Random Thoughts II: Anxiety Attack
Written by Redell
DISCLAIMER: Keaton Warner belongs to me. The one mention of 'Mulder' deserves credit to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter.
So, I was still sitting here in the Waterfront, very wasted on another lazy, Friday night, an hour before it happened. Coming here has become ritual for me. I sit near the door, while everyone else stands near the kitchen. Yet, tonight, there was only five of us. Four of Bawlmer's vintage murder police and myself. But, I doubt, they even knew I was there.
Don't get me wrong, I'm sure, they consider me a friend-professionally.
After all, Lewis and the others have constantly encouraged me to hang out with them. But, I'm sure, I could never erase whatever conspiratorial thoughts they may have about my presence in their shift.
This is the source of my paranoia, my anxiety.
And to top things off...I ordered nearly a keg's worth of beer. I hate beer.
But, I drank it all anyway. I needed something to relax. Anything, after the week I had. That we all had. One redball and a bevy of odd murders.
Oh, how I'm getting the hang of living in and working in Baltimore.
You see, I've never been much for talking to these guys. Just for the atmosphere. Kay left me here and hour and a half earlier, leaving me to drift away on unproffessional thoughts about him.
His voice was light and interested as he stood behind the bar discussing things with Munch, Kellerman and Lewis. From the corner of my eye, I saw him occasionally look at me. I wondered what he was thinking. He had an uninterested look on his face; like he wasn't really paying full attention to his friends. Did he know? Was I thinking out loud? I have done it before.
Slowly, I peeled away the label's red star, ashamed of my hidden feelings. I have for the longest time, fantasized what it would be like to spend a night with the illustrious Timothy Bayliss. But, I try to sink back into into a clean, healthy thinking. /He's you partner for the time being. Don't lose your head./
But, the air filed itself with his cologne, just as it did confined in the cavalier. Very strong and spicy. Whimsical. Masculine. Comforting.
Warm. Safe. Something like ripe honey dew? Lilacs? I had no idea. All previous personal warnings were lost.
No, he didn't hear me. They didn't here me. He kept talking. That was good. /You stay over there, Timmy, mingle with your friends. I'll stay over here, keeping this warm beer company./ A few feet and a bar between us. I took another sip.
Oh, disgusting. I should have ordered something a bit more soothing.
Like JD. Or toilet water. Why did I ask, for a goddamn beer?
I..I..I didnít know. My existentialistic fears kicked in. Why do I do anything? Why, was I here? I could have been in my apartment doing some paper work. Reading a book. Rearranging my living room. Doing laundry.
Count to three and breathe deeply.
Didn't work. I picked up the green bottle, downing that last bit of liquefied hops and barley in three significant gulps, then carelessly, slammed it to the bar. With whatever ladylike, sophistication I had left, I wiped away the warm, bitter foam from the corners of my mouth. I looked to the four men. They noticed the entire event. And under any other circumstances, I'd be a tad embarrassed. But not tonight, I was too disoriented to care what they saw. Besides, I think they got a kick out of it. After all, I *was* there to amuse the natives; I caught more than one person's attention.
Where was I? Oh yeah, I remember, resting my chin in my palm, looking at myself in the mirror and not seeing myself. Only Tim, Munch and Lewis, staring from that picture back at me. Oh boy. I had get out of there. I went to reach into my wallet and pay for this last drink. Plain and simple. Then I reached for my keys.
Shit. My car was in the shop. How, the hell was I gonna get home? Walk?
The cold, bay air *would* have done me some good. Nope. I was too tired to walk. Call a cab? Bingo.
I walked over to those chattering detectives, relaying 'war stories' of the streets to each other, interrupting long enough, to ask to use the phone. I needed a cab. Munch was nice enough to start dialing the number for me...just as Tim stopped him.
"I'll drive you home," He says, putting a hand on the counter. Lewis opened his mouth to say something. But quickly decided against it. Good.
"I *really* don't want to trouble you, Tim." I meant it.
"No trouble. I was heading out anyway. Come on, I'll even let you sit up front." Humor. Oh, yea.
Munch looked to me, through the top of his glasses, just before he dialed that last number.
"Okay, sure. thanks." I gave in. I have no will power.
As Munch hangs up the phone, I sensed a shift in the mood. Just as Bayliss turned to get his jacket, the other men exchanged glances. Like, something other than a ride home is gonna happen tonight. What were they really talking about? I assure them, mouthing "Grow up.", nothing was going to. Just a friendly drive.
But then again, I have no willpower.
As always, the cards will fall as they may.
Tim walked from behind the bar, holding his car keys and as we nearly walk out the door, we said our good nights and Kellerman, deeper inside a stupor than me, lifted his half emptied mug, exuberantly saying: "Promise me, Timmy...if we call your house in fifteen minutes and you're not there, you're out having one *hell* of a time!"
Lewis and Munch laugh. Of course. We said nothing.
Okay. We ignored them as we left. Walking to Tim's jeep, the brisk November winds hit my face, full force. It felt good to be semiconscious, semi-sober. My buzz is barely gone; condemned to massive, hazy stupor. Tim graciously unlocked and opened the passenger door, helping me in. Okay...that was something that still bothered me. Even though, I subtlety got over it when Mulder did it...it still irked me. I let it pass, because of my situation.
After helping me inside, he also gets into the car, and suddenly pushed the key in the ignition. Then paused. He brushed phantom hair from his eye. "Kellerman's a jerk."
I smiled. Not because, I was okay with what Mike said, but with the idea that Bayliss' statement sounded very high school. I nodded. "I know.
He started his car, and we were off. We drove the first two minutes in absolute silence. I felt really bad, about him driving me so much out of his way. I mean, even if we both live in Fells Point.... Okay, so it wasn't *that* much out of his way. But, this drive is a good, seven minutes or so in the opposite direction. So I did have reason. My thoughts got a little loopy around this point, so, I'll omit them for your safety and concentration.
Besides, I was only two or three seconds from having an anxiety attack.
Skipping ahead- The silence was killing me! We just sat there, listening to the tires rolling over the road and our hearts beating. These moments were a bit numbing, like being stuck in soundproof room, trying to communicate with someone on the outside.
Please, God! Say something!!
"Keaton, is something wrong?" He turned his face from the road, to me.
"No, Tim." I clearing my throat nervously. "Why do you ask?" Liar.
"No reason. Just asking." He paused, and began again, "Um..I mean, you were acting kinda distant at the bar. And you where drinking beer. *A lot* of it."
"Lost in a thought. That's all." That wasn't a lie. I was.
"I know it's none of my business, but can I ask what?" Yes it is. And no the hell you can't.
"Um," I bit my lip, very close to drawing blood. "Just about the Townsend murder. I still can't believe his daughter did it." Good, talk shop. Can't get too aroused with an
"Funny," He smirked. "I thought it was something else." Does he know?
"Why do you say that?" The pitch of my voice gets higher when I get defensive and...lie.
"I know, I don't know you that well, but I felt something else was bothering you." I think he knew.
"No." My voice turned ultra chipmunk. "I'm just worried about that case." ultra male, very pre-puberty.
He released a breath and grinned, "Okay. But, if you ever want to talk, you can always talk to me." He knew. Bastard.
/Don't say anything else,/ I told myself, /It's all too incriminating./ I didn't want to give him any ideas, especially, if I had ideas about him. Or that he may have had ideas...about me?? Anything is possible.
Tim and I those satin sheets my mother gave me..ewwww....Stop it...I didnít want go there...that's too Freudian.
As we pulled up to my apartment, we are brushed by an awkward silence.
So happens next, you ask? Nothing. Not really, unless you ask, if a second, I entertained thoughts of kissing him...throwing him to the back and taking him right there, all foregoing public lewdness laws. After all, he's police. I'm FBI. What kinda shit could we get into, that we couldn't cover up? In that case-Yes, I did.
I shook my head slightly, thanking him for the ride.
"Can you make it inside, okay?" he asked.
I touched his shoulder, trying masking the urge of wanting his lips to touch mine. To taste him. To suck and nibble his tongue. To make love to him and not care about any side glances and whispers tomorrow.
"No. I think I can make it,Tim. Thanks."
Opening the door, I stepped out. Steadying myself enough, to make a dash to the stairs and my door. I felt him watching me. I turned my head, to find he was...*only* in an attempt to be polite and wait until I get into the door, so he can go home and get some sleep. Great.
Fumbling for the right key, I unlocked the door. Turning on that bright hall light, I waved goodbye. He waved back and he drove off. The cards fell.
I did it. Whew. Yea.
After closing the door and re-locking it, I flicked off that damn hall light as fast as I could. I fought myself for food. But, I wasn't real hungry. Warm milk perhaps? Didn't need it. I was somewhere between death. Dropping my keys on the table next to my front door, I kicked off my shoes to drag myself upstairs.
Walking through my bedroom, I headed straight for my pajamas. The blue and green plaid ones; Flannel. It was one of those nights. I put them on. Don't worry, I showered in the morning.
Going into the bathroom, I ran the prelim cold water into the sink to brush away the beer and cheese twists from my taste buds. Washing my face, I splashed away all the sleepiness from my eyes. But not the alcohol from my body. After that ritual, I preformed another. I brushed my long, black hair, carefully maneuvering it into two semi-perfect braids. Grabbing my glasses, from the marble counter, beside my brush, I put them on. I looked at least ten years older, for a second. I nodded it off, flicking off that light, I walked into my dark bedroom.
Dark. Very cold. I turned on my reading lamp, grabbing some thick, dusty book, from the nightstand. Something I read before. Something to guide me into a calming sleep. I slide in between the cottony sheets and sit there in silence. I suddenly felt useless. Not, even bored enough to read.
Flipping through the novel maniacally, I was very frustrated. I couldn't get the man out of my head! I threw the book, knocking over a picture on the other side of the room. I reached over an turn off that irritating light. The moon beamed in on me, through the slits of the blinds. I took off the glasses and I tried to relax. My eyes float from wall to wall. Exhaling, I fidgeted with my awkwardness, leaving me to stare up at the ceiling fan. It hovered like sediment. The powder blue walls, turned violet in the sparse moonlight, making everything nearly celestial. Breathing in and out, my mind wandered back to Bayliss. I wondered what he was doing. And if, he could have possibly, been thinking about me.
I doubted it. It would be a kick in the head, if he was. Wouldn't it?
A small, formless sigh pushed from my lips. I thought of things, if they were different. If he were lying next to me. Warming up, the distant left side of my bed. Nuzzling to kiss me. To touch me.
Damn. Stress is a killer. Especially, when it compels you to do what did. I'm an adult; a doctor at her sexual peak. So, I should be very open with myself, right? Especially, when it comes to things like this.
And *these* are *my* thoughts and I can't even bring myself to say the damn word.
I have no self control. As lie back in bed, grinning, I was very much overcome, by this idea of having power over my own pleasurable fantasy.
I can see him lying next to me, grinning ravenously at me, reaching over as his cold hands slowly, move up the curves of my hips and back. I wanted to really hold him, but I couldn't. I was snapped into the awkward reality, that he was not here.
I closed my eyes, trying to keep some focus on his sturdy, tanned form.
Of him, nearly hovering over me. Trying to kiss me again, without crushing me with his weight. But, I loved the idea of him exploring me.
Controlling me. I sprung the fantasy forward, sliding my hands, down my stomach, lifting the elastic band of my blue panties along my wrist.
God, it felt soooo weird at first. The first grazing always does.
Ohh...I was wet. In a soothing motion, I ran my index finger up and down my labia. With my free hand, I fumbled with the buttons of the top and released a breast, for me to play with. It feels great. I began pumping to the rhythm of an imaginary body; his body.
Sliding completely out of my panties and bottoms, I spread my legs as wide as I could. Fucking myself, I moaned, not wanting to awake my sleeping neighbors(And if the book noise wasn't bad enough, this would have probably got me evicted.)
"Mmmm..ahhhh..." I began.
Closing my eyes, I saw Bayliss there, between my legs, exploring my gentle openings and entrances with his tongue. The inner ache building to an excruciating blindness. But, I didn't want to end too quickly, you understand.
"Eeeeeeah....." I purred. I was getting the hang of this again. Like riding a bike.
We feared coming too soon. I feared giving into my nasty, little thoughts about Tim. But I did. Ah well, started again. I switched fingers. I chewed anxiously at my bottom lip, slamming myself into the mattress. I could feel him there; his fingers guiding mine. I shook the entire bed, with a tremendous force. I wanted shove my entire middle finger up my ass...oh, yea...ohhhhh....I began playing with my stiffening nipples. I shook my head back and forth into the pillow.
Still, trying to moan softly. I'm not there, yet. But *fairly* close.
A jolt of anxiety pulsed through me, as I coated my fingers and the crack my ass. Kicking the covers away, I rolled over onto my stomach.
My eyes watered, dripping onto the pillow. "Oh, FUCK yes!!" I bit down on the pillow, muffling some of the sound. But, I didn't care if I shattered windows, at this point.
Stabbing, the wet finger inside myself, I could see him taking me. As my secret muscles tightened, I imagined him swelling inside me. Oww. The silent rhythms of our bodies coated in sweat and passion. In and out.
I'm reddening my insides. My imagination will kill me someday. It hurt; it had been so long. I wished it were his cock, a dildo, sliding and out. But it still feels great. Those phantom balls slammed against me. I was so sore, I began crying.
I had no regrets at this point, believe me. Well...only one. That he wasn't really there. Pulling out, I use my entire hand to rub my clit.
I was so wet. I could hear it, sloshing through my moaning. I wondered honestly, if I could I get carpal tunnel? Almost there...I prepared myself, for this intense, blinding orgasm. By body seizures as I CAME!!!
I screamed, the second time. I screamed Tim's name, the third time.
Prolonging the this self-love, I shoved my fingers into my mouth.
Filling me with a new taste; sweet and forbidden. This taste, was much better than the beer. Now shadowed, now stale toothpaste taste.
Soulfully, I sucked away. Like at a lollipop....Back 'n' Forth....
The phone rings.
Damn it. I looked over to my clock. Not even five o'clock. With my clean hand, I reached for the phone.
"Hello?" I sounded out of breath; startled.
"Kat? I'm sorry, I didn't wake you, did I?"
My heart pounded outrageously. "Uh, uh, no." Tim. " I was running up the stairs. Is something wrong?" I gotta stop lying.
"No. I just called to tell you, Mike did call."
I laughed. I felt dirty. "Had the feeling he would." I retreated into my PJ's.
"I couldn't sleep." He sounded weird. "I just wanted to see, if you were still up. I'm sorry, I'll see..."
"Oh, don't be." I interrupted. "I'm a bit antsy.. You want to talk?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"I have a confession. I don't think I can sleep, if I don't tell someone this."
"What is it?" Ooo, dirt. Spill it.
"I think...I'm attracted to you." There was a long deadly pause.
"I'm sorry. I know, you didn't want to hear that."
A sly smile crept up the sides of my mouth. "Actually, Tim, I kinda feel the same about you..." A weight had been lifted off me.
"Wow." I could hear him smiling over the phone.
"Do you want to know something else," I ventured. I shouldn't have told him this. I mean, a woman's gotta have some sort of secret. Am I right?
"I was just *thinking* about you." I hope he understood. 'Cause I didn't want to say 'the word'. I didn't want to say it again.
"Really?" There was a long pause. "So, how was I?"
I laughed again. Pursing my lips, I wondered how far I could take this.
This would, make an interesting psycho/sexual experiment. If not that, it would be *a lot* of fun.
"Great." I rubbed my stomach, my wafting personal smells hit me. "Hey Tim, whatcha doing right now?"
"Lying in bed."
Do it. Come on. "Are ya' hard yet?"
There was silence. I feared, he wouldn't answer. Or hangup.
I smiled. And the game began.