Addicted (M)

Chapter 11: Crossing Lines

The sterile walls of the psych ward felt suffocating as Avery approached Jadin's room once again. She had come prepared to maintain her professionalism, to keep the distance she needed, but with each step she took, the walls between them seemed to thin. The night before had only amplified the tension between them, a charged silence hanging in the air as she replayed every word, every fleeting touch. She couldn't deny it anymore: Jadin was changing her. And she wasn't sure if it was for better or for worse.

The nurse at the front desk gave her a nod, a quiet acknowledgment that she was expected. Avery's fingers tightened around the folder she carried, its weight a reminder of the professional distance she was supposed to keep, but couldn't quite hold onto. She knocked once on Jadin's door and waited, her breath unsteady as the seconds ticked by.

When the door finally opened, Jadin stood before her—taller, his features drawn tight, his eyes a storm of unreadable emotion. His posture was relaxed, but there was an underlying tension to his presence. He didn't step aside to let her in immediately. He just stood there, studying her with a quiet intensity that made her pulse quicken despite herself.

"Avery," he said, his voice a low murmur, laced with an unspoken challenge. His gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

Avery swallowed, forcing herself to maintain her professional demeanor. "I'm here to continue our session," she said, her voice steady, though the words felt hollow in her throat. She knew she should feel confident, in control. But everything about Jadin—his presence, his questions, his unpredictability—undermined the boundaries she had carefully constructed.

He stepped aside, motioning for her to enter. His room was as clinical as it had been the first time: cold, minimalistic, designed to contain. There was no comfort in the space, no personal touches, just a single cot, a desk, and the chair across from it where Avery usually sat. It felt more like a cage now, both for Jadin and for herself.

As she entered, Jadin closed the door behind her, his eyes never leaving hers. He had a way of making her feel as though he could see through every layer of her, and it was disconcerting. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, and she quickly set the folder on the desk, as though the action would ground her.

"You've been thinking about our last session," Jadin said, moving closer with a predator's grace. "You don't have to pretend, you know. I can see it in the way you look at me."

Avery's breath caught. She wanted to deny it, to reaffirm the professional boundaries she had set for herself, but the truth was harder to push away. She had been thinking about him—more than she should have. About the way his voice slipped under her skin, about the weight of his words. About how dangerously alive she felt in his presence.

"I'm your psychiatrist, Jadin. You're my patient." The words sounded too sharp, even to her own ears. But they were the only defense she had left. The only armor that could shield her from the overwhelming pull he exerted on her, even from across the room.

He laughed, a sound that was both mocking and dark, and she flinched. "Your patient? Is that all I am to you? Just a case to solve?" His voice was quiet, but it felt like a knife digging into her chest.

Avery opened her mouth to respond, but the words stalled in her throat. She wanted to argue, to tell him that she was here to help him, to maintain the boundaries of their professional relationship. But she couldn't bring herself to say it. Not when he was looking at her like that—like he could unravel her, piece by piece, with just one look.

He was close now, standing beside her, his breath warm against her cheek. She could feel the heat of his body, the tension in the air between them. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You're not fooling anyone, Avery. Least of all yourself. You want me just as much as I want you."

Her heart raced in her chest, and for a moment, she couldn't speak. Every part of her wanted to push him away, to remind herself of her duty, of the code of ethics she had sworn to uphold. But there was another part of her—the part that was only human—that wanted to reach out, to touch him, to feel the dark promise he was offering.

"Jadin," she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips. Her hands trembled as they hung at her sides, torn between her desire to keep her professional distance and the undeniable pull she felt toward him. "This isn't... this isn't why I'm here. I'm your psychiatrist, not..." She stopped herself. What was she going to say? Not what? Not someone who could feel something for him? Not someone who could get lost in the storm of his eyes?

He leaned in closer, his breath a soft tease against her ear. "Tell me, Avery. What if I don't want you to be my psychiatrist anymore?" His lips grazed the side of her neck, and she stiffened at the touch. "What if I want something more... something you're too afraid to admit?"

Her pulse was hammering in her ears now, drowning out the rational part of her mind. No, she told herself. She had to hold onto her professional role, she had to stay grounded. This was not the time, this was not the place. She couldn't cross that line. But the way he was looking at her now—the dark hunger in his eyes, the invitation laced in his words—made it harder than ever to keep her composure.

"I'm not afraid of you, Jadin," she managed to say, though her voice shook with uncertainty. "I'm afraid of what you're making me feel."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. Jadin stepped back, his expression unreadable for a moment. But there was something dangerous in the way his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

"You're afraid of yourself," he said softly. "You don't want to admit it, but you're already falling for me. And you're right. You should be afraid."