“What would you do?” My hands shook from nervousness. He didn’t offer me any comfort. Not that I wanted his comfort. “Wait.”
Something wasn’t right. I grabbed the edge of the paper I had crumpled moments before. Dr. Avery watched without comment. The results were in my hands.
August ninth … eight weeks. Not six weeks. Not Dustin. The room tilted.
“What do you mean you had to sedate her,” Scott’s voice filtered through, distorted, almost.
“She experienced an episode, a psychological evaluation would be best before we can release her,” Karter’s voice responded.
“A psych eval? She was fine yesterday,” Scott urged. There were more words, but I couldn’t keep up; something didn’t feel right. Cool fingers wrapped around my wrist as the words blurred. I felt the weight of my own body betraying me. Warm lips pressed against mine. A mouth I hadn’t asked to kiss me. Karter’s warm smile flashed behind my eyelids, and the chilling whisper seized control of the moment. “Relax. You’ll feel good.”
I barely made it to the side of the bed as vomit surged up my esophagus. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as the cold sweat settled on my neck. The truth settled in my bones like ice. Karter raped me.
My heart drummed against my chest as I pulled myself up. I didn’t look at Dr. Avery. I didn’t want to see pity. Or worse — vindication. It took me a long time to swallow back the bile that threatened to appear again. When I finally dragged my eyes up, he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t horrified. He wasn’t even curious. He studied me.
“You knew,” I whispered.
Not a question, but a statement.
Dr. Avery tilted his head slightly. Contemplating whether I deserved the truth or not.
“Yes.”
“How long?” My voice cracked despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
His critical gaze never wavered, and that made it worse.
“Long enough.”
Air wouldn’t fill my lungs. I’d stop processing bodily functions in order to process this news.
“Since August ninth?”
He didn’t answer. It was answer enough. A cold calmness settled within me. I didn’t have the luxury of breaking down again. There were more important things.
I met his eyes, letting the cold settle in. Whatever detachment lived in him, I mirrored it.
“I’m done with your services. You may go. I’ll schedule soon.”
“Very well,” he replied smoothly.
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards — almost pleased — before he gathered the paper and his bag.
He left without another word. The door clicked shut and my hand drifted to my stomach. Schedule soon, but not for what he thought.
6
HUNTING NEVER SEEMED SO GRIM
November 22nd
Sweat beaded against my temples as I laid punch after punch into the boxing bag. Anger surged through me with every strike. The last time I saw my brother was when I told him to fuck off while I got drunk at some party. He shouldhave come with me… when I returned home and the house was on fire. I couldn’t. Another strike against the bag and I yelled in frustration.
I heard the soft tap of shoes that never got dirty approaching from behind, and I grabbed a towel off the bench, wiping the sweat from my face.
“What the fuck do you want?” I grunted as I turned towards the man.
“We could use you back at the office,” Brian replied. A veiled threat. My jaw twitched with irritation.
