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Designed Intent
Chapter 41
Saturday Afternoon
For the next ninety minutes, Dr. Stephens and Bobby talked about trust and mistrust – it became clear that Bobby trusted Gleason but did not trust Malcolm; Gleason could look at neither of them. The doctor and detective spoke of the role of sex in their relationship – Gleason literally shook during this bit, said nothing, and could look at neither of them. The pair spoke of events that trigger his temper – apparently, Gleason was the cause of most of his outbursts at home. She was embarrassed and saddened by this and could look at neither of them. During it all, Gleason said nothing.
"Detective, I want you to try a mild antidepressant. I think it may help even out your feelings. Would you be amenable to that?"
Gleason finally looked up at him. He shut his eyes and tilted his head to the left. He didn't want to admit that he needed chemicals to fix him. He knew their unhappiness was his fault; and, he knew he would do whatever he had to do not to lose her. He nodded, his fingers wiping his eyes.
Dr. Stephens stood and went to her desk. "This is little more than a stabilizer; it will build up in your system over the next two weeks. You should notice little change. What will happen, however, is that your reaction to situations that anger you will be slower and reduced.
"Will this affect his reaction time on the job?" Gleason asked.
"No, it shouldn't. However, you need to let your captain know that you are taking this medication; it is approved for use in safety services. Get this filled today." She tore off the slip and returned to her seat, handing it over to him. "I would like to make this a standing appointment. Is that all right with both of you?" She looked at each of them and saw willingness in Bobby, but abject disappointment in Gleason.
Bobby looked at Gleason and waited for her to respond. He wanted them to continue, but knew Gleason would not. "Honey?"
"You've said very little today, Gleason. You are a part of this counseling. Bobby and I need to know how you feel about things, what you are thinking. Do you even want to save this relationship?"
Gleason took her fingers from her lips where they had fled at Dr. Stephens's recommendation. Barely whispering she said, "I cannot do this. Our problems are my fault; I make him unhappy, I make him angry. But, I have overlooked so much trying to make him happy. I cannot do this. I cannot. It's too hard to love him and change so that he loves me. I cannot do this." And she began to cry.
Gleason pulled her hand from his and covered her face. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. Dr. Stephens was at a loss. She could talk a victim back from trauma, she could counsel away nightmares, she could even help addicts regain control of their lives, but she was no good when it came to love. She knew she could not help these two.
Bobby gave Gleason his handkerchief and she continued, "We have so little time together when I come home. I was hoping this would be it." She looked at Bobby and said, "You come and talk, Bobby, but I am finished." She looked back at Dr. Stephens and said, "Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for helping Bobby." She stood, headed to the door, took her wrap and left.
Bobby stood and then looked down, "I'm sorry, Dr. Stephens. She won't come back. Thank you, though. I'll, I'll see you Wednesday."
Dr. Stephens said, "I understand. Fill that prescription today. It will help, Detective, I promise."
Bobby nodded and met Gleason at the elevator.
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Neither said anything all the way home and he didn't try to touch her. They stopped at the pharmacy and Bobby had the prescription filled. Once home, he said, "We need to talk."
She said nothing.
"Sit down and talk with me."
Gleason heard the edge in his voice and sat on the sofa with her hands folded between her knees. She would not look at him.
"Do you love me?" he asked, standing in front of his chair, hands jammed into his pockets.
"You slept with another woman."
He looked away and squeezed his eyes with his fingers. "I know," he breathed.
"Why?"
He turned away and held his hands at his shoulders, "I told you – I wanted to hurt you."
"You had sex to hurt me?" She stared at his back. "If I hadn't found that thong, how was I to know? You had sex with her because you like sex. You use me for sex. Bobby, we have sex on the phone. You have sex with my body even when I don't want to. You masturbate."
"I love you," he said turning to face her.
"You don't love me. You love sex."
"Tell me you don't like what we do," he took a step toward her, his left hand chopping the air. "Tell me you don't like it. Why would you instigate sex on the phone – you always have, every time, Gleason – if you didn't like it?" He stared at her.
It was true. She loved making love to him. He took her to heights she had never known. She loved the feel of his skin, his fingers, his tongue. He was enormous and filled her beyond any thing, any one. She missed making love to him.
"Sex isn't love, Bobby," she said quietly, sadly.
He knew she was right. But he did love her, he did, and sex was a part of that love. "Gleason, I will never love anyone but you. I, I cannot live if you don't love me."
She stood, stepped around him, and said dismissively, "Oh, for God's sake, stop being dramatic." Bobby took her arm and stopped her. She looked at his hand on her arm and said, "Let go."
"No."
"Let go of me," she said almost menacingly, looking at his face.
Bobby pulled her close and took her head in both hands. He kissed her hard, his mouth open against hers. His left hand moved down her back, pulling her tight against him. She felt him rise against her and felt herself swell and moisten.
"Love me," he breathed, "love me."
Gleason's arms went around his back and she moaned against his neck. He began to pull at her clothing and she went for his buckle. Suddenly, he took her hand and led her down the hall to the bedroom. They stripped and he lifted the sheet and coverlet, she took her place and he was beside her, up on his elbow as was his way.
Bobby bent and kissed her, she reached for his cock. "Did you use a condom?" she breathed. "With her, did you use a condom?" He dipped and whispered, "Yes, yes."
"Then fuck me."
Bobby moved between her legs and lifted her bottom; he set his long, stiff dick against her opening and shoved all the way up. "Ungh!" he grunted and Gleason arched silently. He was on his knees, palms on the bed beside her head, looking down on her, watching her. Gleason's legs spread wide, her hands clutched at the sheet, her eyes closed and she breathed through her mouth.
They lay like this, he skewering her on his dick, filling her, she gripping him inside, loving the feel of him inside her. "Do it," she whispered, looking up into his eyes. Slowly, he withdrew and she hissed. Slowly he pushed in and her head tilted back. In and out, slowly, slowly, he fucked her. She made not a sound.
"Good?" he breathed. She said nothing in reply. He watched her as he pulled out and pushed into her, sliding against her tight, hot, wet walls all the way up and all the way down. He wanted to go fast, but he couldn't tell if she was ready. "Glea-?" Why was she being so quiet? "Oh, God, Honey, I, I wanna. . ." She put her hands on his upper arms and squeezed. He took that as an ok to jam her.
Bobby shoved hard, stayed, pulled out; shoved hard, stayed, and pulled out – over and over again. Gleason jolted under him. He grunted with each shove, his grunts coming faster and deeper with each faster and harder shove, yet she remained silent.
He was close. Jesus Christ! Why doesn't she come, he breathed in his own mind. Come, c'mon. "Glea-? Ungh, ungh!" He was going to come but he always waited for her. C'mon!
Finally, he heard her breaths coming faster. He looked at her to be certain that she was ok and saw the look – yeah, she was going to come. He shoved hard and stayed, jerking and grunting his cum into her. Gleason arched tight against him and her hands went to his back, nails biting into his skin, ripping red lines. Soft, nearly silent grunts issued from her throat.
He finished, panting, and waited to see if she would come again, she usually did since her pregnancy. But, she did not; she settled and sighed, looking up into his face. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, his breathing slowing.
Her eyes never left his as her breathing slowed and she nodded slightly. Slowly, he withdrew from her body; he was softening yet still very long. Her eyes slammed shut, she hissed and arched as he did so; he knew she liked when he pulled from her; a long, low groan came from her throat. Bobby lay beside her, his right leg between hers, and his wet, soft cock limp on her right thigh. He was up on his left elbow, looking at her. "Do you want more?" he asked quietly, his hand moving toward her place.
She looked at him for a moment and then shook her head, 'no.'
He placed his palm against the left side of her face and kissed her gently. She returned the kiss and they stared at each other. "I love you," he whispered.
"I know you do," was her reply.
The same chill of doubt and fear flashed through him, "Do you love me?"
"You know I do."
"Then say it. I need you to say it."
She looked at him, yet said nothing. Then, "I love you, Bobby."
He stared back at her and knew things had changed – she was different while making love, quieter, restrained; the sense of conviction was gone from her voice when she said she loved him; she looked at him differently, almost curiously, uncertainly; and he knew nothing would ever be the same.
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