You’ll never fall in love with me.
Nope, not saying that.Go with the second-worst thing.
“I’ve always known I’m not a psychopath. In here,” I say, tapping my chest. “But…to hear it officially… I almost feel a little lost.” I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
“Sure it does.”
“How?”
He looks at me for a long moment, then answers, “The way other people might label you can really destroy your sense of self…while also giving you something to grab on to. Which is a complete mindfuck.”
It’s like he’s inside my head.
“Is that why I feel like such a loser all the time?”
Ugh.Shit only a loser would say.
Oak’s upper lip curls. “Why would you think you’re a loser?”
“I’ve been to enough therapy to know that it’s wrong to say that, but look at me.” I gesture the length of myself. “I’m a mutation. A mistake. Made in a lab to resemble an urban legend.”
“How can somebody else’s actions makeyouthe loser?”
I roll my eyes. “Please don’t try to make sense of this. Don’t ask smart questions. It ruins the illusion.”
“The illusion that you’re a loser?Good. It should be ruined.”
Oakley crosses his arms over his massive chest, as if daring me to contradict him.
I think about the people who are responsible for me.
“Is it weird that I’ve never wanted to learn about the sperm donor or that I only have a few flashing memories of the old scientist who raised me?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. Blake was an asshole, and people with a trauma history often report memory issues. Some can barely remember their childhood at all.”
“I guess I wish there were some things I could still forget.”
“Like what?”
I don’t wanna say this next part, and yet…I do. I don’t want Oakley to hate me, but I do want him to know me.
“I’m gonna remind you that I’m not judging you,” he says. “I’m in the process of reading every last one of your files, and whatever is making you hesitate or judge yourself right now, I’ve either already read or soon will. I promise you’re not going to shock me.”
I snort.Yeah right.
“What about the animals?” I wrap my arms around my waist. “I saw what I looked like on that body-cam footage.”
Oakley nods. “For a lot of the operatives, what you did to the animals was the most disturbing thing they remember. But not a single one of them talked about the fact that you were living with the dead body of that older scientist who took care of you. For days.”
I shake my head. “Despite what I’ve seen on the video, I don’t remember anything. Not him dying. Not what I did.”
I try so hard to remember, but…nothing.
“So you were half starved, dehydrated, traumatized, surviving on rainwater and whatever animals you could find. In my estimation, you were a really brave little boy.”
I let out a dry laugh.I was—and am—scared all the time.
I would never admit that out loud. Instead, I say, “You can hear the fear in their voices. On the body cams. A small boy, eyes black, the blood of some random animal dripping from my chin.” I shudder. “The only thing I remember about that night was asking for a Happy Meal.”
