Restraint is Useless Here

Chapter Four

Defuse. De-escalate.

Two words droned over and over in Anna's mind, a warning keeping time with the flickering buzz of the alley light. Jack had come. Of course he had. He'd seen it all, hiding in plain sight, easily camouflaged by the ‪Friday night‬ crowd.

After Brian had exited for a smoke break, Anna had difficulty teaching her appendages how to function once more. She'd felt tightly wound and restless under her skin, a guitar string long neglected and begging to be strummed.

Maria hip checked Anna as she reached forward to retrieve Brian's empty glass, a knowing smile on her face as she glanced over to his retreating figure. They'd worked together long enough that Maria knew Anna was unshakeable when fielding the advances of men under the influence. Anna dismissed Maria's accusatory eye contact, blowing air through her pursed lips nonchalantly as she wiped the ring of condensation—the only remaining evidence of Brian aside from the warm flutters in her chest—from the bar top.

"That was heated," teased Maria, flipping her wavy black ponytail over her shoulder seductively. Everything Maria did was seductive, so her observation of the brief interaction made it feel even more illicit. Shame washed over Anna at the idea that her professional front faltered as a result of the havoc Brian's eyes wreaked on her insides. Anna chewed absentmindedly at her already short thumb nail, an unsightly habit she'd been meaning to break.

Huffing a laugh, Anna said, "You're reaching, you know that?" Still, her heart struggled to regulate. Her cuticles in even worse shape.

"I call 'em like I see 'em," Maria shrugged as she masterfully poured two bottle of liquor into the same tiny shot glass. "He looked at you like you were a snack and I, for one, am supportive of this. Don't act like you get that kind of heat from Jack Frost at home. Or, you know, any warmth whatsoever." She shot a pointed look at Anna, aware that Jack was a bit frigid in recent months. She just didn't know the extent of it.

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     Two years prior, Anna's early afternoon class had been cancelled on account of her professor going into labor, so she'd retreated with her laptop to a quiet corner of the cafeteria,  devouring the next episode of her Grey's Anatomy DVD. Unexpectedly, a hand plucked the earbud from her ear and, stunned by the audacity, she turned to find the culprit. The profile of a handsome, sandy haired man was inches from hers—her earbud in his ear— and his chin rested upon folded arms as he sat backwards on the plastic cafeteria chair, observing Meredith Grey with her hand in Christina Ricci's abdominal cavity.

      Anna blinked several times before she could conjure speech again. With a huff, she went in for the kill. "What the he—"

      Her pointed inquiry met a raised finger. "Shh, it's about to get real in a second. God, this is a great episode," he mused with a smile, still absorbed by the laptop's glow with a Twizzler hanging from his mouth. As he bit off and chewed a piece of the licorice, his finger gently guided Anna's chin back toward the screen and they watched the rest of the episode together in silence. Every so often, he'd hand her a Twizzler, never taking his eyes off the screen. And every so often, she'd glance over at this confident stranger with long, light brown eyelashes that dusted his cheek with each blink and a jawline sharp enough to slice his way into her heart, anastomosing and patching up a hollow she wasn't even aware she had. A future surgeon, indeed. In that peculiar, organic moment, it was as if they'd been doing this for years.

And then they did.

Until they didn't anymore.

Following a fast and furious romance and the mounting intensity of his progression through medical school, Jack began to unravel. So much of his time spent either at the hospital or poring through his textbooks, Jack's mental state grew increasingly volatile in his third year. Dark circles ringed his eyes more frequently, his behavior erratic. His apartment devolved into a state of disrepair, unwashed dishes spilling onto countertops and remnants of burnt coffee grounds littering the perimeter of the trash can. His floorboards creaked with the lightest tip-toe as a result of pacing night after night, despite her pleas for him to come to bed. His immune system seemed to be suffering and Anna encouraged him to see a physician for his persistent cold symptoms, his nose runny and raw, but he always waved her away. "I am a physician, Anna."