Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Leather-bound notebook in hand, she just sits still and waits, never urging me to talk.
Because that’s what therapists do, I guess.
“I didn’t go to see Marcus yesterday.” I hold a hand up. “I know, I know. I’ve basically been dropping by his place every night since we were caught by his mom over two weeks ago, but…well, I’m not feeling well. The night before last, I choked him in my sleep. I know because he went to bed completely fine and woke up with fingerprints on his neck. It couldn’t have been ghosts like my brain tried to gaslight me into thinking—it was me. I felt so much regret, but instead of saying I was sorry like a sane person, I went ahead and did the exact opposite. As in, I blew up in his face and left.”
I’m breathing heavily, the sound harsh in the silence, accentuated by the loud grandfather clock on the wall. Wait. Was that always there? No, I would’ve noticed it if it were, wouldn’t I?
Also, where are the stars? Why did she remove them from the ceiling?
“Do you want to tell me why you blew up?” Dr. Duret’s posture and expression don’t change.
“He was lying to me.” I stand up and pace, running an agitated hand through my hair. “I asked if I’d hurt him in my sleep, and he said it didn’t matter. Why didn’t it matter? Why? What if…what if…”
“What if?”
I stop and bite the inside of my cheek so hard, a coppery tang explodes in my mouth. “What if I kill him?”
“You wouldn’t want that, no?”
I shake my head once. “I…wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. That’s why I decided that I needed to stay away. You…you know me when I get volatile.”
“So you just disappear? Do you believe he’d like that?”
I flop back on the couch, grumbling. “It’s for his own good.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“He wouldn’t. He doesn’t.” I let out a breath. “He told me goodbye.”
“Is that why you’re upset?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to go. I…I like it, you know. Spending time with him, I mean. I thought it was because I was dick-drunk or something, but my attachment to him is not only because of the sex. Don’t get me wrong, I love the sex. I think…I think it’s the first time I’ve enjoyed it properly. I thought I loved tying them up, but really, it wasn’t control I wanted, it’s pain and surrender, but…”
“But only when you’re safe?”
A faint tremor touches my lips. “Yeah. I…I felt safe with Marcus from the get-go, didn’t I?”
“I think so. You enjoy eroticizing what was once weaponized against you, and there’s nothing wrong with that, Preston.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But why Marcus? I just…don’t get it.”
“With your personality, you would never admit to wanting submission unless…”
I sit on the edge of my seat. “Unless?”
“Unless you know you can emotionally destroy the person you’re physically submitting to.”
My lips part. Oh. Is that what my ghosting and slippery behavior were? Me testing whether I have dominance over Marcus in an emotional sense?
I had to know he’d always want me more, care about me more, and like me enough to never be able to leave me?
But he already did.
“I wish it were only sex. It would’ve been much simpler that way,” I murmur, running a hand over my face.
“When did it change?”
“I don’t know.”
“Around the time you agreed to be exclusive?”
“Maybe. I just…like spending time with him in his tiny but warm house. I love that, despite his intensity, he’s observant and caring. He always makes me delicious food and gives me these ridiculous mango candies I’m addicted to now, as if I’m back to being a kid again. He also shares his mom with me. The three of us went skiing the other day, and she bought me hot chocolate. She’s such a rock star—she hugs me and tells me she’s glad Marcus has me. Me? Can you believe it? You’d better, I’m not lying. Anyway, I really like June, and I’m jealous I never had a mom like her. Point is, I…do want to go to him, but I can’t.”
Dr. Duret writes something in her notes but doesn’t ask me one of her usual distasteful questions.
Just keeps scribbling and scribbling and scribbling, and the scratch of the pen against the paper feels like she’s dragging it against my skull.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
“Are you going to say anything?” I snap.
She pauses, lifting her gaze toward me. “What do you want me to say?”
“Your therapist nonsense, maybe? Ask me why I’m spiraling more than usual? Why…I’m self-medicating more than any time in my life?”
“Why?”
“Because…because…Marcus thinks I’m this perfect Prince Charming that he can’t get enough of, but that’s only because I’m keeping my hideous side hidden under lock and key.”
“Why not open up about that time, Preston? You don’t have to tell him in person if it feels overwhelming. You can send a letter, an email, or a text. It could be cathartic to write everything down.”