Manufacturing Love

Ginwick Stiles pushed his IV pole down the quiet hospital hallway. He had spent the last three days regaining his mobility and recounting the events that led him here. While the doctors and nurses were kind and encouraging, Ginwick felt like a murderer and a villain. He looked through the open and cracked doorways as he made his way down the hall, seeing other patients healing in their private little rooms, in their worlds separate from the panic of the other floors. He was the only survivor of the explosion that took the lives of researchers and scientists that he considered friends. An explosion caused by his miscalculation and ego. He didn’t deserve to survive, but here he was, healing faster than doctors had predicted, walking on his own even after they were concerned he never would again. He didn’t deserve it and he knew it. He continued down his mental path of guilt and self-loathing, and down the hospital hallway toward the cafeteria where he could sit and watch staff and patients come and go. He sat at a small table along the farthest wall and leaned forward onto his elbows, taking in the lives that came and went through this common space. As he watched, half present, half caught in his thoughts, he was pulled to attention by the sudden awareness that a woman with a gentle smile was walking towards his table, her eyes searching for the awareness in his. He sat a little straighter, against the slight pain in his ribs, and adjusted his position to acknowledge her and welcome her into his space.               Rory sat down, across from Mr. Stiles. He was curiously watching her in a way that was somehow welcoming even though his expression seemed not to change at all. She could see the questions in his eyes as she cleared her throat gently. “Mr. Stiles, my name is Dr. Rory Beckett, I’m a therapist here and I’ve been asked to meet with you and provide support. It’s truly a pleasure, sir.” She said, trying to cover her nerves with a stiff tone. Ginwick let out a deep sigh and nodded, “Ok, fair enough. Makes sense that I’d need my capacities checked after everything. What do I do?” “I’m sorry, what do you do?” Rory wrinkled her nose for a split second in her confusion. “Oh, I mean, what’s expected of me in this? Am I meant to lay on a fainting chair and talk about my mom, or are you assessing me for PTSD… I mean what’s my role?” “Oh,” Rory smiled, catching Ginwick off-guard, “Whatever you need, if you want to go over your childhood, I am here for you. I want to follow your lead – for the most part – and help you recover emotionally, whatever that process looks like for you personally.” Ginwick nodded again and realized he was studying every part of Rory’s face, every line and freckle, every eyelash and every muscle movement. She was fascinating, perhaps more fascinating to him than he was to her. They agreed to meet in his room the following day and start the process, and she left him in the cafeteria with the softest handshake and the sweetest smile. He dreamt about her smile that night. He felt the touch of her hand in his and watched her mouth curl in slow motion to smile at him.               The next day he didn’t leave his room at all, he paced periodically in impatient anticipation. Finally, after lunch, there was a knock on his door and his heart leapt, to his surprise, with more than just anticipation but with longing and joy. Too eagerly he answered “Yes-come-in!” and then closed his eyes, embarrassed and feeling just silly. Rory poked her head into the room with a broad smile on her face, “Good afternoon, Mr. Stiles. Feeling ready for our chat?” As she stepped into the room, Ginwick shuffled his feet nervously, trying to stifle his attraction, “Good morning Mrs… sorry! Dr. Beckett, I mean. I guess it’s not morning, is it? Geez, time just blurs together here, hey?” He chastised himself internally ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’ Ginwick grunted at Rory, tightly closing his mouth so his lips went pale and stretched thin. Rory smiled so sweetly Ginwick though he would melt. “Oh, it’s just Dr., there is no Mr. In my life, and you can call me Rory if it’s easier for you. Please don’t be nervous, we won’t talk about anything that you are not comfortable with. Everything is at your pace, Mr. Stiles.” Ginwick was relieved that Rory didn’t know why he was nervous, but it didn’t stop him from actually being nervous. Rory sat on the edge of the guest bed, smiling patiently and laying open a binder so she could take notes. “So, is there anything particular you would like to discuss or would you prefer to answer questions?” She asked, with such a deep kindness to voice that Ginwick wondered of her kiss was as sweet as her tone. He mentally shook himself and thought for a second, “Um, can we start with questions and if I need to talk about anything specifically we can change directions?” Rory nodded, “Absolutely. Are you ready?” Ginwick nodded now. “Alright, first question…”               “Alright, fantastic,” Rory said, writing notes in her binder as she listened while smiling and nodding. “And what about romantic relationships? Are you currently engaged in a physical or emotional relationship with anyone?” Ginwick had grown more relaxed as they talked, opening up about everything she asked, “No, I don’t have the time to be interested in anyone. I did have a fiancé five years ago, Tessie, but she passed away from breast cancer. That’s when I started really pouring more resources into cancer research. But, me and Tessie were never in love, even though we loved each other. She was my dearest friend, my confidant, my equal… we were engaged because we believed we didn’t need romantic partners. See, we spent every hour of every day together, working, studying, creating. We had a common goal, and a common passion, completely dedicated to scientific research and technological advancement.” Ginwick gave a sad smile as he talked about Tessie, “I’m not as smart without her, but she created a system to help me with that.” He shrugged, “No relationships besides work comraderies for me.” Rory felt her heart ache for him, for what he didn’t know he was missing, and she carried on, “So what system did she create to help you?” Ginwick shrugged, “It was a jab at my ego and a real leap for technology, but I can’t actually tell you want it is. This world isn’t ready for my world.” Curiosity rose in Rory but she carried on, “Fair enough. Before we conclude for today, and assess whether we feel you need my services further, is there anything you’d like to share or know?” Panic leapt in Ginwick’s stomach and he thought as quickly as he could “There’s so much more I want to share… we will need at least another session… do we have time still today?... I want to talk about the accident.” He gritted his teeth and let his face drop to face his lap. Rory placed her hand on his forearm and all his nerves came alive. She tightened her fingers just slightly and leaned a little closer, meaning to comfort him, “Whatever you need, I am here for you. If you want to talk, we talk, about anything.” She reassured, “And we still have time today, if you want.”               He had dragged their time together on for as long as he could before he realised she must be starving and longing to use the bathroom. He was such an i***t, he scolded himself viciously, after he ended the session. She hadn’t complained or tried to excuse herself once, and had even waited patiently while he had used the washroom twice! He was so caught up in the chance to monopolize her time that he neglected her entirely. She still occasionally encouraged him to continue, touching his forearm or shoulder gently when he’d seem to pause or struggle to express himself. He felt like the most inconsiderate person alive. He lay in his bed and played back their time together like a silent movie, seeing her expressions as he spoke, the kindness in her eyes, the curl of her understanding smile, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, the way her fingers rested on his arm. His imagination was taking over, and even while he nagged at himself to stop, he thought of touching her skin. He imagined running his fingers up her arm and then down her bare back. He let himself fall into the daydream and he began touching himself, for the first time in a very long time. As he rubbed himself slowly, imagining the feeling of her wrapped around him and her lips pressed to his, he tightened his grip. He imagined her back arching and a moan escaping her as she moved on top of him. He quickened his motions, he breathed heavily, and whispered her name as he finished, imagining her doing the same and being filled with his full release. He took in a deep breath and felt the throbbing slow and fade. ‘f**k,’ He thought, as he came to his senses, ‘How am I going to face her now.’               “Dr. Beckett, can we talk?” An older pepper-haired nurse caught up with Rory as she was on her way to Mr. Stiles room, “I’m sure you’ve been nothing but professional, but please try not to give Mr. Stiles any reason to misunderstand your interactions. He has been… in his sleep he was saying your name, or rather, moaning your name and saying some questionable things. It might be prudent to recommend a different therapist, actually.” Rory was caught off guard, “What? Oh… I, uh, ok. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will take care of it. Thank you, really.” Rory awkwardly puffed her cheeks and sighed, considering how to address this with Mr. Stiles. It had been two days since their initial session and she had been eager to work with Mr. Stiles again, he seemed to make great effort to be honest and open to his mental and emotional status. As Rory got to his door she decided the best way to handle the nurses concern was to just address it honestly. She knocked on the door and a touch of nervousness hit her, though she wasn’t sure why. “Come in, please!” He called, sounding welcoming through the door. As she entered, she saw Mr. Stiles was sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling warmly, and looking drastically better than he did when they met a few days ago. As she passed by the end of his bed she noticed his garbage was shockingly full of used tissue. ‘Oh god,’ she thought, ‘He didn’t… he isn’t…’ her stomach did a somersault and for a split second she couldn’t stop the image of what he was doing from flashing in her mind, ‘He’s congested!’ she chastised herself and shut down her wandering thoughts. “Good morning, Mr. Stiles. Ready for round two?” She smiled and positioned herself at a professional distance away, though still on his bed instead of the guest bed like before. He grinned wide and something sparkled in his eyes “Yes, absolutely, I’ve got a lot I need to let out.” Her stomach tightened and her breath shook as she composed herself firmly, “There is something I need to address with you, that was only just brought to my attention.” She looked at him, inspecting his face, “Have you been having any s****l feelings or desires during your stay in the hospital?” She hadn’t wanted to accuse, and this was the most round about direct way she could think of to bring up the subject. “Yes.” He said honestly and calmly, “Yes, I’ve been having dreams about, well, you…” as he went on to vividly describe the dreams and the times he was m**********g while thinking of her she could feel herself becoming more aroused, my underwear becoming wetter as he told her about her she would grind on him until he came inside her, about how he would kiss his way down her body and massage her c**t with his thumb, and about how she would moan and lick when he pushed himself inside her mouth. Her pelvic muscles flexed as he talked and she wiggled a little, feeling herself blush as her nerves grew intensely sensitive. She hadn’t noticed how hard she was breathing as he talked, but he had. He had seen her reaction and was watching her struggle against herself as he spoke. He started drawing out every detail of what he had dreamt or imagined, describing the feeling of sliding into her torturously slowly just so he could take in her reaction. Her bottom lip quivered just slightly, just for a split second, as he went on and that was it. He stood and moved slowly toward her and he could see her breathing speed up as she raised her face to him with anticipation. She wanted to pull him down onto her but she knew this was all so wrong. She watched him lower himself to her, his breath soft against her cheek, and then he kissed her cheek gently. Then he kissed the corner of her mouth and she took in a shallow shaking breath. He kissed her mouth, gentle at first, then deep and passionate, his tongue weaving against hers and dissolving her resolve entirely. She grasped his arms and gently pulled him down onto her, falling back on his hospital bed. He ran his hand down his body and back up to her breasts, massaging and gently squeezing as he pressed his member against her. He rocked his hips slowly, feeling himself press and slide against her, and his pelvic muscles tightened, making his c**k thrust in between them. She moaned softly and spread her legs, pulling up her pencil shirt maybe a little too eagerly, but she wanted him so badly. The head of his c**k pressed against her underwear, pushing up as if it didn’t care about the barrier of fabric. It felt so good that she couldn’t hold in another moan as she rocked against the pressure of him. She slid her underwear to the side and he pushed inside of her, his full length burying itself in the heat of her wet p***y. She covered her mouth to silence the moan that tried to escape her. Her heart raced against her chest and when he growled against her cheek she tightened her pelvic muscles around him with longing. He pushed and rocked, pulled back, and roughly pushed into her again. It was like he had lost all reasonable thought, growling and groaning as he thrust into her. He reached down and started rubbing slow rhythmic circles on her c**t with his thumb, never changing his thrust. He was watching her, his eyes tracing her face as she felt the waves of pleasure wash over her. She was about to c*m and he was going to see her face when she did. She let go, raising her hips against him and fighting the urge to grab his hand. Her muscles clenched and spasmed on his c**k and he moaned, pausing to take in every movement, before slowly building up the thrust again until his pushing so deep she could hardly muzzle her moans. Finally, as she rocked in sync with his thrusts and gripped the hospital sheets under her head, he pulled out and released himself all over her lower stomach and pelvis. His c**k spasmed and he moaned slowly before lowering himself down beside her and drawing in a deep content breath. Nothing in his imagination had come close to what she actually felt like and he praised himself silently for not cumming inside her as soon as he felt her wrap around him. Rory, however, seemed to gain her senses back and was suddenly panicked. “I… oh my god. That should never have happened. I’m so sorry, Mr. Stiles, that was beyond unprofessional. Oh my god.” She stood, her eyes full of fear and shame, “I just crossed a line. I just obliterated the line. f**k!” She said, rushing to his bathroom to clean herself up. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her, but he wasn’t given the chance. She came darting out of the bathroom, as composed as possible, but visibly shaken, “I’m so sorry, that was beyond unprofessional!” She said, still as agitated, and she left the room swiftly, not giving Ginwick a chance to say anything at all. Rory rushed away down the hall, feeling angry with herself for encouraging his desires and giving in to her own. Sadness gripped Ginwick’s heart. … Seven Weeks Later…               Ginwick felt unanticipated relief as he crossed the threshold of his property line. The manicured shrubbery and wildflower beds guided him up the brick-laid driveway to his garage, which was made entirely of clear polycarbonate, as was the adjacent east wing of his house. The rest of the house was a glorious mixture of contemporary and federal, combining the square form and black metal frame-work with deep red brick walls, regal sconce external lighting, and climbing ivy edging the corners. Besides his many scientific and technological contributions, this house was very nearly his proudest accomplishment. He couldn’t wait to get settled back into his comfort space after nine weeks in the hospital under over-cautious care. The only person charged with his care who did not consistently monitor him was Dr. Beckett, Rory, who had not returned after their last interaction.               He had inquired about her, and with the money and power to acquire the information he wanted, he managed to learn that she had taken a leave of absence, citing mental exhaustion and emotional distress due to personal issues. Ginwick felt the slightest bit guilty, but he knew he had not coerced her, he had been honest and she responded to him. It hurt that she regretted it, that she rejected him, but he understood how she felt – he understood that it was not part of her job and that she had obliterated the patient/doctor line by giving in to momentary desire. He got it, but he hated that he spent the rest of his stay there without seeing her again. He needed her near him just one more time, like a final fix, just enough of her so he could let her go easier. His heart ached as he thought of her face and replayed the sound of her voice in his memory. He needed to focus himself, to distract his heart by diving back into his work. He had a lot of catching up to do.               His staff was so pleased to have him back with them, they filled him in on everything that had occurred while he was ‘away’, right down to the most inconsequential detail. His tech research crew had made a massive leap forward in their cutting-line AI development, creating a self-aware and introspective system that could successfully navigate moral vs. logical thought, and needed only to design a mobile housing unit (a body) now. His medical research crew had made major progress with enzyme research, discovering a way to significantly alter RNA molecules to identify and target and modify cells in the DNA of people who were predisposed to cancer, huntington's, parkinsons, thalassemia and so much more, and on a lesser scale finding a way to increase the metabolization of medications without impacting the duration of the effectiveness is most medicines. Ginwick was always proud of his teams, he had recruited them for a reason individual to each of them, of course, but he was emotionally overcome with pride knowing that they had pushed on in his absence. They protested that these advancements had been only days away before Mr. Stiles’ accident, and were possible only because of his money and equipment, but he knew they were due so much credit and so many accolades for their bounding success. He retired himself to his room after an exciting day back home and as he let himself drift to sleep in his own bed – that felt strangely alien now – he thought, as he did every night, of Dr. Beckett and what she might be doing tonight.              Over the next three days, he had adjusted himself back to life at home, getting into the labs, and beginning to catch up on the progress his teams had made, but Ginwick hadn’t had the heart to venture into the lower south end lab, where the accident had taken place. He knew it would be cleaned out and probably entirely empty of all reminders, but the thought of it made his stomach knot painfully. He would nearly fall to his knees every time he thought of even passing by the entrance. Nobody had said anything, they had all smiled and been as supportive and welcoming as they could, but it changed nothing about what he did. He caused the deaths of so many people just because of his own arrogance. He demanded that they push on despite the warnings of his crew and the equipment flashing and sounding alarms. He believed he was on the verge of a breakthrough that could end hunger and illness across the globe. He believed if he could put the final piece in place, a piece that didn’t fit, he would save so many suffering lives. He was a fool, and now a murderer as well. Ginwick felt sick as the screams of his crew rang through his mind. He was a monster. His heart started racing, his breathing was short and heavy. He couldn’t get air. He began to panic as his vision blurred, the edges growing dark and the sources of light around him wavering like drops of water. He fell to his knees, grasping at his chest and trying to cry out, and then it all went black. He fell to the cold white stone floor, unconscious, his hair falling gently over his sweating face.