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solution. That mortified her and she tried to shift position.
    “Don’t worry, it’s only a tiny drop, you won’t soil your bed,” he reassured her. Shut up, shut up, she wanted to shout. Every time he spoke it reminded her who was in the driving seat. The liquid itself was definitely easier to take in that position, especially as he continued to massage her lower abdomen. She dared to sneak a peep at the bag; it was only half empty and a little groan escaped her lips.
    “We won’t use it all tonight, you’re too backed up. Just enough to get you started, okay?” he promised, as if reading the panic in her brain. About five minutes later, he shut it off, just as she was getting totally full again.
    “It’s stopped going in. You need to try to hold it a little while,” he told her. His conversation turned to what he was reading. The distraction technique wasn’t working though. He couldn’t make her forget she was very tentatively holding on to a half a bag of saline and she wasn’t hearing a word he said. The urge to use the toilet was screaming from her brain. But even at that, there was this insane excitement in her girly bits. Aoife wanted to either run or die. Finally he allowed her go to the bathroom.
    “I’ll wait in the living room for a little bit to make sure you’re all right, but then I need to go to work,” he volunteered just as she was about to tell him to get the fuck out and give her some privacy.
    Matt couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, his mind a battleground of conflicting thoughts. Initially, while reading the journal, he had been so damn mad, he wanted to blister her backside for her. She was one whole living lie. He could barely contain himself to actually act like a responsible doctor and relieve her discomfort. He almost felt it was her just deserts. Her own heedless behaviour had contributed to her discomfort. But then when she started to respond sexually to a medical procedure, it blew him through the roof. Never, ever did he imagine he would get off on administering an enema, or any procedure for that matter. It was unethical. But try telling that to John Thomas in his trousers who was bulging out, begging for attention. The minute he had seen Aoife creaming up—no, what a lie, the minute he had laid eyes on her again in that hospital bed—his professionalism deserted him. He had never considered such a procedure erotic, but here he was, balls fit to burst. Matt’s first port of call after leaving the bedroom was the bathroom down the hall; he would have to deal with this thing before he joined Fiona. Matt was not impressed with his behaviour. Nor did he understand it. He had given enemas to attractive women before, but he’d never ended up with a boner. Aoife Devine was messing with his head, making him forget himself.
    He tried to think of something else, anything, to make his frisky friend shrivel up, but all to no avail. If anything, he got harder. In the end he had no choice; he masturbated in the guest bathroom of Aoife Devine’s house. It was obvious that their doctor–patient relationship was untenable. He would have to pass her over to a colleague. For both his sake and hers.
    “I can’t do this anymore, Matt,” Fiona announced as he joined her on the settee. “She has no idea what she is doing to herself. It’s the same weekend after weekend. She has just been lucky up ‘til now.”
    “So what are you saying exactly?” Matt asked. Even though he understood that to some extent, Fiona’s protection enabled Aoife’s recklessness, he still couldn’t bear to think what would become of her if she went out on her own, living in a bedsit with faceless, nameless neighbours. And yet her decision was not any different to the one he had just made, even if the reasons were. They were both abandoning her. He really wished there was a real live boot camp (like those in his imagination every Saturday night as he treated the aftereffects of drugs), somewhere he