell to ask Franky who this Rose woman was but she knew her curiosity was way out of professional bounds. "But we haven't talked through her statement to the board or the hearing procedure."
"So, really, she has her act pretty much together," Abby said. "And given that she's been serving as lay legal aid to the others, I imagine she's adept at expressing herself. So this transition of her care isn't happening at the worst time."
Any time would be the worst time, Bridget thought. She grew increasingly certain that cutting off sessions would be seen as betrayal or abandonment by the inmate, who had come to expect that she could count on no one in her life.
"True," Bridget said. "I just… Want so much for her to figure out her shit and get out and get on with her life. Even if that life has nothing to do with me." And I want her to know I'm not abandoning her.
"You care deeply for her," Abby observed, eyeing Bridget carefully.
The blonde opened her mouth to speak but no words came. She simply nodded, tears again welling in her eyes.
I fucking love her
She couldn't bring herself to give voice to that fact. Not yet.
"She's screwing some skinny-ass scrag in fancy fuckin' clothes."
Bridget had been waiting for it ever since Kim walked into the library. The psychologist was about to close the door and begin the group session when the inmate had slipped through, shooting her a look intended to wither. Bridget knew Kim had no good intention for being there. The young woman had an ocean's worth of anger and issues that she hadn't even begun to work through. Still, for the moment she was under Bridget's care…
"Glad you decided to join us, Kim," Bridget had greeted her sounding cheerful though her smile never quite reached her eyes.
Bridget was already in a calm and focused place. She'd set her alarm for earlier than usual so she could take a run and do a long meditation before work. She knew the conversation with Franky would be challenging and she wanted to center herself as much as possible before hand.
She had not anticipated Kim, though.
Bridget had even wondered whether Franky would even show up for group or if her truth hangover would keep her at bay. Bridget felt Franky's presence before she turned her head, mid-conversation with Doreen, and saw the woman who had been swirling around her mind (among other places) almost constantly since their last interaction. Bridget caught Franky's eye as she casually sauntered into the room, making her way to the back row, to what Bridget now considered to be Franky's usual chair.
As she sat, Franky scanned the room purposefully before her eyes landed on Bridget's. The quick flash of a soft smile was enough to convey that the inmate still had a bit of concern about their last session. But the tight nod of her chin punctuated the fact that she chose to show up anyway. Trust. Bridget returned her smile: a combination of authentic happiness restrained by some semblance of what professional decorum should look like when you were in love with someone quite unethically.
Franky's smile widened barely, but enough for Bridget to notice, then the brunette's eyes dipped down. The merest drop of Franky's jaw and the younger woman's smile was erased as it registered with the inmate what the psychologist was wearing. Franky swallowed hard.
Bridget had, in fact, selected her favorite black suit that morning. She had stood naked, fresh from the shower, wet hair still cocooned in a towel, surveying her collection of shirts when the black on black, leather-trimmed shirt caught her eye. She had purchased it almost a year earlier in anticipation of a night of dancing and debauchery with Chad and Tony, her best gay guy friends. She tried it on at the store and felt, in that moment, sexy as hell for the first time since Jyoti's death. She purchased it and it absolutely affected the same attitude when she wore it out with the guys. They had gone to The Peel, at Bridget's request, the blonde preferring to dance with the nearly all-male crowd instead of negotiating the night with women who may or may not want something more than a few hours of fun on the dance floor.
She hadn't worn the shirt since and it struck her that it might look great with the suit. Her hunch had been right, and black leather ankle boots completed a pretty damn great look. She felt confident, calm, centered and in control in that moment.
But that was a million miles away from how she felt now, standing in the library, watching Franky's eyes darken in astonishment. Fuck.
The heating system at Wentworth was notorious for keeping the place a little to hot or a little too cold and 30 minutes into her day Bridget had removed her suit jacket to mitigate the heat and not given it a second thought. Now, as Franky raked her eyes from Bridget's chest and torso, back up to meet the blonde's eyes, Bridget's eyes darted back to Doreen. She felt a wave of heat rise from her chest. I should've thought about it…
Meanwhile Doreen continued to explain what she had read about the risks of post-partum depression in a seemingly endless preamble to some question for Bridget, showing no sign of having noticed that Bridget's attention was completely wrecked by the woman who now sat at the back of the room. Franky, who was feigning boredom and tossing an occasional greeting as other women entered, all the while surreptitiously kept an eye on the blonde. Bridget could literally feel her gaze.
"So what do you think?" Doreen asked.
Bridget cleared her throat, willing the blush from her skin. "Why don't you make an appointment and we can discuss this at length?" she suggested.
Doreen's face brightened. "That'd be great. Thank you."
Bridget nodded, "I'll check my calendar after our session." Blue eyes checked the clock – one minute until they began. Bridget greeted other women as she casually made her way to the door and to the inevitable interaction with Kim Chang.
And now, as the raucous laughter of some of the inmates swelled and receded Bridget thought, Fucking hell. She wasn't even surprised that Chang had taken the opportunity to call out Franky and her but she was angry as hell. Bridget drew in a long breath through her nose and her eyes darted to Franky's. She felt the younger woman's regret even as she saw it reflected in her face. As Bridget exhaled she knew this temporary embarrassment would actually make it easier for Franky to understand that the rumors about them had consequences.
As the noise died down, Bridget cleared the emotion from her throat. "Let me remind you that while you have some freedom of speech in these sessions, that ends when you target others." She met Kim's vicious eyes with a steely stare, at odds with the smile on her lips. "You can play by the rules or you can leave – your choice Kim. What'll it be?"
"Oh, I'll stay," Kim said, puffing out her chest, high-fiving Boomer.
"Great. Boomer, you can take a seat," Bridget instructed, still consciously breathing, letting go of her anger – professionalism kicking in. Kim, too, started for the chairs.
"Hang on there, Kim," Bridget said. "Your topic was 'my first day of freedom.'" Bridget pulled an empty chair from the front row and placed it at the front of the room, gesturing for Kim to sit, aware of the irony of essentially having domain over this woman's freedom all the while. The angry inmate flopped into the chair, arms crossed over her chest, a slight pout on her face. "Let's get into that. You can start by defining freedom. What does it mean to you?"
As the energy of the group simmered back down to its normal level and the inmate grappled with her answer, Bridget's eyes traveled around the room, an excuse to check on Franky who had shifted in her chair, eyes now boring a hole through Kim Chang. I fucking dare you to say something more, was telegraphed all over Franky's face. Between Bridget's own outwardly unflappable calm and Franky's ire, the psychologist suspected there was more than enough energy to keep Chang in line for the rest of the session.
It had been, in fact. And after an unusual amount of time spent in the hot seat defining what freedom was, Kim had taken her seat again amongst her peers and the session had continued without incident.
Franky had developed the habit of lingering behind after many group sessions to grab a quick exchange with Bridget. Today Franky was one of the first to slip out but not before catching Bridget's eye once again with a look that Bridget interpreted as, So we're okay? Bridget summoned her most reassuring smile and quick nod before Liz neared, wanting to talk.
No point in foreshadowing to Franky the fact that no, they were not in fact okay.
(To Be Continued - SOON)