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)
Dr. Duret is eccentric in her own way. Otherwise, why else would she put up with a nutjob like me?
Though she doesn’t look the part. Of an eccentric, I mean. But then again, have you seen me? I blend too well with my surroundings.
Maybe she’s the same.
Dr. Duret doesn’t seem like someone who belongs in Graystone Ridge or Vencor—yup, she’s a member, judging by her serpent necklace.
She’s too calm for this place, too soft around the edges. Her short brown hair is always smooth, and her eyes are that strange pale-green you see in old paintings, somewhere between glass and seafoam.
She’s slim, graceful in a rehearsed way. Every movement she makes is quiet and measured.
Today, she’s dressed in a cream blouse with a black bow, a neat dark skirt, and a navy-blue cardigan that looks freshly pressed. She smells faintly of jasmine and clean soap that tickles my senses.
There’s also a jasmine diffuser in the corner of the room, releasing the scent all around me until it’s a cocoon.
Sometimes, when I sit across from her, it feels like being inside a bubble. Everything outside the room fades—the static, the noise, the world.
If only she weren’t Dad’s watchdog, we would get along perfectly.
Well, at least she lets me visit her in the suburbs, where she lives on her own with a fuck ton of houseplants. I first started showing up here when I was around fifteen, just to antagonize her.
I wanted to relay the message that I could find out where she lives and kill her, but then she said that if I felt more comfortable coming to her house instead of the Callahans’ clinic, I was welcome to.
That was a no-brainer. No need to ask me twice.
Her house is perched on a hill at the very edge of Graystone Ridge. Not Ravenswood Hill–level fancy, but through the giant French doors, you can see part of the town and the river that heroically protects us from the absolute dumpster fire that is Stantonville.
And just like that, my mood takes a nosedive straight into last week’s bullshit.
“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about aside from the online game you played?” Her words land gently, her voice soft but unwavering.
I rest my hands behind my head as I lie on the sofa. “No, why would you think that?”
“To my knowledge, you lost a game against the Wolves, and that affected the Vipers’ winning streak.” She pauses, both physically and with her pen. “How do you feel about that, Preston?”
“Grand, thanks for asking.” I stare at the few stars on the ceiling. What is this, kindergarten?
“Is that all?”
“I don’t feel guilty about it, if that’s what you want to know. Don’t have those feelings, remember?”
“Yes. I was just wondering if you’d like to share anything further.”
“No clue what you heard from my old man, but no, it wasn’t because of fucking Osborn.”
“I don’t speak to your father about what happens in these sessions, Preston. I thought we’d established that.”
Yeah, but whatever.
I did test Dr. Duret once by telling her that I’d be fucking shit up in Dad’s holiday house the following day, and I expected her to tell him, but she didn’t.
That means she could be partially trusted. Only partially, though, because she’s still getting paid by my dad.
“Do you believe this…” She stares at her notes. “Osborn is the reason you lost control?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“What’s his full name? Osborn is the last name, no?”
“I’m sure you can look it up. Put ‘degenerate asshole from Stantonville’ in the search bar, and his name will come up first.”
“Is that what you think of him?”
“You would, too, if you met the motherfucker.”
“I sense strong emotions, Preston.”
“Strong revenge tendencies, yeah. Sure. He dared to touch me without my permission, not once, but two fucking times.”
Though I didn’t really mind or care about the first time, because…what? He immobilized me? No. It’s not that. I would’ve fought if it were that.
…Right?
Let’s say it was the alcohol and drugs. It’s always the alcohol and drugs.
It’s definitely not me.
“Can you believe it?” I sit, immediately launch back up, then start pacing like my soul is trying to outrun my body. “I slapped his hand. I told him not to fucking touch me—twice—and he still kept coming like a parasite with main-character syndrome. He wants to fuck me. He does. They all do. Every last one of those brain-rotted clowns only wants one thing from me. The goddamn, motherfucking, low-IQ gremlins with the combined brain capacity of a soggy napkin. I swear to God, I’ve survived more imbecile behavior in twenty-two years than an immortal would in a thousand. I’m one encounter away from ascending out of my body and haunting people out of spite.”
Dr. Duret scribbles something in her notebook, and I freeze. “What are you writing about me? ‘Nutcase threat to society’? Because that won’t work, you know. Dad’s completely against locking me up in a mental institution. It’s his guilt talking for abandoning me and not being there when I was metaphorically locked up. He swore he’d never do that to me again, so you and Dr. Fenwick can let go of that little wet dream.”