Thankfully, our waiter arrives and takes our orders, and without thinking, I order the waffles and a side order of French toast.

“In the mood for something sweet this morning, Madison?” Dixon asks, his voice dripping with innuendo.

Turning to meet his arrogant gaze, I boldly nod. “Yes, dinner left a bitter taste in my mouth, so I need something sweet to wash away the taste.”

Dixon blanches, knowing full well I’m referring to his rendezvous, and my confidence is lifted when he runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking mighty uncomfortable.

Dr. Wellington picks up on the hostility and tries to change the subject. “So, Dixon, please, enlighten us with your findings.”

Dixon takes in my appearance for a final moment before turning to look at Dr. Wellington, appearing unruffled and completely composed. “Well, as you know, addiction is a very complex thing.”

I suddenly feel my cheeks begin to heat once again.

“It most definitely is,” Dr. Wellington says with a nod. “People lose who they are and what they once were due to some powerful addictions. But the question here is: why do some people become addicts, and others, merely appreciators? I mean, I love cotton candy, but I’m not compulsed to seek it out on a daily basis, nor do I lose control in limiting my intake. So, what’s the trigger?”

“Desire,” Dixon coolly replies, while I shuffle in my seat.

“What about it?” Dr. Wellington asks, and I internally groan because I have a feeling I’m not going to like how this conversation ends.

“Well, most people become addicts because they crave, they desire that high, whether artificial or natural. Is this a classic case of nature versus nurture? Or is it something more? I think it’s a lot simpler in some basic circumstances. We all desire pleasure, we want to feel good, and that triggers a neurobiological response, alerting the brain that eating, smoking, taking drugs, or having sex with random strangers feels good,” Dixon explains, his voice lowering when he adds in the last point.

I find his thoughts absolutely fascinating, and for a moment, I forget I’m infatuated with the guy and listen to his ingenious beliefs.

“Therefore, we become addicted to that ‘high,’” he says, using quotation marks. “And the reward that high delivers.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Dr. Wellington affirms, his eyes twinkling in excitement.

“I want my findings to exhibit that, yes, I acknowledge substance abuse, for example, is a disorder, however, simpler ‘addictions’ are triggered by raw, basic human emotions. The reward itself is what we become addicted to.”

I’m lost in Dixon’s intelligence, watching the way he uses his hands as explanatory tools, when he turns in his seat to look at me with a sly look in his eye.

“So, Madison. You seem like a fairly uncomplicated girl,” he smugly says, tongue in cheek, while I narrow my eyes and glare at him, as this is obviously an intentional jab at me. I remain calm and wait for him to finish.“Is there one intrinsic thing you seem to be addicted to?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I don’t understand what he’s trying to achieve by putting me on the spot this way, but I’ll be damned if I show weakness.

When I merely shrug, my noncommittal gesture seems to tick Dixon off, and he presses. “C’mon, there’s got to be one thing you do that you know is bad for you, but the reward, the stimuli you receive from that one bad action, cancels out all repercussions, and you keep coming back for more.”

The table is silent, waiting for me to reply. But when Dixon arrogantly says, “Well, maybe you’re a lot more complicated than I originally thought,” I lose my cool, and let him know the one and only thing I’m addicted to.

“I obviously fall for the wrong men,” I spit out, springing out of my chair. “But you know what, Dr. Mathews? The reward is really not worth the pain.”

His face softens for a fraction of a second, but it’s then replaced with an unkind, callous mask of a man I no longer know.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, on the verge of tears. I quickly make a wild dash toward the exit, unable to face him a moment longer.

The second I charge into the empty elevator, a sob escapes me, and I cover my mouth to mute my tears. How could he have been so mean? Yes, we didn’t part on the best of terms, but his performance was downright cruel. I would never go out of my way to embarrass him in front of others, especially someone like Dr. Wellington, or flirt with my peer. His actions today have made it perfectly clear he doesn’t care. Maybe he never did.

Wiping my eyes, I dejectedly exit the elevator and mope all the way to my room. Slipping off my shoes and soiled dress, I placed the DND sign on the door and crawl into bed. Here’s hoping I don’t dream because this time around, my dreams of Dr. Mathews are no longer welcomed.

27

Payback

DIXON

I’m a bastard.

Yes, what I did at breakfast this morning was fairly unorthodox, but kicking the habit means kicking the habit. No half-assed attempts at getting Madison out of my life, because the way she looked at me, I know she felt it, too. That invisible, electrical current was once again passing between us, and to rid her from my life, she needs to be the one who walks away because I don’t think I can be the one who cuts ties.

She made her intentions very clear when she walked out of my apartment and told me to leave her alone. However, I can’t help but think about what she said earlier. She said she obviously falls for the wrong men. So, inadvertently, she admitted that she’s fallen for me.

But if that’s the case, then why did she freak out in my apartment? And more importantly, why did she stay away? I have no idea if she’s still seeing the jerkoff, I mean, that would be a good reason why, but that didn’t stop her from returning my kisses. That’s why I’m confident that Madison’s tainted past is stopping her from moving on. And sadly, no one can fight those demons except Madison herself.

But I can’t force her to tell me her secrets, or force her to be with me. If I push, I have no doubt Madison will pull away. So what am I to do?

I hate feeling this way, and in times of crisis, I would normally burn off my restlessness by finding a warm body and losing myself in the comfort only a warm body can provide. But I don’t want that.

Groaning, I turn off my laptop and decide to hit the gym. It’s now 10:30 p.m., and the only chance of getting a wink of sleep is to run until I drop into an exhausted heap.

But no matter how far I run, I know Madison will always be two steps ahead.

It’s Friday night, and the majority of guests have arrived for the awards ceremony, which is to take place tomorrow evening. I have kept to myself all week, pretty much barricading myself in my room, and honestly, it’s been a nice change focusing on books instead of boobs.

But sadly, my hermit status must be put on hold as all attendees are invited to attend a pre-awards dinner party, and it would be unwise of me not to go.

It’s a formal event, so I’ve dressed smart in a pinstripe monkey suit, but I’ve slipped on a vest as the heat is atrocious and I have no desire to be sweating into my champagne. As I make my way to the elevator, I bump into Chad Turner, my friend from the Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences board, and a woman who I’m presuming is his new squeeze, as her enormous rock is blinding me with its brand new sparkle. She also happens to be his junior by about forty years.