Chapter Text
The soft knock on the door disturbs her quiet contemplation.
“Your three o’clock is here, doctor.”
Bedelia lifts the gaze up from her desk and glances at the woman peering through the half open door.
“Thank you, Lucy,” she addresses her secretary and returns her attention to the article she was perusing.
“She always arrives early, doesn’t she?”
Bedelia’s head lifts anew, her eyes resting on the bespectacled face framed by springy locks. She appreciates how efficient the woman is at her job, but she wishes she was less inclined towards small talk.
“You can tell the patient I will be with her shortly,” Bedelia says simply, not wanting to engage in needless hearsay.
Lucy gives her a faint smile and nods before leaving. Bedelia’s gaze once again rests on the writing in front of her, but she is no longer able to focus on the words.
Her three o’clock.
It is the appointment she has been wary of all day. Even if she did allow herself to dwell on it, it was screeching in the back of her mind like an incessant insect she could not brush away. She closes the journal with silent resignation and pushes it aside. Her eyes now fix on the file lying ready in the top corner of her desk. She has no need for it, the case is not complex in any way. Still, she takes the folder and flicks through the pages.
The patient is a woman in her thirties, privileged social background, not real occupation, apart from occasional “charity work”, which mostly comprises of attending lunch and dinner parties. She had presented herself suffering from severe anxiety, but Bedelia has not found much to confirm a diagnosis. There is nothing of interest to her case; Bedelia wonders why she hasn’t referred her to another psychiatrist yet. A frown darkens her face as another thought she does not want to acknowledge lurks within her mind. Her gaze falls on the note on top of one the pages “discuss referral”. The date goes back over a month ago. She glances at the notes from that day’s session, it is barely a sentence: “patient talks about her new paramour”.
“It is hard to believe I almost didn’t go that evening. Marissa was away in Barbados and Kristina didn’t want to leave her kids with a nanny. Honestly, people lose their entire sense of self after they have children.”
The manicured hand grazed through salon-styled hair as if to make a point. Bedelia looked at the woman sitting opposite her and waited for her to continue. She knew Paula preferred to speak uninterrupted. The woman had been attending her sessions for quite a while now and Bedelia did not see any substantial reason for her visits, apart from boredom. And having someone to listen to detailed stories of her daily activities. It was an expensive chit chat, but that was not Bedelia’s concern. She was however growing tired of the constant tales of Paula’s over-active social life.
“But I already bought the dress and it would have been such a waste not to wear it. It came from Paris and it was spectacular. And as it turned out, lucky too!”
The corner of Bedelia’s mouth twitched unnoticeably. She had heard many renditions of this story.
“I have seen him before, we move around the same social circles,” Paula smiled in appreciation of self-perceived good taste. “The man is hard to miss, always the focus of every party and for a good reason. There is something, hmm, I don’t know, hypnotic about him. You can’t help but to be lured in by his charm.”
A sudden notion of a spider and its flies appeared in Bedelia’s mind; she kept the strange observation to herself.
“I mean, it was only natural our paths would cross eventually,” Paula carried on, another flick of the hair marking the not-so-subtle self-praise.
“Still, it was the most mundane of meetings, me and a few other guests were discussing therapy. You probably know better than anyone else that everyone has issues these days.” The woman pressed her lips together in a moment of commiseration. “Before I knew it, he was part of the conversation, appearing as if out of nowhere. Perhaps it was his professional curiosity that drew him in.”
The particular turn of phrase reverberated in Bedelia’s mind, but she paid it little attention.
“Whatever it was, it does not matter, because soon enough we found ourselves alone and he was offering me drinks,” Paula continued with a delighted smile. “And by the end of the evening, he asked me out for a dinner.”
She paused briefly, as if wanting the importance of the invitation to sink in.
“And what dinner it was!” the woman resumed with fresh verve, “I have been to some of the best restaurants all over the world, but they all pale by comparison. I mean, I have heard about his famous dinner parties before, but I thought the stories were exaggerated.”
A faint bell of recognition rang in Bedelia’s mind, but it was distant and therefore insignificant. She let the woman carry on with her story.
“But the fame was more than deserved. It is hard to believe the man is a doctor and not a professional chef. I am not used to men who can cook and cook so well. Perhaps it’s a European thing.” The woman waved her hand to denote that it was not really important. But Bedelia thought different as another bell of alarm resonated in her thoughts.
“I told him: Hannibal, you have missed your calling!”
“Hannibal?” Bedelia blurted out suddenly, interrupting the woman.
“Yes, that is the man’s name,” Paula confirmed with a gleeful smile, “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.” She waved her hand anew in the perceived remorse, yet her expression told Bedelia that the slip of her tongue was anything but accidental. The hand rested back on the woman’s lap with sad resign, but her red nails continued to shine with glee.
“The man’s name is Hannibal Lecter.”
Instantly, Bedelia felt as if a bucket of ice were poured over her back. The all too familiar visage replaced the faceless man in Bedelia’s mind, bringing unwanted understanding and filing in details of the story. She grasped firmly at her pen and straightened in her seat, waiting for the shiver to disperse, hoping her startle was unnoticed.
Hoping that was the end of their session.
She glanced at her watch, but the hour was far from over. And so was the story.
The tale resumed and she listened intensely, almost despite herself, as Paula went into details of the dinner.
“And the wine! I swear he was refiling my glass every minute or so. I guess he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” The woman let out a small chuckle, the shrill sound irritating in Bedelia’s ears.
“I am not the type of woman who sleeps with her dates on the first night,” she noted, her fingers grazing her locks anew, almost defensively. “But I was in no rush to leave that evening.” She gave Bedelia a knowing smile and Bedelia’s grip on her pen tightened afresh. She expected to hear it crack any minute now.
“The man is so good looking and he can cook. I was curious to see what other skills he might have.”
Bedelia glanced at her knuckles, turning white, and made an effort to relax her grip.
“We had dessert, the creamiest tiramisu I had ever tasted, and more wine.” Another chuckle followed, even more jarring than the first one, making Bedelia’s teeth clench. She had to remind herself that she was still at work and, despite all appearances, this was still a therapy session. Her lips pressed into the thinnest of lines, and she braced herself for the next part of the tale.
“I would have been happy with just a goodnight kiss, but when our lips met I lost all sense of my restraint. His lips, god, were soft and firm at the same time. When he pulled me closer, my head spun. And his hands! It was as if he suddenly had extra fingers, his touch was everywhere. And he knew exactly where to touch me. It was like magic, he somehow had a guide to all my sensitive spots. I was growing wetter with every touch.”
Bedelia was suddenly out of air, her throat closing and her chest tightening. She swallowed with difficulty and reminded herself to breathe.
“I don’t even remember how we made it to his bedroom. It was just a blur of his lips and hands on my body. Before I knew he had me naked on his bed, my legs on his shoulders and his cock pressing in. And he was big…”
Bedelia closes the file and the memory shut with a quiet thud. Since that session, she has been subjected to continuous details of the blossoming affair.
Explicit details.
She looks at the clock on her desk; it is almost three. She takes an elaborated breath in and thinks of the bottle of wine she has in the kitchenette next to her office. She wonders how inappropriate it would be if she took a sip to fortify herself before the session.
No, she cannot.
Exhaling loudly, she takes her notepad and leaves the office, trying not to dwell on what is to come.
“We barely made it through my front door.” Paula uncrosses her legs and leans forward as if she were about to disclose the deepest of secrets.
Bedelia sits tensely, her chair suddenly anything but comfortable. She would prefer the secret remained hidden within the woman’s mind. But there would be no point of her coming here if she did. Paula no longer bothers to recall the dinners, getting straight to the point she has been clearly itching to share.
“He had me splayed on the front hall table, hands pulling my hips and parting my legs. I didn’t even care that it was a custom made table. And I didn’t care about my brand new panties when he ripped them off with one grip.” She pauses and smiles, mostly to herself, at that particular memory.
Bedelia feels a surge of heat, creeping beneath her skin; she is unbearably warm.
“I thought I will have to replace the table too. But it would have been worth it. When he entered me, I lost all coherent thoughts. It is not just about the size, I mean size is important,” she pauses anew, her mouth twisting in an obvious enjoyment of that specific characteristic, “But you have to know what you’re doing and he knows!”
Bedelia’s head spins ever so slightly as if the heat turned into fever, rendering her body weak.
“He had me screaming so loud. I’m lucky I don’t have any next door neighbours,” the woman carries on, another pleased smile twisting her red lips. It suddenly makes Bedelia think of blood trickling from a wound, deep but sadly not fatal.
“I don’t know how many times I came. He was unstoppable, the man never tires. Just when I thought my body couldn’t take any more, he was getting me off again.”
The woman’s eyes widen and her lips part at the mere recollection of the pleasure and Bedelia can almost see her face contorting in the midst of an orgasm.
“I was barely able to breath, yet he was strangely composed, his face as calm as ever, as if we haven’t been fucking for god knows how long. I have never had a lover like him before.”
The heat subsides from Bedelia’s face and spills down to pool in her underbelly. She does her best to ignore the nature of the warmth and its irking persistence.
“The man is a machine.”
Bedelia’s head spins anew and she shakes the sensation off while glancing at her wrist. For once, the passing of time is merciful.
“I am afraid our time is up,” she speaks, her own voice sounding distant and somehow weak in her ears.
Unbothered by the abrupt end to her account, Paula smiles and gets up from her chair.
“Until next week, Doctor,” she bids Bedelia goodbye and leaves the office.
Bedelia remains seated, the echoes of the woman’s words haunting her thoughts. The silence of the room makes her heart thump loudly in her ears as the images take on a life of their own, settling in her mind. She gets up abruptly, her feet unsteady with the first rushed steps and leaves the room. She walks across the corridor, but instead of going to her office, she heads towards the door leading to the kitchenette. Not bothering to turn on the light, she moves straight to the cabinet. Her hands are still unbalanced, but she manages to retrieve the bottle of wine. She opens the bottle and pours a generous helping into a glass. She drinks it in one mouthful, hoping to drown the impressions in her mind.
The long fingers rest on his leg with ease, stretching once while he speaks. Bedelia’s eyes linger on their outline a tad too long and she makes a conscious effort to return her gaze to the notepad on her lap. But her distraction does not go unnoticed. The voice trails off instantly and Hannibal Lecter falls silent.
“Are you all right, Doctor?” he speaks again after a moment of contemplation, undoubtedly observing her in great detail.
Bedelia lifts her gaze with reluctance and meets his. Hannibal Lecter’s eyes shine with care and suddenly awaken curiosity.
“Yes,” she responds before he gets a chance to appraise her further, “I apologize. My mind got distracted for a moment.”
The gleam in his eyes becomes more lustrous as he tries to infer the cause of her mind’s wondering. But he knows better than to ask.
She is his psychiatrist, he is not hers.
Bedelia offers him a reassuring smile and asks him to start again, hoping it will bring an end to his enquiry. His eyes narrow as his mind puts his search for an answer aside.
The answer that is painfully simple. The cause of her distraction is sitting in front of her.
It is unfortunate that Hannibal’s sessions fall on a day after Paula’s. As much as she tries to separate the two, the unbidden images conjured by Paula’s words are still vivid in her mind, replaying with annoying persistence. The faint glow of alert remains in Hannibal’s eyes, but he resumes speaking. The tale brings nothing out of the ordinary, the usual happenings of his week. Unlike Paula, Hannibal does not disclose any intimate details of his lovers, ever the gentleman. She briefly considers his manners and the elegant façade. For whatever reason, it makes her even more flustered.
The corner of Hannibal’s mouths turns up disapprovingly as he notes the decreasing quality of the local fruit vendors. Bedelia focuses on his words and lets the sound of his voice fill her mind, obscuring any unwanted recollections. But they resurface still, insistent and imperishable. The images are vibrant and detailed, spreading across her thoughts like paint on willing canvas. She glances at his hands again, lying calmly on his laps and envisions them tense, fingers straining as they press into the flesh of his lover. She knows they would leave marks, red, fading to soft pink, in the afterglow of the passion. Bedelia can easily envision the strength lying dormant within him. The casual stretch of his arms makes the veins on his palm appear more prominent and the muscles around his wrists tighten, an amuse bouche of his body’s power. She knows the sensation of his grip would linger longer after the evening concluded, a reminder of how exquisite the pleasure was.
Bedelia blinks forcefully, trying to disperse the thoughts. But they have already taken a life of their own, blooming at the fertile ground of her mind.
Hannibal’s tongue flicks over his lips as he pauses, gathering his thoughts, and Bedelia’s gaze is lured by the trinket of the gesture. She swallows, her throat suddenly obstructed and dry; she wishes she had a glass of water on the table. She feels parched.
She imagines his tongue sweeping across his lover’s lips, a soft tease, before parting them with a deep kiss. There is a shiver running down her spine as her mind conceives visions of his tongue tracing careful pathways on one’s skin, probing and searching, until he discovers the most responsive spots and lavishes them with avid attention. The notion makes the warmth return to her body in the most inconvenient of ways. The impressions stick to her mind like drenched in tar and she cannot be rid of them.
She can envision Hannibal with such ease.
But the face of his lover remains obscured, her mind not willing to fill in the lines of Paula’s visage. She can pretend it is her professional respect for the patient, but somehow she does not extend it to the one sitting in front of her. In the space of an hour, he has taken apart more than just his mind. The heat gathering in her underbelly burns excessively and she wonders if her face is equally flushed. She can feel her lips moving as she comments on his last sentence, but she cannot hear her own words. The workings of her own mind have made her undone, embarrassingly so, as if she were a giddy teenager.
How unbecoming.
She reproaches herself in a fresh endeavour to recover her usual competent self. Yet her mind is reluctant to let go of the images; they fade off slowly, still fuelling the fervency in her core. She glances at the clock as her last life line.
“That is all the time we have for today,” she utters the well-practiced phrase with a sense of relief. She places her notepad and pen on the side table, purposely avoiding his gaze. She wonders if it would be rude to remain seated until he has left. She does not know if she can trust her legs to support her and not betray her strange unsettle.
But she has no such choice.
She can sense Hannibal’s stature looming as he gets up from his seat, but not moving any further. Reluctantly, she looks up at him, feeling at even more disadvantage as he stands so much taller than her. The gaze she meets is one of concern.
“Are you sure you are all right, Bedelia?” he asks softly, allowing himself his favoured familiarity now that the session is over.
The embers of his eyes burn brighter, marking the intensity of his stare. The intensity she is usually used to, but now it leaves her even more disconcerted.
“You look a bit flush,” he carries on, head tilting with worry, “Perhaps you should consider resting. It would be a shame if you caught a cold.” He smiles softly at her, the possibility of missing her presence colouring his face with sombre regret.
“I am fine, Hannibal,” Bedelia responds, “But I might benefit from a restful afternoon,” she adds, wanting to put an end to the scrutiny.
Before he notices something beyond cold symptoms.
The smile widens, and Hannibal walks towards the door. His hand reaches for the handle, but pauses and he turns to face her again.
“If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call me,” he says, peering into her eyes.
It might appear as nothing more than a polite offer between colleagues, but Bedelia knows when it comes to Hannibal, it is anything but that. She inclines her head in acknowledgement of his words, but does not respond.
“Anything,” he repeats and nods his head in a wordless goodbye, turning the handle.
Bedelia’s eyes follow his tall silhouette until it vanishes behind the door. The heat in her body continues to smoulder as she gets up from her seat. The feeling of a phantom grip on her hips lingers all the way back to her office.