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I drop to my knees, palms flat against the cool floor. She’s already fading from my mind as I heave in breaths. I reach behind my head and pull my shirt off to cover my mess, eyes squeezed tight, then settle back onto my heels. I claw at my head.
Every scar on my body is aflame.
My flesh demands punishment, but I grasp onto the lingering wisps of London’s face until the compulsion eases. Lightheaded and tingling, I savor this feeling before it’s torn away. With her, I don’t crave the abuse. I’ve enforced it for so long, it’s damn near impossible to stop—but she’s my answer. She’s my salvation.
My blood runs hot. The frigid air touches my slick skin like a cruel caress, and I welcome it. I run my hands over the raised scars along my chest, feeling each life I witnessed being taken. Every one of them is carved into me, a brand that cements my fate, a penance I inflicted on myself for the pleasure I experienced during their suffering.
I’m not alone.
That initial realization was the first broken link in my chains.
I won’t accept anything less than her; she’s my other half.
I replace the poster, not bothering to dress. Before the light is gone, I bring her picture to the cot with me. I trace her features, memorizing them all over again.
The cell goes dark, and I slip the image under my pillow. I run my hands over my forearms, tracking ink that cannot completely disguise the scars. My reminder that secrets can’t stay buried.
London wants answers, I can give them to her. The only question is how far she’s willing to go to get them.
7
Entanglement
London
Breaking glass. Twisting metal. Grinding against asphalt. The smell of leaking gas.
I relax my eyelids, trying not to force the memory. “It’s blackness after that,” I say, lacing my fingers together on my lap. “Can I open my eyes now?”
I hear Sadie draw in a deep breath. “Let’s try a little longer. Practice your breathing technique. Let the blackness settle over you.”
With a resigned nod, I fill my lungs. Hold my breath for five seconds, then expel the breath. I do this three times. Each intake sends a sharp pain into my lower back. My hands clench into fists as I release another lungful, freeing a curse.
I open my eyes. “The pain’s too much today.” I flex my fingers to work out the stress. “I’m sorry you came all this way.”
She tilts her head. “I’m not. No matter if we resolve anything in this session or not, I still get to visit my friend.” Her smile is warm yet practiced. This doesn’t bother me, because it doesn’t mean she feels the opposite of what she’s saying. Sadie isn’t able to experience feelings the way the average person does.
Back in college, we discovered early on that Sadie had sociopathic tendencies, which res
ulted from a kidnapping she suffered as a young adult. She was tortured for days, and then she witnessed her abductor’s death during her rescue. She’s been able to channel this incident into a passionate career as a criminal behavioral analyst.
Only those closest to her know that her practiced mannerisms are a performance to fit in with society. It’s also why I requested she be here today, to help me work through some residual complications from my own past that I was never able to confront. Or rather, refused to confront. Sadie’s candor and insight might be uncomfortable for me, but she may also give me the push I need.
“You’ve gotten really good at that emotions thing,” I say, smiling. “But you don’t need the farce with me. You know this.”
Her features relax into their natural state. “I do it so often now, I don’t realize it. A reflex. Like I’m a real human being or something.” She laughs.
I nearly reach out to her, but decide to pull my string from my pocket instead. Sadie is one of the only people I trust enough to let my guard down. “You’re as real as they come.”
Her expression shifts, more serious as she seizes a change in topic. “Your most recent patient,” she says, “tell me about him.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Nice pivot.” She shrugs, unapologetic. “Well, since I can’t discuss our sessions…what do you want to know?” I tighten the string around my finger.
“How you’re handling it, and why suddenly after all these years you’re thinking about the surgery.”
“Cause and effect.” I unwind the string. “It’s that simple, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
