Page 70 of Kill Me

“Don’t do that,” I reply.

“Don’t do what?” he asks, confused.

“That’s not my name where you’re concerned, and it feels like you’re calling me that as a punishment for us breaking boundaries so that you can maintain some distance.”

He looks shocked. “That’s not the case at all. I would never do that to you.”

“You asked me to always be honest with you, so that’s what I’m doing. I can count on two hands the number of times you’ve called me Quinn, and I doubt I would even need one of them. And you especially don’t call me Quinn in this context.”

“Okay. Well then, I think this is a good place to start. Are you ready for me to start the infusion?”

I nod. “You have to remember that things that would be little to you, like my name, aren’t little to someone who has experienced the kinds of relationships I have. Things like that are how my ex-husband would punish me with silence. Same with my mother and brother. They would joke and call me ‘Quinny’ in a tone that made it sound like they were recalling their dog. You’ve set a standard in our relationship, whatever that may be defined as right now. Yesterday, you didn’t call me Quinn. And the only thing that’s changed between yesterday and today is that now you know what it feels like to have my lips on yours.

“I hear you. You’re right. I hadn't thought about it from that perspective. But I also didn’t realise how much I called you by your nickname.” He sounds apologetic, and I feel bad.

“I’m sorry if I came across too harshly.”

“No. You’re right; I asked for honesty, and I appreciate you giving me what I asked for. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to be that honest with me.”

I smile. “I do. So let’s just stick to the nicknames unless absolutely necessary, okay?”

He nods at me before reaching over to stroke my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ears. He bends down to kiss me on the forehead before opening the line for the infusion.

“Here we go again…”

Chapter Forty-One

Quinn - Present Day

Day 2 of therapy, cont…

“Tell me about Eric,” I hear Bones say as I adjust to the IV running through my veins. It’s day two, and I’m already looking forward to the dreamlike state it puts me in. The last thing I need is another addiction in my life.

“No foreplay this time, Bones?”

He laughs. “Foreplay every time it counts, baby. But where your brother is concerned, it doesn’t fucking count. You and me, alone, is the only time it counts. Unless you’re into a bit of voyeurism, of course.”

I open my eyes to wink at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re fucking perfect?”

“Not in the last hour, no. Now, stop deflecting. You told me the other day you remembered something. Tell me about it.”

It feels like bile is splashing in my stomach. Roiling around like it’s muddying the waters between itself and my stomach acid, determined to make me relive my purging days.

I close my eyes again. “I did remember something. The night we met, I told you about my memory blanks and my need to recover memories to make certain things make sense. Since the night of my accident, I have been unable to remember anything for the entire year before I woke up. Until the other night. It’s like the ECT triggered my brain into working correctly, not that I’d ever admit that to my parents.”

I fidget with my hands, and I feel him place something in them. “What’s this?”

“It’s called a fidget tool.”

I open my eyes to take a peek and laugh. “It’s a reaper holding onto a penis. How is this a fidget tool?”

“Listen, Lulu made it just for you, so pretend you love it no matter what. The penis is the fidget part of the tool. She said that she made it that way so that the more you feel the shape of the fidget peen—as she called it—the more you desensitise yourself from whatever trauma you may uncover during these sessions that links to anything to do with sexual assault or rape. Pressing it up and down—in her words—is to ‘mimic the action of a hand job’ to ready yourself for the monster cock you deserve’.” He pulls a face as he finishes his sentence.

“Does that make you a little jealous, Bones?”

“No.” His reply is a little too quick, indicating I am correct in my assumption.

“It’s okay. A green-eyed monster sounds right up my street. I love it. No pretending needed.” To some, Lulu's gift may be crude, but I see it for what it is. The ability for me to move forward in my life with her cousin. To not recoil at a sexual touch when it comes to it. To process my thoughts and emotions as I go through the intensive therapy, giving me the ability to ground myself.