Page 72 of Forsaking All Others

“It was spur of the moment. Are you keeping occupied?” He nods to the sketchbook as he pulls up the chair next to my bed. “Or is this part of your therapy?”

I laugh at his sarcastic tone. Valérie, Miranda, and Silke had all required visits from the show psychologists after witnessing the bachelor kill the fake doctor. Their therapy had been conducted in here with me, even though I told the medical team I didn’t want it.

“I didn’t need therapy,” I snort, “but I think you know that.”

I’m about to mention the other doctor, too, the beautiful one who’d freaked me out, but I don’t get the chance. He clearly wants answers, and he’s not going to get sidetracked.

“You didn’t seem at all shocked at my violent intervention, Catriona. Why is that? Your background?”

“Not especially. I mean, I probably didn’t react because I was drugged on something, if you recall, and relieved you’d just saved my life.”

“Still….”

“I didn’t grow up watching people get killed, Viscount. I’ve seen orders for it to be done, heard my father discussing it. But our blood-red hands are always gloved, if you know what I mean.”

‘Not mine though. Mine are stained; there was no other way.’

“I do,” he nods, “others do the dirty work. Although you appear to be the exception.”

“Yes,” I keep my eyes on his. “And what you did to that fake doctor… to tell you the truth, I’ve imagined myself doing much, much worse.”

“Your vengeful heart?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Sì,” I sigh, adjusting my pillow to sit up higher to speak to him, “and I guess since you told me you kill for food, and you bit me so brutally, I knew you had that capacity for violence too.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” he asks quietly. “A T-Rex?”

“Yes,” I nod.

He keeps his eyes on mine.

“But your roommates…?”

“You blew their minds,” I snort. “Valérie in particular.”

He shakes his head.

“This Game brings home truths for all of us.”

I nod and watch as he looks around the tent, seemingly bored with the conversation, or wanting to change the subject.

“When will you be released?”

Not in time for whatever tonight’s challenge is, thank God. They said I’ll be out of here by tomorrow or the next day, but in the meantime they won’t give me a television or any other kind of amusement.”

“So you draw?”

He points to the sketchbook I’ve pushed half-under my blanket.

“Is that commonality why you and Thorun get along? She paints, and you draw? Or is it because you’re both optimists?”

“Thorun paints colourful renderings of the seashore,” I shrug. “I draw black and white buildings. We don’t have anything in common.”

He turns his head to the side quizzically and holds out his hand for the book, and I shake my head, but he isn’t taking no for an answer.

Sighing heavily I hand it over and wait uncomfortably as he flicks through my sketches. Nobody has ever looked at my drawings before, other than my lecturers, and even then those were specific drawings for assessments, not my own personal drawings. It feels strangely intimate to have the bachelor look through them now.

“These are really very good,” he says quietly as he studies each one. “You have an eye for detail and clearly a talent for capturing the intricacies of buildings.”