I tripped and stumbled my way up the stairs(because the elevator was out of fucking order), my breath coming out in short and shallow pants.

Third

Fourth

Fifth

Sixth floor...

I flung open the door to the rooftop, and barged in. Beads of sweat ran cool around my neck as the chilling air engulfed me in, my chest heaving uncontrollably. My eyes snapped into every direction. Maeve was nowhere in sight. I walked forward to the middle of the terrace, and spotted her, sitting at the far edge, back pressed against the wall, legs dangling on either side of the ledge. Her hair was blowing all around the place, and as usual, she made no attempts to brush it off.

“Maeve,” I was still breathing ragged, throat dry and scratchy.

Why is she even here?

“Maeve?”

She didn’t move, or speak or acknowledge my presence. Just sat there, staring at heaven knows what, and swaying a little every now and then. Even watching her like that gave me chills. She was too close to the edge.

Just when I confirmed she didn’t hear me, she turned her face. Our eyes barely met through the tangles of her hair.

“Doc...” She slurred, throwing her head back against the wall into a silent chuckle. It almost sounded like a relief. Or maybe I was just assuming things.

The last thing she would feel around me was relief.

I took a few steps toward her and stopped a handful feet away. She was wearing a black halter-neck dress, with a slit that was, thankfully, on the other side, away from my eyes. And she looked as immaculate as ever.

“What are you doing up here, Maeve?” I crossed my hands across my chest, chills crawling in through the open front of my shirt.

She didn’t answer, just smiled through her drunk, flushed face. My fingers twitched against my arm, and it took a lot of my restrain to not reach forward and brush off all that hair from her face. She had a beautiful face. And I really wanted to see it.

Focus, Cole. Inhaling deeply, I tried to set my head right.

“Do me a favor, Maeve, and get down from there.” I kept my voice calm, as if my heart wasn’t erratically banging against my ribs. She was sitting too close to the edge, of an almost eighty feet tall building. It was a long way down there...and she was drunk.

I took a few more steps forward.

“Doc…” She flung a bottle of vodka from her left hand—which I hadn’t noticed before—and set it on the concrete between her thighs. “Can I tell you a secret?” She whisper-screamed then squealed when she almost lost her balance. I gasped inwardly, my heart skipping a painful beat.

“Maeve, get down from there and I’ll listen to everything you have to say. Please.” Her shoe, which was in my hand, dropped down and I reached for her elbow, but she slapped my hand away, making an annoyed sound at the back of her throat.

I didn’t like that sound. Not at all. It was...distracting.

“You can’t touch me before I tell you the secret.” By the grace of God, she brushed away her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears as she spoke. Her face was red, with the tip of her nose a little redder, like she was…crying.

My jaws clenched unconsciously. And I reached forward again, even before I could stop myself, and gently cupped her elbow, steadying her from swaying too much.

“Maeve, have you been crying?”

She looked up, eyes squinted and lips parted, a confused expression crawling its way up her face. “Damn, you really are a psychic.”

No offense taken. She meant Psychiatrist.

I sighed. “Right, and my intuition says you need to get down. Right now.”

She scrunched her nose, as if disgusted by the request, then stared dead into my eyes. “I didn’t fuck him.”

My jaw fell down to my feet, and crumbled into bits. I stopped breathing.

Did she just–

As she shuffled again, my fingers dug into her arm, and she shook her head, as if whatever she said sounded silly.

“Let me rephrase it. He didn’t fuck me.” her eyes rolled exasperatedly.

Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“Who?” I didn’t like the tone of my voice; low and demanding, because it made her softly gasp. I didn’t like it because when she gasped, that sudden inhale reverberated through my entire body straight down to my groin.

“Michael.” She slumped her shoulders, staring longingly at me. I had never seen that look on her face, but as usual, it felt familiar. Maybe I had seen it, just not on her face. “He never fucked me, in five years of our marriage.” Her face twisted in what seemed like suppressed anger. “Five years without sex, being married to such a gorgeous man with personal issues. What a fucked-up life.”

My eyebrows first drew together then shot up to the sky. But I stayed quiet, unable to form a situation-sensible response.

“There,” she exhaled a dramatic breath. “I finally got it off my chest.” I didn’t say anything. Half dumbfounded and half amused. I didn’t know the reason for the latter. “I know it sounds dumb. But it’s true. How can someone like me survive without it?” She pointed a thumb at herself.

Someone like her?

Maeve raised her eyes and stared at me, then brought her forefinger up between our faces, which—I painfully noticed—were way too close for any good. “Don’t you tell anyone. It’s my secret.”

Oh. I couldn’t hide my curiosity. My hand was still at her elbow, as I asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

At the question, she quizzically raised her brows, then slightly leaned away.

“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” She asked, and I almost winced. Not because of the sarcasm, there was none. It seemed like she was really confused. As if she really doubted, if I was a doctor.

I couldn’t blame her though, I did too. Sometimes.

“Do you see this?” She held up two fingers, nearly shoving them into my face. “These two,” she wiggled her middle finger and ring finger pressed together. “These two have labored for five years. For something my husband was supposed to do.”

I stared at her fingers and it took a minute for her words to sink in and for my brain to rationalize them. And as soon as they did, blood gushed into my head(both), with an intensity strong enough to knock me off the building.

A freshly developed image of Maeve, in an indescribable position, and occupied fingers slipped into my mind. I practically had to shake my head to free my head of those pleasant, but inappropriate images.

Get your head straight, Ian.

“Maeve, let’s get down and discuss this, shall we?” I tugged at her elbow, and she slightly moved, but still didn’t make any attempts to jump down from the ledge.

Out of the blue, she reached for my forearm, as if suddenly something important had caught her attention. When I looked up, her eyes were blank, void of any expression. For some unexplainable reasons, it bothered me. “Maeve?”

“Would you fuck me?”

Four words, fourteen letters, and the world stopped spinning for a whole damn minute. My heart—and something which wasn’t supposed to—started throbbing. I was not sure if I wanted to thank that bottle of vodka or knock it off. But it was least of my concerns right now. Maeve’s unwavering stare and expectant eyes were pushing an answer up my throat which was not supposed to rise. Something I was not supposed to say and she was not supposed to hear. I tore my eyes away from hers, and it landed on her knee, which—to my surprise, I hadn’t noticed—my hand was gripping.

“Is that a No?”

My eyes met hers again, but this time, they squinted slightly, as if in pain.

I shook my head. “I never said No.”

“Well, you didn’t say Yes either.” Her eyes trailed down from mine, and lips twitched downturned at the corners. “Am I perhaps, unfuckable?”

I closed my eyes and dropped my head. “Christ, Maeve.”

If she continued using those terms, I would be the one jumping off the building, because I didn’t know how long my walls would hold up. But I had to say something. Something which was definitely not a No, and couldn’t be a Yes.

I reassuringly squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

Please understand.

Maeve’s eyes snapped to mine, and some unreadable expression crossed her eyes. Like she just realized what she had said. Then her eyes trailed down to where my hand was wrapped around her elbow.

“I told you not to touch me.” She frowned.

Alright, she didn’t understand.

“I’ll let you go once you get down.” I said flatly, and made to grab her other elbow but she quickly moved away, sliding dangerously close to the edge. I gasped, tightening my grip on her. “Maeve!”

“Let go of me…” She struggled against my hold, and knocked over the bottle of vodka, sending it tumbling straight down the building. She whined. “No! My vodka.”

“Maeve…stop–” I slipped my hands around her waist and pulled her towards the inner edge. “Get down.” I could hear the irritation in my own voice, but somehow, she couldn’t.

God, if something happened to her...

“I want my vodka.” She leaned away from me, grabbing the empty air, from where the bottle tumbled over.

“Maeve–”

“My vodka–”

Something like a growl rumbled uninvited through my chest, and an invisible wall crumbled, unleashing something that wasn't supposed to rise. I couldn't recognize the voice that came from my mouth.

“Maeve, get the fuck down right now!” I bit out. "You can either do it by yourself or I'll do it for you. And if I did, you won't be able to sit for a whole week!" My voice tore through the air and she froze in my arms, eyes wide, nails digging into my shoulder.

My brows drew together, refusing to believe I had just said that. Refusing to acknowledge the fact that I had used that voice and those words again, after such a long time.

And it was not because I had raised my voice that had me confused. But rather, the way she had instantly stopped struggling. Like it came to her naturally.

What? Obedience.

It was the first time I was seeing her eyes up close. So close. The way she was looking at me. There was so much beyond the effect of alcohol and shock in her eyes. There was something else. Something that was way too familiar, but still, I couldn’t point out.

And for the first time since I saw her outside the court building that day, a thought rose unbidden into my head.

I have seen those eyes before. Much before the divorce hearing.