"Dr. Hunt," Dr. Wyatt acknowledged. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, Dr. Wyatt," Owen said as he shook her hand.

He sat down on the gray sofa and began to fidget. It started with twiddling his fingers, and rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. The whole time she eye balled him, as if she were examining him like a specimen. It made Owen feel uneasy.

He cleared his throat, "Umm…so when do we start?"

Dr. Wyatt tilted her head, "Whenever you're ready."

Owen breathed deep, "Not really sure where to begin. I pictured you directing the topics."

"Is that how you want to approach this? Okay, let's talk about Iraq."

Hearing the word Iraq made Owen regret saying anything. It sent chills through his body. Muscle tension formed in his arms and chest. The lump that formed in his throat prevented him from speaking. He anticipated their first topic to be something light, like family, but here they were, diving right into the main source that caused his demons. Now here in therapy he was asked to speak about it. Relive it. He made it a rule not to talk about Iraq. And unfortunately tonight was not the night he would break it.

Owen remained in psychological shock for the remainder of his session. Not speaking, and staring off into space.

"Dr. Hunt," Dr. Wyatt said trying to snap Owen out of his hypnotized state.

"Dr. Hunt!" she said more forcefully. He snapped out of his trance and looked at her.

"Time's up." He acknowledged and stood up.

"Dr. Hunt," she said before he reached for the door, "I commend you for taking the steps to seek help. Soldiers are typically very reluctant to come to therapy, seeing it as a sign of weakness."

Her words made him feel a little better for not speaking tonight. At least until she spoke again.

"However, if we continue to have sessions like this one, we are never going to get anywhere. I know it's difficult, but the longer we wait to address this, the worse it's going to get. Keep in mind, we only have 20 sessions, and a lot to cover. If you want to overcome this then we need to confront it head on."

Owen was slightly angered by her words now. Difficult? It was beyond difficult to talk about Iraq. He clenched his first and jaw, shaking his head. However, the avoidance she spoke of was spot on. The longer he delayed to talk, the worse it would affect his ability to function in life. She was right, and he hated it. It made him resent himself more for being so disconnected.

Dr. Wyatt watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She pulled a small paper from her folder and wrote a prescription. She got up from her chair and offered it to Owen.

"Here," she said, "it's for anxiety."

Owen snatched it from her and left her office. When he reached the hospital's pharmacy he slammed the paper on the counter, still exasperated. It made the pharmacist jump. She looked at him crazy.

"Are you just going to stare at me or fill my prescription," he breathed out. The pharmacist rolled her eyes and went to fetch his pills.

She returned, slamming them on the counter, "Your pills sir."

Owen scooped them up quickly, "Thank you," he said sarcastically and left the hospital.

When Owen made it home he did not remove any article of clothing, not even his shoes. He simply laid in his bed motionless, looking up at the ceiling, omitting in his thoughts once more. He skeptically thought how he was going to survive another 19 sessions in therapy. Detaching from his thoughts, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and took one of his anti-anxiety pills, and fell asleep.


Owen broke his first cardinal rule during his second visit with Dr. Wyatt. He spoke of Iraq. He did so in disturbing detail. Every word that escaped his mouth tore the band aids he placed over his emotional wounds. There were moments he found himself shaking, or in tears. He even had to pop an anti-anxiety pill. However, at the end of it he knew this was going to result in a better life, so he continued.

Eight sessions passed and Owen noticed visible changes. Although they were diminutive, they were still improvements. In one of his visits he described one of many nightmares that haunt him in his sleep. He was back in the deserts of Iraq, only the sand that made the desert up wasn't it's usual khaki color, it was crimson red. It was soaked in his fellow unit's blood, and blanketed with detached limbs. The sight always terrified him. In the dream he would frantically try and piece back together his friends, but failed every time. It always ended the same way; with hundreds of missiles targeting him, but before they could reach him he woke up screaming. The night he described it to Dr. Wyatt was when he noticed a change. The nightmare that was waiting to lurk into his mind, ready to traumatize him for the worst did not come.

In another visit he spoke of the flashbacks that were sporadically triggered from specific noises or smells. They consisted of none other than blood shed. He relived moments where he would be standing or working with a fellow soldier one minute, and see them blow to pieces the next. He felt guilty, expressing his confusion as to why the bullets or grenades missed him. Revealing those moments resulted in a decreased sense of guilt. He did not startle so easy, and more often than not those sounds that triggered his flashbacks did not always come. He was taking significant baby steps to improving, and he became eager to finish. Dr. Wyatt was helping him to accept his traumatic experiences as part of his past.

Owen's therapy sessions were spread out, 2 a week. That meant roughly about two months without Crisitna, at least without the way he wanted her. He decided that he would no longer choose who was on his service. Instead he would allow the computer to randomly pick, and if it happened to be Cristina, he would be as professional as possible, with light conversation. However it was easier said than done.

A month had elapsed of no Cristina. The days she was on his service he found it difficult to restrain himself. When their eyes would meet during various surgeries his heart would flutter. There were moments where he wanted to drag her into an on-call room and rip all of her clothes off. However, it was the sentimental thoughts that entered his mind the most. He longed to hold her, or fall asleep on her stomach while she ran her fingers though his hair. Owen managed to resist temptation, until today.

They had just finished performing a complicated surgery and were riding the elevator to speak to the patient's loved ones. Cristina was leaning against the steel wall of the elevator, admiring Owen and his built. She too wanted to jump him at moment's notice. When he could not resist anymore, he closed the gap between them, lifting her from the back of her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The touch of each other's lips pressed together never felt sweeter. Owen moved from her lips and nestled in her neck, sucking scrumptiously. Cristina wanted him to take her.

"We're almost there, maybe you should pull the emergency butt-," she was cut of by Owen's lips pressing against her's once more. He peeked up and noticed their stop was coming up. He broke up their kiss and gently planted Cristina back on the ground.

"Maybe you should speak to the family alone," he said breathlessly. And they parted ways.

A week later it was Cristina who made a move.

Owen was sitting behind his desk, writing post operative notes on one of his patients. His pen slightly jolted to the sound of his door closing. He placed his pen down and sunk back into his chair as he watched Cristina lock the door.

"What are you doing?"

Cristina ignored his question as she removed her scrub top, and unhooked her bra. The sight of her breast aroused him. He wanted to jump from his chair and devour them in his mouth but he refrained. As she neared closer to his desk she pulled down her pants right along with her panties. Completely naked, she sat on the edge of his desk facing him with her legs parted. The lips of her pussy called his name. At this point Owen surrendered. He stood up removing his shirt, and pulled his pants and briefs down to his ankles. The sight of his erection made Cristina lick her lips. She pushed him back into his chair and straddled him. Owen placed his hands on her hips and as she lowered herself onto him, his grip tightened. Feeling himself insider her drove him insane. He bit his bottom lip to prevent any gasps to escape his mouth. Her movements were slow at first, grinding up and down. Owen's hands traveled from her hips to the middle of her back as he nuzzled his face in her breast. He planted hot kisses on her breasts that made her increase her pace. She kept up the rapid movements until she reached her climax, and Owen followed.

After their adventure in his office, they slowly started spending more time together. It started in the hospital. Owen would greet her with morning coffee, or Cristina would sit with him at lunch. They immensely missed being in each other's company. Gradually they would meet up at Joe's after work, but made it a rule to not venture to either's apartment. However, there were days when they kept their distances. Owen would visibly be bothered by his therapy sessions and rather than try and comfort him Cristina let him be.


It was late one evening when Owen contemplating calling his mother. He looked at his cell phone that laid on his coffee table. All he had to do was pick it up and dial. It was easier to think it than actually act on it. He inhaled deep, and exhaled slowly as he picked up his cell. He flipped it open and dialed his mother's number. It rang 3 times before someone answered.

"Hello?" a familiar voice said through the phone.