Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
And I wish I still had the cat-o-nine tails in my desk to greet me at home, so I could whip myself for being so fucking weak. For needing. For never being enough. For failing everyone who had the sorry fate to fucking love me.
The rain is lighter when I step outside, but the sky remains heavy with clouds. The air is thick with the promise of another storm. I breathe it in, filling my lungs with the humid, electric scent, and try to ignore the voice in my head—not Dr. Ezra's, but my own—whispering that maybe, just maybe, he's right.
That I've been building families my whole life because I never really had one. That I'm still that four-year-old boy, desperate to prove he's worth keeping around.
Thunder rumbles overhead as I walk to my car, echoing the turmoil inside me.
TWENTY-FIVE
ANNA
The door closes behind me with a soft click that feels somehow final, like the sound of a cage locking. I stand just inside Dr. Ezra's office, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I worry he might hear it across the room.
Domhnall's lingering cologne hangs in the air, mixing with the room's usual smells. I can almost trace his path across the plush carpet, following the ghost of his presence to the indentation still visible in the leather chair where he sat moments ago.
"Anna," Dr. Ezra says warmly, standing behind his desk. Light from the rain-washed window casts half his face in shadow. "It's been a while. Please, sit down."
I perch on the edge of the chair Domhnall just vacated, the leather still warm from his body. My fingers find the armrests where his hands must have been, and I grip them like they might keep me tethered to reality.
"Was that---" I wet my lips, tasting the cherry lip balm I applied earlier. "Is Domhnall okay?"
Dr. Ezra adjusts his glasses, the metal frames catching the soft light. His expression remains professionally neutral as he settles into his own chair. "You know I can't discuss another patient's session with you, Anna."
"I know, but..." I trail off, watching raindrops race down the window. Two merge together, becoming faster, stronger as they slide toward the sill. "He seemed upset."
"Why don't we talk about why you're here today? It's been, what, four months since your last appointment?" He glances at a file on his desk, but I know he remembers exactly how long it's been. Dr. Ezra never forgets anything.
I shift in the chair, the leather creaking beneath me. My fingers play with the hem of my emerald dress---the one Domhnall loves, the one that makes me feel like I'm wearing armor. I'd chosen it carefully this morning, knowing I'd need courage today.
"I've made a terrible mistake," I whisper, the words scraping my throat like broken glass.
Dr. Ezra waits, his pen poised over his notepad.
"I went to see Dr. Resnick," I finally say, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "For hypnotherapy."
Something flickers across his face---so brief I almost miss it. Concern? Disappointment?
"I see," he says carefully. "And what did you hope to accomplish with Dr. Resnick?"
The air conditioning kicks on with a soft hum, raising goosebumps on my bare arms. Outside, thunder rumbles, distant but threatening.
"I wanted to get rid of Mads," I say, my voice barely audible over the rain. "For good."
Dr. Ezra doesn't look surprised, exactly, but his shoulders tense slightly. He sets his pen down, giving me his full attention.
"And how did that work out?" he asks, though I suspect he already knows the answer.
I stare at my hands, hating the rust-colored stains that still haunt me beneath my fingernails despite how I've scrubbed them raw. "It worked," I say bitterly. "Mads is gone."
"But?" he prompts when I fall silent.
"But someone else came in her place." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "Someone who calls herself Red."
Lightning flashes outside, briefly illuminating the room in stark white before plunging us back into the soft amber glow of his desk lamp. I count---one, two, three---before thunder follows, closer now.
"And this... concerns you?" Dr. Ezra asks, his voice frustratingly measured.
"Concerns me?" All that I can't say out loud bubbles up as a sudden, hysterical laugh from my chest instead. Oh, I don't know, Dr. Ezra, she just happened to kill someone. In our home. And then she... cleaned up tidily after herself.
Dr. Ezra's expression doesn't change, but his eyes sharpen, focusing on me with an intensity that makes me want to shrink into the chair.
I reach into my purse---the suede one Domhnall bought me last Christmas---and pull out the bottom half of the crumpled journal page. I ripped off the part mentioning the attack and shoved it in my glove box before coming in. My hand trembles as I pass it across the desk.
Dr. Ezra reads it, his face impassive. When he looks up, his eyes are grave behind his glasses.